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Title War and Peace



Author Leo Tolstoy



Translators Louise and Aylmer Maude



Posting Date January 10, 2009 [EBook #2600]



Last Updated January 21, 2019



Language English



Character set encoding UTF-8



*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR AND PEACE ***









An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger













WAR AND PEACE





By Leo Tolstoy/Tolstoi











    CONTENTS





    BOOK ONE 1805



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII



    CHAPTER XXIII



    CHAPTER XXIV



    CHAPTER XXV



    CHAPTER XXVI



    CHAPTER XXVII



    CHAPTER XXVIII





    BOOK TWO 1805



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI





    BOOK THREE 1805



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX





    BOOK FOUR 1806



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI





    BOOK FIVE 1806 - 07



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII





    BOOK SIX 1808 - 10



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII



    CHAPTER XXIII



    CHAPTER XXIV



    CHAPTER XXV



    CHAPTER XXVI





    BOOK SEVEN 1810 - 11



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII





    BOOK EIGHT 1811 - 12



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII





    BOOK NINE 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII



    CHAPTER XXIII





    BOOK TEN 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII



    CHAPTER XXIII



    CHAPTER XXIV



    CHAPTER XXV



    CHAPTER XXVI



    CHAPTER XXVII



    CHAPTER XXVIII



    CHAPTER XXIX



    CHAPTER XXX



    CHAPTER XXXI



    CHAPTER XXXII



    CHAPTER XXXIII



    CHAPTER XXXIV



    CHAPTER XXXV



    CHAPTER XXXVI



    CHAPTER XXXVII



    CHAPTER XXXVIII



    CHAPTER XXXIX





    BOOK ELEVEN 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX



    CHAPTER XXI



    CHAPTER XXII



    CHAPTER XXIII



    CHAPTER XXIV



    CHAPTER XXV



    CHAPTER XXVI



    CHAPTER XXVII



    CHAPTER XXVIII



    CHAPTER XXIX



    CHAPTER XXX



    CHAPTER XXXI



    CHAPTER XXXII



    CHAPTER XXXIII



    CHAPTER XXXIV





    BOOK TWELVE 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI





    BOOK THIRTEEN 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX





    BOOK FOURTEEN 1812



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX





    BOOK FIFTEEN 1812 - 13



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI



    CHAPTER XVII



    CHAPTER XVIII



    CHAPTER XIX



    CHAPTER XX





    FIRST EPILOGUE 1813 - 20



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII



    CHAPTER XIII



    CHAPTER XIV



    CHAPTER XV



    CHAPTER XVI





    SECOND EPILOGUE



    CHAPTER I



    CHAPTER II



    CHAPTER III



    CHAPTER IV



    CHAPTER V



    CHAPTER VI



    CHAPTER VII



    CHAPTER VIII



    CHAPTER IX



    CHAPTER X



    CHAPTER XI



    CHAPTER XII





















BOOK ONE 1805











CHAPTER I



Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the

Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you dont tell me that this means war,

if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that

AntichristI really believe he is AntichristI will have nothing

more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my

faithful slave, as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I

have frightened yousit down and tell me all the news.



It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pvlovna

Schrer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Mrya Fdorovna.

With these words she greeted Prince Vasli Kurgin, a man of high

rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna

Pvlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering

from la grippe grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used

only by the elite.



All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered

by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows



If you have nothing better to do, Count (or Prince), and if the

prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible,

I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10Annette

Schrer.



Heavens! what a virulent attack! replied the prince, not in the

least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an

embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on

his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that

refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and

with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance

who had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pvlovna,

kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head,

and complacently seated himself on the sofa.



First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friends

mind at rest, said he without altering his tone, beneath the

politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony

could be discerned.



Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times

like these if one has any feeling? said Anna Pvlovna. You are

staying the whole evening, I hope?



And the fete at the English ambassadors? Today is Wednesday. I

must put in an appearance there, said the prince. My daughter is

coming for me to take me there.



I thought todays fete had been canceled. I confess all these

festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome.



If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have

been put off, said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force

of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.



Dont tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosltsevs

dispatch? You know everything.



What can one say about it? replied the prince in a cold, listless

tone. What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has

burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours.



Prince Vasli always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale

part. Anna Pvlovna Schrer on the contrary, despite her forty years,

overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had

become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not

feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the

expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it

did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed,

as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect,

which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to

correct.



In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pvlovna burst

out



Oh, dont speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I dont understand

things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She

is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign

recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one

thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform

the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will

not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of

revolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of

this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just

one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial

spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexanders

loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to

find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer

did Novosltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot

understand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for

himself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they

promised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not

perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and

that all Europe is powerless before him.... And I dont believe a

word that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian

neutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty

destiny of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!



She suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.



I think, said the prince with a smile, that if you had been

sent instead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King

of Prussias consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me

a cup of tea?



In a moment.  propos, she added, becoming calm again, I am

expecting two very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who

is connected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best

French families. He is one of the genuine migrs, the good ones. And

also the Abb Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has been

received by the Emperor. Had you heard?



I shall be delighted to meet them, said the prince. But

tell me, he added with studied carelessness as if it had only just

occurred to him, though the question he was about to ask was the chief

motive of his visit, is it true that the Dowager Empress wants

Baron Funke to be appointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all

accounts is a poor creature.



Prince Vasli wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were

trying through the Dowager Empress Mrya Fdorovna to secure it for

the baron.



Anna Pvlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor

anyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was

pleased with.



Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her

sister, was all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.



As she named the Empress, Anna Pvlovnas face suddenly assumed an

expression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with

sadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious

patroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke

beaucoup destime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.



The prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and

courtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pvlovna

wished both to rebuke him (for daring to speak as he had done of a man

recommended to the Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she

said



Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came

out everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly

beautiful.



The prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.



I often think, she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer

to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political

and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate

conversationI often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life

are distributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid children?

I dont speak of Anatole, your youngest. I dont like him, she

added in a tone admitting of no rejoinder and raising her eyebrows.

Two such charming children. And really you appreciate them less than

anyone, and so you dont deserve to have them.



And she smiled her ecstatic smile.



I cant help it, said the prince. Lavater would have said I

lack the bump of paternity.



Dont joke I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know

I am dissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves (and her

face assumed its melancholy expression), he was mentioned at Her

Majestys and you were pitied....



The prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly,

awaiting a reply. He frowned.



What would you have me do? he said at last. You know I did all

a father could for their education, and they have both turned out fools.

Hippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That

is the only difference between them. He said this smiling in a way

more natural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round

his mouth very clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse and

unpleasant.



And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a

father there would be nothing I could reproach you with, said Anna

Pvlovna, looking up pensively.



I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my

children are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That

is how I explain it to myself. It cant be helped!



He said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a

gesture. Anna Pvlovna meditated.



Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole? she

asked. They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I

dont feel that weakness in myself as yet, I know a little person who

is very unhappy with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess

Mary Bolknskaya.



Prince Vasli did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and

perception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of

the head that he was considering this information.



Do you know, he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad

current of his thoughts, that Anatole is costing me forty thousand

rubles a year? And, he went on after a pause, what will it be in

five years, if he goes on like this? Presently he added Thats

what we fathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours

rich?



Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is

the well-known Prince Bolknski who had to retire from the army under

the late Emperor, and was nicknamed the King of Prussia. He is

very clever but eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy.

She has a brother I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately.

He is an aide-de-camp of Kutzovs and will be here tonight.



Listen, dear Annette, said the prince, suddenly taking Anna

Pvlovnas hand and for some reason drawing it downwards. Arrange

that affair for me and I shall always be your most devoted slave-slafe

with an f, as a village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich

and of good family and thats all I want.



And with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the

maid of honors hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro

as he lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.



Attendez, said Anna Pvlovna, reflecting, Ill speak to

Lise, young Bolknskis wife, this very evening, and perhaps the

thing can be arranged. It shall be on your familys behalf that Ill

start my apprenticeship as old maid.











CHAPTER II



Anna Pvlovnas drawing room was gradually filling. The highest

Petersburg society was assembled there people differing widely in age

and character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged.

Prince Vaslis daughter, the beautiful Hlne, came to take her

father to the ambassadors entertainment she wore a ball dress and

her badge as maid of honor. The youthful little Princess Bolknskaya,

known as la femme la plus sduisante de Ptersbourg, * was also there.

She had been married during the previous winter, and being pregnant did

not go to any large gatherings, but only to small receptions. Prince

Vaslis son, Hippolyte, had come with Mortemart, whom he introduced.

The Abb Morio and many others had also come.



     * The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.



To each new arrival Anna Pvlovna said, You have not yet seen my

aunt, or You do not know my aunt? and very gravely conducted

him or her to a little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her

cap, who had come sailing in from another room as soon as the guests

began to arrive and slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her

aunt, Anna Pvlovna mentioned each ones name and then left them.



Each visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom not

one of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of them

cared about Anna Pvlovna observed these greetings with mournful and

solemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of them in

the same words, about their health and her own, and the health of Her

Majesty, who, thank God, was better today. And each visitor,

though politeness prevented his showing impatience, left the old woman

with a sense of relief at having performed a vexatious duty and did not

return to her the whole evening.



The young Princess Bolknskaya had brought some work in a

gold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which a

delicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for her teeth,

but it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charming when she

occasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case

with a thoroughly attractive woman, her defectthe shortness of her

upper lip and her half-open mouthseemed to be her own special and

peculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of this pretty

young woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of life and health, and

carrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dull dispirited young ones

who looked at her, after being in her company and talking to her a

little while, felt as if they too were becoming, like her, full of life

and health. All who talked to her, and at each word saw her bright smile

and the constant gleam of her white teeth, thought that they were in a

specially amiable mood that day.



The little princess went round the table with quick, short, swaying

steps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress sat

down on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she was doing was a

pleasure to herself and to all around her. I have brought my work,

said she in French, displaying her bag and addressing all present.

Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trick on me,

she added, turning to her hostess. You wrote that it was to be quite

a small reception, and just see how badly I am dressed. And she

spread out her arms to show her short-waisted, lace-trimmed, dainty gray

dress, girdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast.



Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be prettier than anyone

else, replied Anna Pvlovna.



You know, said the princess in the same tone of voice and still in

French, turning to a general, my husband is deserting me? He is going

to get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for? she

added, addressing Prince Vasli, and without waiting for an answer she

turned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Hlne.



What a delightful woman this little princess is! said Prince

Vasli to Anna Pvlovna.



One of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with

close-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable

at that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout

young man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezkhov, a well-known

grandee of Catherines time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young man

had not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he had only

just returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this was his

first appearance in society. Anna Pvlovna greeted him with the nod she

accorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of

this lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety and fear, as at the sight

of something too large and unsuited to the place, came over her face

when she saw Pierre enter. Though he was certainly rather bigger than

the other men in the room, her anxiety could only have reference to

the clever though shy, but observant and natural, expression which

distinguished him from everyone else in that drawing room.



It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poor

invalid, said Anna Pvlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her

aunt as she conducted him to her.



Pierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to look round as

if in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed to the little

princess with a pleased smile, as to an intimate acquaintance.



Anna Pvlovnas alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from the

aunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majestys health.

Anna Pvlovna in dismay detained him with the words Do you know the

Abb Morio? He is a most interesting man.



Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is very

interesting but hardly feasible.



You think so? rejoined Anna Pvlovna in order to say something

and get away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now

committed a reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a lady before

she had finished speaking to him, and now he continued to speak to

another who wished to get away. With his head bent, and his big feet

spread apart, he began explaining his reasons for thinking the abbs

plan chimerical.



We will talk of it later, said Anna Pvlovna with a smile.



And having got rid of this young man who did not know how to behave, she

resumed her duties as hostess and continued to listen and watch, ready

to help at any point where the conversation might happen to flag. As

the foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the hands to work, goes

round and notices here a spindle that has stopped or there one that

creaks or makes more noise than it should, and hastens to check the

machine or set it in proper motion, so Anna Pvlovna moved about her

drawing room, approaching now a silent, now a too-noisy group, and by a

word or slight rearrangement kept the conversational machine in steady,

proper, and regular motion. But amid these cares her anxiety about

Pierre was evident. She kept an anxious watch on him when he approached

the group round Mortemart to listen to what was being said there, and

again when he passed to another group whose center was the abb.



Pierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna

Pvlovnas was the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all

the intellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like a

child in a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of missing

any clever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the self-confident

and refined expression on the faces of those present he was always

expecting to hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio.

Here the conversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an

opportunity to express his own views, as young people are fond of doing.











CHAPTER III



Anna Pvlovnas reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed

steadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt,

beside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn face

was rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company had

settled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formed round

the abb. Another, of young people, was grouped round the beautiful

Princess Hlne, Prince Vaslis daughter, and the little Princess

Bolknskaya, very pretty and rosy, though rather too plump for her age.

The third group was gathered round Mortemart and Anna Pvlovna.



The vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features and polished

manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but out of

politeness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in

which he found himself. Anna Pvlovna was obviously serving him up as

a treat to her guests. As a clever matre dhtel serves up as a

specially choice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seen it in

the kitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pvlovna served up to

her guests, first the vicomte and then the abb, as peculiarly choice

morsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussing the

murder of the Duc dEnghien. The vicomte said that the Duc dEnghien

had perished by his own magnanimity, and that there were particular

reasons for Buonapartes hatred of him.



Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte, said Anna Pvlovna,

with a pleasant feeling that there was something  la Louis XV in the

sound of that sentence Contez nous ela, Vicomte.



The vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness to

comply. Anna Pvlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyone to

listen to his tale.



The vicomte knew the duc personally, whispered Anna Pvlovna to

one of the guests. The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur, said she

to another. How evidently he belongs to the best society, said she

to a third and the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicest

and most advantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beef

on a hot dish.



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



Come over here, Hlne, dear, said Anna Pvlovna to the

beautiful young princess who was sitting some way off, the center of

another group.



The princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile with which

she had first entered the roomthe smile of a perfectly beautiful

woman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmed with moss

and ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sparkling

diamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her, not looking

at any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing each the

privilege of admiring her beautiful figure and shapely shoulders,

back, and bosomwhich in the fashion of those days were very much

exposedand she seemed to bring the glamour of a ballroom with her as

she moved toward Anna Pvlovna. Hlne was so lovely that not only

did she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary she even

appeared shy of her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty. She

seemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish its effect.



How lovely! said everyone who saw her and the vicomte lifted his

shoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something extraordinary

when she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also with her

unchanging smile.



Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience, said he,

smilingly inclining his head.



The princess rested her bare round arm on a little table and considered

a reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time the story was

being told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful round arm,

altered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more

beautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond necklace. From time

to time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story

produced an effect she glanced at Anna Pvlovna, at once adopted just

the expression she saw on the maid of honors face, and again relapsed

into her radiant smile.



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



Wait a moment, Ill get my work.... Now then, what are you

thinking of? she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. Fetch me my

workbag.



There was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talking

merrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in her

seat.



Now I am all right, she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she

took up her work.



Prince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle and

moving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.



Le charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinary resemblance

to his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact that in spite of

this resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His features were like his

sisters, but while in her case everything was lit up by a joyous,

self-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation, and by the

wonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary

was dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of sullen

self-confidence, while his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and

mouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace, and his arms

and legs always fell into unnatural positions.



Its not going to be a ghost story? said he, sitting down beside

the princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this

instrument he could not begin to speak.



Why no, my dear fellow, said the astonished narrator, shrugging

his shoulders.



Because I hate ghost stories, said Prince Hippolyte in a tone

which showed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he

had uttered them.



He spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not be sure

whether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed in

a dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color of cuisse de nymphe

effraye, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings.



The vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, then current,

to the effect that the Duc dEnghien had gone secretly to Paris to

visit Mademoiselle George that at her house he came upon Bonaparte,

who also enjoyed the famous actress favors, and that in his presence

Napoleon happened to fall into one of the fainting fits to which he was

subject, and was thus at the ducs mercy. The latter spared him, and

this magnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death.



The story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point

where the rivals suddenly recognized one another and the ladies looked

agitated.



Charming! said Anna Pvlovna with an inquiring glance at the

little princess.



Charming! whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into

her work as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story

prevented her from going on with it.



The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefully

prepared to continue, but just then Anna Pvlovna, who had kept a

watchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that he was

talking too loudly and vehemently with the abb, so she hurried to the

rescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abb about

the balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested by the young

mans simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pet theory. Both

were talking and listening too eagerly and too naturally, which was why

Anna Pvlovna disapproved.



The means are ... the balance of power in Europe and the rights of

the people, the abb was saying. It is only necessary for one

powerful nation like Russiabarbaric as she is said to beto place

herself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its object

the maintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the

world!



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



At that moment Anna Pvlovna came up and, looking severely at Pierre,

asked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The Italians

face instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary

expression, evidently habitual to him when conversing with women.



I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the

society, more especially of the feminine society, in which I have had

the honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to think of

the climate, said he.



Not letting the abb and Pierre escape, Anna Pvlovna, the more

conveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the

larger circle.











CHAPTER IV



Just then another visitor entered the drawing room Prince Andrew

Bolknski, the little princess husband. He was a very handsome young

man, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Everything about

him, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step,

offered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was

evident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had

found them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to

them. And among all these faces that he found so tedious, none seemed

to bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. He turned away from

her with a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna

Pvlovnas hand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.



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



General Kutzov, said Bolknski, speaking French and stressing

the last syllable of the generals name like a Frenchman, has been

pleased to take me as an aide-de-camp....



And Lise, your wife?



She will go to the country.



Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?



Andr, said his wife, addressing her husband in the same

coquettish manner in which she spoke to other men, the vicomte has

been telling us such a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!



Prince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who from

the moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him with glad,

affectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before he looked round

Prince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyance with whoever was

touching his arm, but when he saw Pierres beaming face he gave him an

unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.



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

Pierre.



I knew you would be here, replied Pierre. I will come to supper

with you. May I? he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the

vicomte who was continuing his story.



No, impossible! said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing

Pierres hand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He

wished to say something more, but at that moment Prince Vasli and his

daughter got up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.



You must excuse me, dear Vicomte, said Prince Vasli to the

Frenchman, holding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent

his rising. This unfortunate fete at the ambassadors deprives me

of a pleasure, and obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave

your enchanting party, said he, turning to Anna Pvlovna.



His daughter, Princess Hlne, passed between the chairs, lightly

holding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still more

radiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her with rapturous,

almost frightened, eyes as she passed him.



Very lovely, said Prince Andrew.



Very, said Pierre.



In passing Prince Vasli seized Pierres hand and said to Anna

Pvlovna Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me

a whole month and this is the first time I have seen him in society.

Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the society of clever

women.





Anna Pvlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew his

father to be a connection of Prince Vaslis. The elderly lady who

had been sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince

Vasli in the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had assumed

had left her kindly and tear-worn face and it now expressed only anxiety

and fear.



How about my son Bors, Prince? said she, hurrying after him into

the anteroom. I cant remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what

news I may take back to my poor boy.



Although Prince Vasli listened reluctantly and not very politely

to the elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an

ingratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might not go

away.



What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he

would be transferred to the Guards at once? said she.



Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can, answered Prince

Vasli, but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should

advise you to appeal to Rumyntsev through Prince Goltsyn. That would

be the best way.



The elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskya, belonging to one of the

best families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out of

society had lost her former influential connections. She had now come to

Petersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son.

It was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasli that she had obtained an

invitation to Anna Pvlovnas reception and had sat listening to

the vicomtes story. Prince Vaslis words frightened her, an

embittered look clouded her once handsome face, but only for a moment

then she smiled again and clutched Prince Vaslis arm more tightly.



Listen to me, Prince, said she. I have never yet asked you

for anything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my

fathers friendship for you but now I entreat you for Gods sake to

do this for my sonand I shall always regard you as a benefactor,

she added hurriedly. No, dont be angry, but promise! I have asked

Goltsyn and he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were,

she said, trying to smile though tears were in her eyes.



Papa, we shall be late, said Princess Hlne, turning her

beautiful head and looking over her classically molded shoulder as she

stood waiting by the door.



Influence in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized

if it is to last. Prince Vasli knew this, and having once realized

that if he asked on behalf of all who begged of him, he would soon be

unable to ask for himself, he became chary of using his influence. But

in Princess Drubetskyas case he felt, after her second appeal,

something like qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was

quite true he had been indebted to her father for the first steps in

his career. Moreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of

those womenmostly motherswho, having once made up their minds,

will not rest until they have gained their end, and are prepared if

necessary to go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even

to make scenes. This last consideration moved him.



My dear Anna Mikhylovna, said he with his usual familiarity and

weariness of tone, it is almost impossible for me to do what you

ask but to prove my devotion to you and how I respect your fathers

memory, I will do the impossibleyour son shall be transferred to the

Guards. Here is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?



My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from youI knew your

kindness! He turned to go.



Waitjust a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards...

she faltered. You are on good terms with Michael Ilarinovich

Kutzov ... recommend Bors to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at

rest, and then...



Prince Vasli smiled.



No, I wont promise that. You dont know how Kutzov is pestered

since his appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that

all the Moscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as

adjutants.



No, but do promise! I wont 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 Kutzov, I dont promise.



Do promise, do promise, Vasli! cried Anna Mikhylovna as he

went, with the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably

came naturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face.



Apparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit employed

all the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone her face

resumed its former cold, artificial expression. She returned to the

group where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to

listen, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was

accomplished.











CHAPTER V



And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at

Milan? asked Anna Pvlovna, and of the comedy of the people of

Genoa and Lucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and

Monsieur Buonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of

the nations? Adorable! It is enough to make ones head whirl! It is as

if the whole world had gone crazy.



Prince Andrew looked Anna Pvlovna straight in the face with a

sarcastic smile.



Dieu me la donne, gare  qui la touche! * They say he was

very fine when he said that, he remarked, repeating the words in

Italian Dio mi lha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!



     * God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!



I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run

over, Anna Pvlovna continued. The sovereigns will not be able to

endure this man who is a menace to everything.



The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia, said the vicomte, polite

but hopeless The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis

XVII, for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing! and he became

more animated. And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their

betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending

ambassadors to compliment the usurper.



And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.



Prince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time

through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the

little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Cond

coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity

as if she had asked him to do it.



Bton de gueules, engrl de gueules dazurmaison Cond,

said he.



The princess listened, smiling.



If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer, the

vicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with which

he is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to others but

follows the current of his own thoughts, things will have gone too

far. By intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, French societyI

mean good French societywill have been forever destroyed, and

then....



He shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to

make a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pvlovna,

who had him under observation, interrupted



The Emperor Alexander, said she, with the melancholy which

always accompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family, has

declared that he will leave it to the French people themselves to choose

their own form of government and I believe that once free from the

usurper, the whole nation will certainly throw itself into the arms

of its rightful king, she concluded, trying to be amiable to the

royalist emigrant.



That is doubtful, said Prince Andrew. Monsieur le Vicomte quite

rightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think it will

be difficult to return to the old regime.



From what I have heard, said Pierre, blushing and breaking into

the conversation, almost all the aristocracy has already gone over to

Bonapartes side.



It is the Buonapartists who say that, replied the vicomte without

looking at Pierre. At the present time it is difficult to know the

real state of French public opinion.



Bonaparte has said so, remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic

smile.



It was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his

remarks at him, though without looking at him.



I showed them the path to glory, but they did not follow

it, Prince Andrew continued after a short silence, again quoting

Napoleons words. I opened my antechambers and they crowded

in. I do not know how far he was justified in saying so.



Not in the least, replied the vicomte. After the murder of the

duc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some

people, he went on, turning to Anna Pvlovna, he ever was a hero,

after the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and one

hero less on earth.



Before Anna Pvlovna and the others had time to smile their

appreciation of the vicomtes epigram, Pierre again broke into the

conversation, and though Anna Pvlovna felt sure he would say something

inappropriate, she was unable to stop him.



The execution of the Duc dEnghien, declared Monsieur Pierre,

was a political necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon

showed greatness of soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole

responsibility of that deed.



Dieu! Mon Dieu! muttered Anna Pvlovna in a terrified whisper.



What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows

greatness of soul? said the little princess, smiling and drawing her

work nearer to her.



Oh! Oh! exclaimed several voices.



Capital! said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping his

knee with the palm of his hand.



The vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly at his

audience over his spectacles and continued.



I say so, he continued desperately, because the Bourbons fled

from the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon alone

understood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the general good,

he could not stop short for the sake of one mans life.



Wont you come over to the other table? suggested Anna

Pvlovna.



But Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.



No, cried he, becoming more and more eager, Napoleon is great

because he rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses,

preserved all that was good in itequality of citizenship and freedom

of speech and of the pressand only for that reason did he obtain

power.



Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it to

commit murder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should have

called him a great man, remarked the vicomte.



He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he might

rid them of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a great

man. The Revolution was a grand thing! continued Monsieur Pierre,

betraying by this desperate and provocative proposition his extreme

youth and his wish to express all that was in his mind.



What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that...

But wont you come to this other table? repeated Anna Pvlovna.



Rousseaus Contrat Social, said the vicomte with a tolerant

smile.



I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas.



Yes ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide, again interjected an

ironical voice.



Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is most

important. What is important are the rights of man, emancipation from

prejudices, and equality of citizenship, and all these ideas Napoleon

has retained in full force.



Liberty and equality, said the vicomte contemptuously, as if at

last deciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words

were, high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Who does

not love liberty and equality? Even our Saviour preached liberty and

equality. Have people since the Revolution become happier? On the

contrary. We wanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it.



Prince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the

vicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment of

Pierres outburst Anna Pvlovna, despite her social experience, was

horror-struck. But when she saw that Pierres sacrilegious words

had not exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was

impossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in

a vigorous attack on the orator.



But, my dear Monsieur Pierre, said she, how do you explain the

fact of a great man executing a ducor even an ordinary man whois

innocent and untried?



I should like, said the vicomte, to ask how monsieur explains

the 18th Brumaire was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not

at all like the conduct of a great man!



And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible! said the

little princess, shrugging her shoulders.



Hes a low fellow, say what you will, remarked Prince Hippolyte.



Pierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled. His

smile was unlike the half-smile of other people. When he smiled,

his grave, even rather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by

anothera childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed to

ask forgiveness.



The vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearly that

this young Jacobin was not so terrible as his words suggested. All were

silent.



How do you expect him to answer you all at once? said Prince

Andrew. Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish

between his acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor.

So it seems to me.



Yes, yes, of course! Pierre chimed in, pleased at the arrival of

this reinforcement.



One must admit, continued Prince Andrew, that Napoleon as a man

was great on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffa where he

gave his hand to the plague-stricken but ... but there are other acts

which it is difficult to justify.



Prince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardness of

Pierres remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was time to

go.



Suddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone to attend,

and asking them all to be seated began



I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to it.

Excuse me, VicomteI must tell it in Russian or the point will be

lost.... And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russian

as a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia.

Everyone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their

attention to his story.



There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She must

have two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That was her

taste. And she had a ladys maid, also big. She said....



Here Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas with

difficulty.



She said.... Oh yes! She said, Girl, to the maid, put on a

livery, get up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make some

calls.



Here Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing long before his

audience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the narrator. Several

persons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pvlovna, did however

smile.



She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hat and

her long hair came down.... Here he could contain himself no

longer and went on, between gasps of laughter And the whole world

knew....



And so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he had told

it, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pvlovna and the

others appreciated Prince Hippolytes social tact in so agreeably

ending Pierres unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote

the conversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last

and next balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom, and when and

where.











CHAPTER VI



Having thanked Anna Pvlovna for her charming soiree, the guests began

to take their leave.



Pierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, with huge

red hands he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing

room and still less how to leave one that is, how to say something

particularly agreeable before going away. Besides this he was

absent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of his own, the

generals three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the plume,

till the general asked him to restore it. All his absent-mindedness and

inability to enter a room and converse in it was, however, redeemed by

his kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pvlovna turned toward

him and, with a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his

indiscretion, nodded and said I hope to see you again, but I also

hope you will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.



When she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but again everybody

saw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, Opinions are

opinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am. And

everyone, including Anna Pvlovna, felt this.



Prince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shoulders

to the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listened

indifferently to his wifes chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also

come into the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant

princess, and stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.



Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold, said the little princess,

taking leave of Anna Pvlovna. It is settled, she added in a low

voice.



Anna Pvlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match she

contemplated between Anatole and the little princess sister-in-law.



I rely on you, my dear, said Anna Pvlovna, also in a low tone.

Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au

revoir! and she left the hall.



Prince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face

close to her, began to whisper something.



Two footmen, the princess and his own, stood holding a shawl and

a cloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to

the French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of

understanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as usual

spoke smilingly and listened with a laugh.



I am very glad I did not go to the ambassadors, said Prince

Hippolyte so dull. It has been a delightful evening, has it

not? Delightful!



They say the ball will be very good, replied the princess, drawing

up her downy little lip. All the pretty women in society will be

there.



Not all, for you will not be there not all, said Prince Hippolyte

smiling joyfully and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he

even pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Either from

awkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) after the

shawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long time, as

though embracing her.



Still smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing at her

husband. Prince Andrews eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy did he

seem.



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



Prince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latest fashion

reached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran out into the porch

following the princess, whom a footman was helping into the carriage.



Princesse, au revoir, cried he, stumbling with his tongue as well

as with his feet.



The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the dark

carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber Prince Hippolyte, under

pretense of helping, was in everyones way.



Allow me, sir, said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold,

disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path.



I am expecting you, Pierre, said the same voice, but gently and

affectionately.



The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte

laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte

whom he had promised to take home.



Well, mon cher, said the vicomte, having seated himself beside

Hippolyte in the carriage, your little princess is very nice, very

nice indeed, quite French, and he kissed the tips of his fingers.

Hippolyte burst out laughing.



Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent airs,

continued the vicomte. I pity the poor husband, that little officer

who gives himself the airs of a monarch.



Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, And you were

saying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? One has to

know how to deal with them.



Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrews study like

one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took

from the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was Caesars

Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.



What have you done to Mlle Schrer? She will be quite ill now,

said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small white

hands.



Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eager

face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.



That abb is very interesting but he does not see the thing in the

right light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible butI do not

know how to express it ... not by a balance of political power....



It was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such abstract

conversation.



One cant everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, have

you at last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a

diplomatist? asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence.



Pierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under him.



Really, I dont yet know. I dont like either the one or the

other.



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



Pierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abb as tutor,

and had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow

his father dismissed the abb and said to the young man, Now go

to Petersburg, look round, and choose your profession. I will agree to

anything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasli, and here is money. Write

to me all about it, and I will help you in everything. Pierre had

already been choosing a career for three months, and had not decided

on anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking.

Pierre rubbed his forehead.



But he must be a Freemason, said he, referring to the abb whom

he had met that evening.



That is all nonsense. Prince Andrew again interrupted him, let

us talk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?



No, I have not but this is what I have been thinking and wanted

to tell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war for

freedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter the army

but to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world is

not right.



Prince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierres childish words.

He put on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply to such

nonsense, but it would in fact have been difficult to give any other

answer than the one Prince Andrew gave to this nave question.



If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no

wars, he said.



And that would be splendid, said Pierre.



Prince Andrew smiled ironically.



Very likely it would be splendid, but it will never come about....



Well, why are you going to the war? asked Pierre.



What for? I dont know. I must. Besides that I am going.... He

paused. I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit

me!











CHAPTER VII



The rustle of a womans dress was heard in the next room. Prince

Andrew shook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it

had had in Anna Pvlovnas drawing room. Pierre removed his feet from

the sofa. The princess came in. She had changed her gown for a house

dress as fresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and politely

placed a chair for her.



How is it, she began, as usual in French, settling down briskly

and fussily in the easy chair, how is it Annette never got married?

How stupid you men all are not to have married her! Excuse me for saying

so, but you have no sense about women. What an argumentative fellow you

are, Monsieur Pierre!



And I am still arguing with your husband. I cant understand why he

wants to go to the war, replied Pierre, addressing the princess

with none of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men in their

intercourse with young women.



The princess started. Evidently Pierres words touched her to the

quick.



Ah, that is just what I tell him! said she. I dont

understand it I dont in the least understand why men cant live

without wars. How is it that we women dont want anything of the kind,

dont need it? Now you shall judge between us. I always tell him Here

he is Uncles aide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so

well known, so much appreciated by everyone. The other day at the

Aprksins I heard a lady asking, Is that the famous Prince

Andrew? I did indeed. She laughed. He is so well received

everywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp to the Emperor. You know

the Emperor spoke to him most graciously. Annette and I were speaking of

how to arrange it. What do you think?



Pierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like the

conversation, gave no reply.



When are you starting? he asked.



Oh, dont speak of his going, dont! I wont hear it spoken

of, said the princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which

she had spoken to Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainly

ill-suited to the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member.

Today when I remembered that all these delightful associations

must be broken off ... and then you know, Andr... (she looked

significantly at her husband) Im afraid, Im afraid! she

whispered, and a shudder ran down her back.



Her husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides

Pierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in a tone of

frigid politeness.



What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I dont understand, said he.



There, what egotists men all are all, all egotists! Just for a whim

of his own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up alone

in the country.



With my father and sister, remember, said Prince Andrew gently.



Alone all the same, without my friends.... And he expects me not to

be afraid.



Her tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not a

joyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she

felt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the

gist of the matter lay in that.



I still cant understand what you are afraid of, said Prince

Andrew slowly, not taking his eyes off his wife.



The princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair.



No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have....



Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier, said Prince Andrew.

You had better go.



The princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered.

Prince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room.



Pierre looked over his spectacles with nave surprise, now at him and

now at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.



Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here? exclaimed the little

princess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful

grimace. I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed

so to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no

pity for me. Why is it?



Lise! was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed

an entreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself

regret her words. But she went on hurriedly



You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave

like that six months ago?



Lise, I beg you to desist, said Prince Andrew still more

emphatically.



Pierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to

all this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the

sight of tears and was ready to cry himself.



Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because.... I assure you

I myself have experienced ... and so ... because ... No, excuse me!

An outsider is out of place here.... No, dont distress yourself....

Good-by!



Prince Andrew caught him by the hand.



No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of

the pleasure of spending the evening with you.



No, he thinks only of himself, muttered the princess without

restraining her angry tears.



Lise! said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch

which indicates that patience is exhausted.



Suddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess pretty

face changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes

glanced askance at her husbands face, and her own assumed the timid,

deprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its

drooping tail.



Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! she muttered, and lifting her dress with one

hand she went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.



Good night, Lise, said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand

as he would have done to a stranger.











CHAPTER VIII



The friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierre

continually glanced at Prince Andrew Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead

with his small hand.



Let us go and have supper, he said with a sigh, going to the door.



They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room.

Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass bore

that imprint of newness found in the households of the newly married.

Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and,

with a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never before seen on

his face, began to talkas one who has long had something on his mind

and suddenly determines to speak out.



Never, never marry, my dear fellow! Thats my advice never marry

till you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of,

and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen

her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable

mistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothingor all that is

good and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Dont look at me with such surprise. If you marry

expecting anything from yourself in the future, you will feel at every

step that for you all is ended, all is closed except the drawing

room, where you will be ranged side by side with a court lackey and an

idiot!... But whats the good?... and he waved his arm.



Pierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and

the good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend

in amazement.



My wife, continued Prince Andrew, is an excellent woman, one

of those rare women with whom a mans honor is safe but, O God, what

would I not give now to be unmarried! You are the first and only one to

whom I mention this, because I like you.



As he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolknski

who had lolled in Anna Pvlovnas easy chairs and with half-closed

eyes had uttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his

thin face was now quivering with nervous excitement his eyes, in which

the fire of life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant

light. It was evident that the more lifeless he seemed at ordinary

times, the more impassioned he became in these moments of almost morbid

irritation.



You dont understand why I say this, he continued, but it is

the whole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career, said

he (though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte), but Bonaparte when

he worked went step by step toward his goal. He was free, he had nothing

but his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with

a woman and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! And all you

have of hope and strength merely weighs you down and torments you with

regret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, and trivialitythese are

the enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war,

the greatest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for

nothing. I am very amiable and have a caustic wit, continued Prince

Andrew, and at Anna Pvlovnas they listen to me. And that stupid

set without whom my wife cannot exist, and those women.... If you only

knew what those society women are, and women in general! My father is

right. Selfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everythingthats what

women are when you see them in their true colors! When you meet them

in society it seems as if there were something in them, but theres

nothing, nothing, nothing! No, dont marry, my dear fellow dont

marry! concluded Prince Andrew.



It seems funny to me, said Pierre, that you, you should

consider yourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You have

everything before you, everything. And you....



He did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he

thought of his friend and how much he expected of him in the future.



How can he talk like that? thought Pierre. He considered his

friend a model of perfection because Prince Andrew possessed in the

highest degree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and which might

be best described as strength of will. Pierre was always astonished at

Prince Andrews calm manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary

memory, his extensive reading (he had read everything, knew everything,

and had an opinion about everything), but above all at his capacity for

work and study. And if Pierre was often struck by Andrews lack

of capacity for philosophical meditation (to which he himself was

particularly addicted), he regarded even this not as a defect but as a

sign of strength.



Even in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of life, praise

and commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wheels

that they may run smoothly.



My part is played out, said Prince Andrew. Whats the use of

talking about me? Let us talk about you, he added after a silence,

smiling at his reassuring thoughts.



That smile was immediately reflected on Pierres face.



But what is there to say about me? said Pierre, his face relaxing

into a careless, merry smile. What am I? An illegitimate son!

He suddenly blushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made a great

effort to say this. Without a name and without means... And it

really... But he did not say what it really was. For the

present I am free and am all right. Only I havent the least idea what

I am to do I wanted to consult you seriously.



Prince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glancefriendly and

affectionate as it wasexpressed a sense of his own superiority.



I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man among our

whole set. Yes, youre all right! Choose what you will its all the

same. Youll be all right anywhere. But look here give up visiting

those Kurgins and leading that sort of life. It suits you so

badlyall this debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it!



What would you have, my dear fellow? answered Pierre, shrugging

his shoulders. Women, my dear fellow women!



I dont understand it, replied Prince Andrew. Women who are

comme il faut, thats a different matter but the Kurgins set of

women, women and wine I dont understand!



Pierre was staying at Prince Vasli Kurgins and sharing the

dissipated life of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to

reform by marrying him to Prince Andrews sister.



Do you know? said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy

thought, seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leading such

a life I cant decide or think properly about anything. Ones head

aches, and one spends all ones money. He asked me for tonight, but I

wont go.



You give me your word of honor not to go?



On my honor!











CHAPTER IX



It was past one oclock when Pierre left his friend. It was a

cloudless, northern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intending

to drive straight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the more he

felt the impossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light

enough to see a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like

morning or evening than night. On the way Pierre remembered that Anatole

Kurgin was expecting the usual set for cards that evening, after which

there was generally a drinking bout, finishing with visits of a kind

Pierre was very fond of.



I should like to go to Kurgins, thought he.



But he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to go

there. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired so

passionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to

that he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that his

promise to Prince Andrew was of no account, because before he gave it

he had already promised Prince Anatole to come to his gathering

besides, thought he, all such words of honor are

conventional things with no definite meaning, especially if

one considers that by tomorrow one may be dead, or something so

extraordinary may happen to one that honor and dishonor will be all the

same! Pierre often indulged in reflections of this sort, nullifying

all his decisions and intentions. He went to Kurgins.



Reaching the large house near the Horse Guards barracks, in which

Anatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs,

and went in at the open door. There was no one in the anteroom empty

bottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about there was a smell of

alcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in the distance.



Cards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet dispersed.

Pierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, in which were the

remains of supper. A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on

the sly what was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds of

laughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear, and

general commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously

round an open window. Three others were romping with a young bear, one

pulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others.



I bet a hundred on Stevens! shouted one.



Mind, no holding on! cried another.



I bet on Dlokhov! cried a third. Kurgin, you part our

hands.



There, leave Bruin alone heres a bet on.



At one draught, or he loses! shouted a fourth.



Jacob, bring a bottle! shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellow

who stood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his fine

linen shirt unfastened in front. Wait a bit, you fellows.... Here is

Ptya! Good man! cried he, addressing Pierre.



Another voice, from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes,

particularly striking among all these drunken voices by its sober

ring, cried from the window Come here part the bets! This was

Dlokhov, an officer of the Semnov regiment, a notorious gambler and

duelist, who was living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking about him

merrily.



I dont understand. Whats it all about?



Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here, said Anatole, and

taking a glass from the table he went up to Pierre.



First of all you must drink!



Pierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at

the tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening

to their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierres glass while

explaining that Dlokhov was betting with Stevens, an English naval

officer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge

of the third floor window with his legs hanging out.



Go on, you must drink it all, said Anatole, giving Pierre the last

glass, or I wont let you go!



No, I wont, said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up

to the window.



Dlokhov was holding the Englishmans hand and clearly and distinctly

repeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to

Anatole and Pierre.



Dlokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes. He

was about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache,

so that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly

seen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle

of the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm

lower one, and something like two distinct smiles played continually

round the two corners of the mouth this, together with the resolute,

insolent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect which made it

impossible not to notice his face. Dlokhov was a man of small means

and no connections. Yet, though Anatole spent tens of thousands of

rubles, Dlokhov lived with him and had placed himself on such a

footing that all who knew them, including Anatole himself, respected him

more than they did Anatole. Dlokhov could play all games and nearly

always won. However much he drank, he never lost his clearheadedness.

Both Kurgin and Dlokhov were at that time notorious among the rakes

and scapegraces of Petersburg.



The bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which prevented anyone

from sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by two footmen, who

were evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions and shouts of

the gentlemen around.



Anatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wanted to

smash something. Pushing away the footmen he tugged at the frame, but

could not move it. He smashed a pane.



You have a try, Hercules, said he, turning to Pierre.



Pierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the oak frame out with

a crash.



Take it right out, or theyll think Im holding on, said

Dlokhov.



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



First-rate, said Pierre, looking at Dlokhov, who with a bottle

of rum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of

the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.



Dlokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto the window

sill. Listen! cried he, standing there and addressing those in the

room. All were silent.



I bet fifty imperialshe spoke French that the Englishman might

understand him, but he did not speak it very wellI bet fifty

imperials ... or do you wish to make it a hundred? added he,

addressing the Englishman.



No, fifty, replied the latter.



All right. Fifty imperials ... that I will drink a whole bottle of

rum without taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window on this

spot (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside the window)

and without holding on to anything. Is that right?



Quite right, said the Englishman.



Anatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons

of his coat and looking down at himthe Englishman was shortbegan

repeating the terms of the wager to him in English.



Wait! cried Dlokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window

sill to attract attention. Wait a bit, Kurgin. Listen! If

anyone else does the same, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you

understand?



The Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to

accept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and though

he kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating

Dlokhovs words into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the

Life Guards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window

sill, leaned over, and looked down.



Oh! Oh! Oh! he muttered, looking down from the window at the

stones of the pavement.



Shut up! cried Dlokhov, pushing him away from the window. The

lad jumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.



Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach it easily,

Dlokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window and lowered

his legs. Pressing against both sides of the window, he adjusted himself

on his seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to the right and then to

the left, and took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and

placed them on the window sill, though it was already quite light.

Dlokhovs back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were lit

up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, the Englishman in

front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One man, older than the others

present, suddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted

to seize hold of Dlokhovs shirt.



I say, this is folly! Hell be killed, said this more sensible

man.



Anatole stopped him.



Dont touch him! Youll startle him and then hell be killed.

Eh?... What then?... Eh?



Dlokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands, arranged

himself on his seat.



If anyone comes meddling again, said he, emitting the words

separately through his thin compressed lips, I will throw him down

there. Now then!



Saying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle

and lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raised his free hand

to balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some

broken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the

window and from Dlokhovs back. Anatole stood erect with staring

eyes. The Englishman looked on sideways, pursing up his lips. The man

who had wished to stop the affair ran to a corner of the room and threw

himself on a sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, from

which a faint smile forgot to fade though his features now expressed

horror and fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes.

Dlokhov still sat in the same position, only his head was thrown

further back till his curly hair touched his shirt collar, and the hand

holding the bottle was lifted higher and higher and trembled with the

effort. The bottle was emptying perceptibly and rising still higher

and his head tilting yet further back. Why is it so long? thought

Pierre. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had elapsed.

Suddenly Dlokhov made a backward movement with his spine, and his arm

trembled nervously this was sufficient to cause his whole body to slip

as he sat on the sloping ledge. As he began slipping down, his head and

arm wavered still more with the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch

the window sill, but refrained from touching it. Pierre again covered

his eyes and thought he would never open them again. Suddenly he was

aware of a stir all around. He looked up Dlokhov was standing on the

window sill, with a pale but radiant face.



Its empty.



He threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dlokhov

jumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.



Well done!... Fine fellow!... Theres a bet for you!... Devil take

you! came from different sides.



The Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the money.

Dlokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the

window sill.



Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? Ill do the same thing!

he suddenly cried. Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a

bottle. Ill do it.... Bring a bottle!



Let him do it, let him do it, said Dlokhov, smiling.



What next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go

giddy even on a staircase, exclaimed several voices.



Ill drink it! Lets have a bottle of rum! shouted Pierre,

banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to

climb out of the window.



They seized him by his arms but he was so strong that everyone who

touched him was sent flying.



No, youll never manage him that way, said Anatole. Wait a

bit and Ill get round him.... Listen! Ill take your bet tomorrow,

but now we are all going to s.



Come on then, cried Pierre. Come on!... And well take Bruin

with us.



And he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from the ground,

and began dancing round the room with it.











CHAPTER X



Prince Vasli kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubetskya

who had spoken to him on behalf of her only son Bors on the evening of

Anna Pvlovnas soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an

exception made, and Bors transferred into the regiment of Semnov

Guards with the rank of cornet. He received, however, no appointment

to Kutzovs staff despite all Anna Mikhylovnas endeavors and

entreaties. Soon after Anna Pvlovnas reception Anna Mikhylovna

returned to Moscow and went straight to her rich relations, the

Rostvs, with whom she stayed when in the town and where her darling

Bry, who had only just entered a regiment of the line and was being

at once transferred to the Guards as a cornet, had been educated from

childhood and lived for years at a time. The Guards had already left

Petersburg on the tenth of August, and her son, who had remained in

Moscow for his equipment, was to join them on the march to Radzivlov.



It was St. Natalias day and the name day of two of the Rostvsthe

mother and the youngest daughterboth named Nataly. Ever since

the morning, carriages with six horses had been coming and going

continually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostvas big house on

the Povarskya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess herself and

her handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing room with the visitors

who came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in

relays.



The countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Oriental type

of face, evidently worn out with childbearingshe had had twelve.

A languor of motion and speech, resulting from weakness, gave her a

distinguished air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikhylovna

Drubetskya, who as a member of the household was also seated in the

drawing room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The young

people were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to

take part in receiving the visitors. The count met the guests and saw

them off, inviting them all to dinner.



I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher, or ma chrehe

called everyone without exception and without the slightest variation

in his tone, my dear, whether they were above or below him in

rankI thank you for myself and for our two dear ones whose name

day we are keeping. But mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended,

ma chre! On behalf of the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!

These words he repeated to everyone without exception or variation, and

with the same expression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven face, the

same firm pressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated bows. As

soon as he had seen a visitor off he returned to one of those who were

still in the drawing room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily

spreading out his legs and putting his hands on his knees with the air

of a man who enjoys life and knows how to live, he swayed to and

fro with dignity, offered surmises about the weather, or touched on

questions of health, sometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad but

self-confident French then again, like a man weary but unflinching in

the fulfillment of duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking

his scanty gray hairs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner.

Sometimes on his way back from the anteroom he would pass through the

conservatory and pantry into the large marble dining hall, where tables

were being set out for eighty people and looking at the footmen, who

were bringing in silver and china, moving tables, and unfolding damask

table linen, he would call Dmtri Vaslevich, a man of good family and

the manager of all his affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the

enormous table would say Well, Dmtri, youll see that things are

all as they should be? Thats right! The great thing is the serving,

thats it. And with a complacent sigh he would return to the

drawing room.



Mrya Lvvna Kargina and her daughter! announced the

countess gigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawing

room. The countess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold

snuffbox with her husbands portrait on it.



Im quite worn out by these callers. However, Ill see her and

no more. She is so affected. Ask her in, she said to the footman in a

sad voice, as if saying Very well, finish me off.



A tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced smiling

daughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling.



Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor child ...

at the Razumvskis ball ... and Countess Aprksina ... I was

so delighted... came the sounds of animated feminine voices,

interrupting one another and mingling with the rustling of dresses and

the scraping of chairs. Then one of those conversations began which last

out until, at the first pause, the guests rise with a rustle of dresses

and say, I am so delighted... Mammas health... and Countess

Aprksina... and then, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, put

on cloaks or mantles, and drive away. The conversation was on the chief

topic of the day the illness of the wealthy and celebrated beau of

Catherines day, Count Bezkhov, and about his illegitimate son

Pierre, the one who had behaved so improperly at Anna Pvlovnas

reception.



I am so sorry for the poor count, said the visitor. He is in

such bad health, and now this vexation about his son is enough to kill

him!



What is that? asked the countess as if she did not know what the

visitor alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause of

Count Bezkhovs distress some fifteen times.



Thats what comes of a modern education, exclaimed the visitor.

It seems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do

as he liked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible

things that he has been expelled by the police.



You dont say so! replied the countess.



He chose his friends badly, interposed Anna Mikhylovna.

Prince Vaslis son, he, and a certain Dlokhov have, it is said,

been up to heaven only knows what! And they have had to suffer for it.

Dlokhov has been degraded to the ranks and Bezkhovs son sent

back to Moscow. Anatole Kurgins father managed somehow to get his

sons affair hushed up, but even he was ordered out of Petersburg.



But what have they been up to? asked the countess.



They are regular brigands, especially Dlokhov, replied the

visitor. He is a son of Mrya Ivnovna Dlokhova, such a worthy

woman, but there, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere,

put it in a carriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The

police tried to interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied

a policeman and the bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka

Canal. And there was the bear swimming about with the policeman on his

back!



What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear! shouted

the count, dying with laughter.



Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count?



Yet the ladies themselves could not help laughing.



It was all they could do to rescue the poor man, continued the

visitor. And to think it is Cyril Vladmirovich Bezkhovs son

who amuses himself in this sensible manner! And he was said to be so

well educated and clever. This is all that his foreign education has

done for him! I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, in

spite of his money. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite

declined I have my daughters to consider.



Why do you say this young man is so rich? asked the countess,

turning away from the girls, who at once assumed an air of inattention.

His children are all illegitimate. I think Pierre also is

illegitimate.



The visitor made a gesture with her hand.



I should think he has a score of them.



Princess Anna Mikhylovna intervened in the conversation, evidently

wishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in

society.



The fact of the matter is, said she significantly, and also in a

half whisper, everyone knows Count Cyrils reputation.... He has

lost count of his children, but this Pierre was his favorite.



How handsome the old man still was only a year ago! remarked the

countess. I have never seen a handsomer man.



He is very much altered now, said Anna Mikhylovna. Well, as

I was saying, Prince Vasli is the next heir through his wife, but the

count is very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote to

the Emperor about him so that in the case of his deathand he is

so ill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has come from

Petersburgno one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre

or Prince Vasli. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles! I know

it all very well for Prince Vasli told me himself. Besides, Cyril

Vladmirovich is my mothers second cousin. Hes also my Brys

godfather, she added, as if she attached no importance at all to the

fact.



Prince Vasli arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come on

some inspection business, remarked the visitor.



Yes, but between ourselves, said the princess, that is a

pretext. The fact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladmirovich,

hearing how ill he is.



But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke, said the count

and seeing that the elder visitor was not listening, he turned to the

young ladies. I can just imagine what a funny figure that policeman

cut!



And as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form

again shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats

well and, in particular, drinks well. So do come and dine with us!

he said.











CHAPTER XI



Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably,

but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they

now rose and took their leave. The visitors daughter was already

smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when

suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls

running to the door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl

of thirteen, hiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock,

darted in and stopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident

that she had not intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in

the doorway appeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer

of the Guards, a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short

jacket.



The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide

and threw them round the little girl who had run in.



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

it is. My dear pet!



Ma chre, there is a time for everything, said the countess with

feigned severity. You spoil her, Ily, she added, turning to her

husband.



How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name

day, said the visitor. What a charming child, she added,

addressing the mother.



This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of lifewith

childish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her

bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs

in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slipperswas just at that

charming age when a girl is no longer a child, though the child is not

yet a young woman. Escaping from her father she ran to hide her flushed

face in the lace of her mothers mantillanot paying the least

attention to her severe remarkand began to laugh. She laughed, and in

fragmentary sentences tried to explain about a doll which she produced

from the folds of her frock.



Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see... was all Natsha

managed to utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leaned against

her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even

the prim visitor could not help joining in.



Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you, said the

mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning

to the visitor she added She is my youngest girl.



Natsha, raising her face for a moment from her mothers mantilla,

glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face.



The visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought it

necessary to take some part in it.



Tell me, my dear, said she to Natsha, is Mimi a relation of

yours? A daughter, I suppose?



Natsha did not like the visitors tone of condescension to childish

things. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.



Meanwhile the younger generation Bors, the officer, Anna

Mikhylovnas son Nicholas, the undergraduate, the counts eldest

son Snya, the counts fifteen-year-old niece, and little Ptya,

his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing room and were

obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement

and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms,

from which they had dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had

been more amusing than the drawing room talk of society scandals, the

weather, and Countess Aprksina. Now and then they glanced at one

another, hardly able to suppress their laughter.



The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood,

were of the same age and both handsome fellows, though not alike. Bors

was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate

features. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression.

Dark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face

expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered

the drawing room. He evidently tried to find something to say, but

failed. Bors on the contrary at once found his footing, and related

quietly and humorously how he had known that doll Mimi when she was

still quite a young lady, before her nose was broken how she had aged

during the five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked

right across the skull. Having said this he glanced at Natsha.

She turned away from him and glanced at her younger brother, who was

screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter, and unable

to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from the room as

fast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Bors did not laugh.



You were meaning to go out, werent you, Mamma? Do you want the

carriage? he asked his mother with a smile.



Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready, she answered,

returning his smile.



Bors quietly left the room and went in search of Natsha. The plump

boy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program had been

disturbed.











CHAPTER XII



The only young people remaining in the drawing room, not counting the

young lady visitor and the countess eldest daughter (who was four

years older than her sister and behaved already like a grown-up person),

were Nicholas and Snya, the niece. Snya was a slender little

brunette with a tender look in her eyes which were veiled by long

lashes, thick black plaits coiling twice round her head, and a tawny

tint in her complexion and especially in the color of her slender but

graceful and muscular arms and neck. By the grace of her movements,

by the softness and flexibility of her small limbs, and by a certain

coyness and reserve of manner, she reminded one of a pretty, half-grown

kitten which promises to become a beautiful little cat. She evidently

considered it proper to show an interest in the general conversation by

smiling, but in spite of herself her eyes under their thick long lashes

watched her cousin who was going to join the army, with such passionate

girlish adoration that her smile could not for a single instant impose

upon anyone, and it was clear that the kitten had settled down only to

spring up with more energy and again play with her cousin as soon as

they too could, like Natsha and Bors, escape from the drawing room.



Ah yes, my dear, said the count, addressing the visitor and

pointing to Nicholas, his friend Bors has become an officer, and

so for friendships sake he is leaving the university and me, his

old father, and entering the military service, my dear. And there was a

place and everything waiting for him in the Archives Department! Isnt

that friendship? remarked the count in an inquiring tone.



But they say that war has been declared, replied the visitor.



Theyve been saying so a long while, said the count, and

theyll say so again and again, and that will be the end of it. My

dear, theres friendship for you, he repeated. Hes joining

the hussars.



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



Its not at all from friendship, declared Nicholas, flaring

up and turning away as if from a shameful aspersion. It is not from

friendship at all I simply feel that the army is my vocation.



He glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor and they were both

regarding him with a smile of approbation.



Schubert, the colonel of the Pvlograd Hussars, is dining with us

today. He has been here on leave and is taking Nicholas back with him.

It cant be helped! said the count, shrugging his shoulders and

speaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him.



I have already told you, Papa, said his son, that if you

dont wish to let me go, Ill stay. But I know I am no use anywhere

except in the army I am not a diplomat or a government clerk.I

dont know how to hide what I feel. As he spoke he kept glancing

with the flirtatiousness of a handsome youth at Snya and the young

lady visitor.



The little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at any moment

to start her gambols again and display her kittenish nature.



All right, all right! said the old count. He always flares up!

This Buonaparte has turned all their heads they all think of how he

rose from an ensign and became Emperor. Well, well, God grant it, he

added, not noticing his visitors sarcastic smile.



The elders began talking about Bonaparte. Julie Kargina turned to

young Rostv.



What a pity you werent at the Arkhrovs on Thursday. It was so

dull without you, said she, giving him a tender smile.



The young man, flattered, sat down nearer to her with a coquettish

smile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential conversation

without at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed the heart

of Snya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst of his talk

he glanced round at her. She gave him a passionately angry glance, and

hardly able to restrain her tears and maintain the artificial smile

on her lips, she got up and left the room. All Nicholas animation

vanished. He waited for the first pause in the conversation, and then

with a distressed face left the room to find Snya.



How plainly all these young people wear their hearts on their

sleeves! said Anna Mikhylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went out.

Cousinagedangereux voisinage, * she added.



     * Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.



Yes, said the countess when the brightness these young people had

brought into the room had vanished and as if answering a question no

one had put but which was always in her mind, and how much suffering,

how much anxiety one has had to go through that we might rejoice in

them now! And yet really the anxiety is greater now than the joy. One is

always, always anxious! Especially just at this age, so dangerous both

for girls and boys.



It all depends on the bringing up, remarked the visitor.



Yes, youre quite right, continued the countess. Till now I

have always, thank God, been my childrens friend and had their full

confidence, said she, repeating the mistake of so many parents who

imagine that their children have no secrets from them. I know I shall

always be my daughters first confidante, and that if Nicholas, with

his impulsive nature, does get into mischief (a boy cant help it), he

will all the same never be like those Petersburg young men.



Yes, they are splendid, splendid youngsters, chimed in the count,

who always solved questions that seemed to him perplexing by deciding

that everything was splendid. Just fancy wants to be an hussar.

Whats one to do, my dear?



What a charming creature your younger girl is, said the visitor

a little volcano!



Yes, a regular volcano, said the count. Takes after me! And

what a voice she has though shes my daughter, I tell the truth

when I say shell be a singer, a second Salomoni! We have engaged an

Italian to give her lessons.



Isnt she too young? I have heard that it harms the voice to train

it at that age.



Oh no, not at all too young! replied the count. Why, our

mothers used to be married at twelve or thirteen.



And shes in love with Bors already. Just fancy! said the

countess with a gentle smile, looking at Bors and went on, evidently

concerned with a thought that always occupied her Now you see if I

were to be severe with her and to forbid it ... goodness knows what they

might be up to on the sly (she meant that they would be kissing),

but as it is, I know every word she utters. She will come running to

me of her own accord in the evening and tell me everything. Perhaps I

spoil her, but really that seems the best plan. With her elder sister I

was stricter.



Yes, I was brought up quite differently, remarked the handsome

elder daughter, Countess Vra, with a smile.



But the smile did not enhance Vras beauty as smiles generally do

on the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant,

expression. Vra was good-looking, not at all stupid, quick at

learning, was well brought up, and had a pleasant voice what she said

was true and appropriate, yet, strange to say, everyonethe visitors

and countess aliketurned to look at her as if wondering why she had

said it, and they all felt awkward.



People are always too clever with their eldest children and try to

make something exceptional of them, said the visitor.



Whats the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countess was too

clever with Vra, said the count. Well, what of that? Shes

turned out splendidly all the same, he added, winking at Vra.



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



What manners! I thought they would never go, said the countess,

when she had seen her guests out.











CHAPTER XIII



When Natsha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as the

conservatory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversation

in the drawing room, waiting for Bors to come out. She was already

growing impatient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his not coming

at once, when she heard the young mans discreet steps approaching

neither quickly nor slowly. At this Natsha dashed swiftly among the

flower tubs and hid there.



Bors paused in the middle of the room, looked round, brushed a little

dust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirror examined

his handsome face. Natsha, very still, peered out from her ambush,

waiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the

glass, smiled, and walked toward the other door. Natsha was about to

call him but changed her mind. Let him look for me, thought she.

Hardly had Bors gone than Snya, flushed, in tears, and muttering

angrily, came in at the other door. Natsha checked her first impulse

to run out to her, and remained in her hiding place, watchingas

under an invisible capto see what went on in the world. She was

experiencing a new and peculiar pleasure. Snya, muttering to herself,

kept looking round toward the drawing room door. It opened and Nicholas

came in.



Snya, what is the matter with you? How can you? said he, running

up to her.



Its nothing, nothing leave me alone! sobbed Snya.



Ah, I know what it is.



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



S-o-onya! Look here! How can you torture me and yourself like that,

for a mere fancy? said Nicholas taking her hand.



Snya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natsha, not stirring

and scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes.

What will happen now? thought she.



Snya! What is anyone in the world to me? You alone are

everything! said Nicholas. And I will prove it to you.



I dont like you to talk like that.



Well, then, I wont only forgive me, Snya! He drew her to him

and kissed her.



Oh, how nice, thought Natsha and when Snya and Nicholas had

gone out of the conservatory she followed and called Bors to her.



Bors, come here, said she with a sly and significant look. I

have something to tell you. Here, here! and she led him into the

conservatory to the place among the tubs where she had been hiding.



Bors followed her, smiling.



What is the something? asked he.



She grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown

down on one of the tubs, picked it up.



Kiss the doll, said she.



Bors looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did not

reply.



Dont you want to? Well, then, come here, said she, and

went further in among the plants and threw down the doll. Closer,

closer! she whispered.



She caught the young officer by his cuffs, and a look of solemnity and

fear appeared on her flushed face.



And me? Would you like to kiss me? she whispered almost inaudibly,

glancing up at him from under her brows, smiling, and almost crying from

excitement.



Bors blushed.



How funny you are! he said, bending down to her and blushing still

more, but he waited and did nothing.



Suddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so

that both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing

back her hair, kissed him full on the lips.



Then she slipped down among the flowerpots on the other side of the tubs

and stood, hanging her head.



Natsha, he said, you know that I love you, but....



You are in love with me? Natsha broke in.



Yes, I am, but please dont let us do like that.... In another four

years ... then I will ask for your hand.



Natsha considered.



Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, she counted on her slender

little fingers. All right! Then its settled?



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



Settled! replied Bors.



Forever? said the little girl. Till death itself?



She took his arm and with a happy face went with him into the adjoining

sitting room.











CHAPTER XIV



After receiving her visitors, the countess was so tired that she gave

orders to admit no more, but the porter was told to be sure to invite to

dinner all who came to congratulate. The countess wished to have

a tte--tte talk with the friend of her childhood, Princess Anna

Mikhylovna, whom she had not seen properly since she returned from

Petersburg. Anna Mikhylovna, with her tear-worn but pleasant face,

drew her chair nearer to that of the countess.



With you I will be quite frank, said Anna Mikhylovna. There

are not many left of us old friends! Thats why I so value your

friendship.



Anna Mikhylovna looked at Vra and paused. The countess pressed her

friends hand.



Vra, she said to her eldest daughter who was evidently not a

favorite, how is it you have so little tact? Dont you see you are

not wanted here? Go to the other girls, or...



The handsome Vra smiled contemptuously but did not seem at all hurt.



If you had told me sooner, Mamma, I would have gone, she replied

as she rose to go to her own room.



But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting,

one pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully. Snya was

sitting close to Nicholas who was copying out some verses for her, the

first he had ever written. Bors and Natsha were at the other window

and ceased talking when Vra entered. Snya and Natsha looked at

Vra 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 Vra.



How often have I asked you not to take my things? she said. You

have a room of your own, and she took the inkstand from Nicholas.



In a minute, in a minute, he said, dipping his pen.



You always manage to do things at the wrong time, continued Vra.

You came rushing into the drawing room so that everyone felt ashamed

of you.



Though what she said was quite just, perhaps for that very reason no one

replied, and the four simply looked at one another. She lingered in the

room with the inkstand in her hand.



And at your age what secrets can there be between Natsha and

Bors, or between you two? Its all nonsense!



Now, Vra, what does it matter to you? said Natsha in defense,

speaking very gently.



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

everyone.



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



All have secrets of their own, answered Natsha, getting warmer.

We dont interfere with you and Berg.



I should think not, said Vra, because there can never be

anything wrong in my behavior. But Ill just tell Mamma how you are

behaving with Bors.



Natlya Ilynchna behaves very well to me, remarked Bors. I

have nothing to complain of.



Dont, Bors! You are such a diplomat that it is really

tiresome, said Natsha in a mortified voice that trembled slightly.

(She used the word diplomat, which was just then much in vogue

among the children, in the special sense they attached to it.) Why

does she bother me? And she added, turning to Vra, Youll

never understand it, because youve never loved anyone. You have no

heart! You are a Madame de Genlis and nothing more (this nickname,

bestowed on Vra by Nicholas, was considered very stinging), and

your greatest pleasure is to be unpleasant to people! Go and flirt with

Berg as much as you please, she finished quickly.



I shall at any rate not run after a young man before visitors...



Well, now youve done what you wanted, put in Nicholassaid

unpleasant things to everyone and upset them. Lets go to the

nursery.



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



The unpleasant things were said to me, remarked Vra, I said

none to anyone.



Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis! shouted laughing voices

through the door.



The handsome Vra, who produced such an irritating and unpleasant

effect on everyone, smiled and, evidently unmoved by what had been

said to her, went to the looking glass and arranged her hair and scarf.

Looking at her own handsome face she seemed to become still colder and

calmer.





In the drawing room the conversation was still going on.



Ah, my dear, said the countess, my life is not all roses

either. Dont I know that at the rate we are living our means wont

last long? Its all the Club and his easygoing nature. Even in the

country do we get any rest? Theatricals, hunting, and heaven knows what

besides! But dont lets talk about me tell me how you managed

everything. I often wonder at you, Annettehow at your age you

can rush off alone in a carriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, to those

ministers and great people, and know how to deal with them all! Its

quite astonishing. How did you get things settled? I couldnt possibly

do it.



Ah, my love, answered Anna Mikhylovna, God grant you never

know what it is to be left a widow without means and with a son you love

to distraction! One learns many things then, she added with a certain

pride. That lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see one of those

big people I write a note Princess So-and-So desires an interview

with So and-So, and then I take a cab and go myself two, three, or

four timestill I get what I want. I dont mind what they think of

me.



Well, and to whom did you apply about Bry? asked the countess.

You see yours is already an officer in the Guards, while my Nicholas

is going as a cadet. Theres no one to interest himself for him. To

whom did you apply?



To Prince Vasli. He was so kind. He at once agreed to everything,

and put the matter before the Emperor, said Princess Anna

Mikhylovna enthusiastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation she

had endured to gain her end.



Has Prince Vasli aged much? asked the countess. I have not

seen him since we acted together at the Rumyntsovs theatricals. I

expect he has forgotten me. He paid me attentions in those days, said

the countess, with a smile.



He is just the same as ever, replied Anna Mikhylovna,

overflowing with amiability. His position has not turned his head

at all. He said to me, I am sorry I can do so little for you, dear

Princess. I am at your command. Yes, he is a fine fellow and a very

kind relation. But, Nataly, you know my love for my son I would do

anything for his happiness! And my affairs are in such a bad way that my

position is now a terrible one, continued Anna Mikhylovna, sadly,

dropping her voice. My wretched lawsuit takes all I have and makes no

progress. Would you believe it, I have literally not a penny and dont

know how to equip Bors. She took out her handkerchief and began to

cry. I need five hundred rubles, and have only one twenty-five-ruble

note. I am in such a state.... My only hope now is in Count Cyril

Vladmirovich Bezkhov. If he will not assist his godsonyou know

he is Brys godfatherand allow him something for his maintenance,

all my trouble will have been thrown away.... I shall not be able to

equip him.



The countess eyes filled with tears and she pondered in silence.



I often think, though, perhaps its a sin, said the princess,

that here lives Count Cyril Vladmirovich Bezkhov so rich, all

alone... that tremendous fortune... and what is his life worth? Its a

burden to him, and Brys life is only just beginning....



Surely he will leave something to Bors, said the countess.



Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so selfish.

Still, I will take Bors and go to see him at once, and I shall speak

to him straight out. Let people think what they will of me, its

really all the same to me when my sons fate is at stake. The

princess rose. Its now two oclock and you dine at four. There

will just be time.



And like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to make the most of

time, Anna Mikhylovna sent someone to call her son, and went into the

anteroom with him.



Good-by, my dear, said she to the countess who saw her to the

door, and added in a whisper so that her son should not hear, Wish me

good luck.



Are you going to Count Cyril Vladmirovich, my dear? said the

count coming out from the dining hall into the anteroom, and he added

If he is better, ask Pierre to dine with us. He has been to the

house, you know, and danced with the children. Be sure to invite him, my

dear. We will see how Tars distinguishes himself today. He says Count

Orlv never gave such a dinner as ours will be!











CHAPTER XV



My dear Bors, said Princess Anna Mikhylovna to her son as

Countess Rostvas carriage in which they were seated drove over the

straw covered street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count Cyril

Vladmirovich Bezkhovs house. My dear Bors, said the

mother, drawing her hand from beneath her old mantle and laying

it timidly and tenderly on her sons arm, be affectionate and

attentive to him. Count Cyril Vladmirovich is your godfather after

all, and your future depends on him. Remember that, my dear, and be nice

to him, as you so well know how to be.



If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would come of

it... answered her son coldly. But I have promised and will do it

for your sake.



Although the hall porter saw someones carriage standing at the

entrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son (who without asking to

be announced had passed straight through the glass porch between the

rows of statues in niches) and looking significantly at the ladys old

cloak, he asked whether they wanted the count or the princesses, and,

hearing that they wished to see the count, said his excellency was worse

today, and that his excellency was not receiving anyone.



We may as well go back, said the son in French.



My dear! exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand

on his arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him.



Bors said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother without taking

off his cloak.



My friend, said Anna Mikhylovna in gentle tones, addressing

the hall porter, I know Count Cyril Vladmirovich is very ill...

thats why I have come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him,

my friend... I only need see Prince Vasli Sergevich he is staying

here, is he not? Please announce me.



The hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, and turned

away.



Princess Drubetskya to see Prince Vasli Sergevich, he called

to a footman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and a swallow-tail coat,

who ran downstairs and looked over from the halfway landing.



The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress before a large

Venetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoes briskly

ascended the carpeted stairs.



My dear, she said to her son, once more stimulating him by a

touch, you promised me!



The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.



They entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led to the

apartments assigned to Prince Vasli.



Just as the mother and son, having reached the middle of the hall, were

about to ask their way of an elderly footman who had sprung up as they

entered, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned and Prince Vasli

came outwearing a velvet coat with a single star on his breast,

as was his custom when at hometaking leave of a good-looking,

dark-haired man. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.



Then it is certain? said the prince.



Prince, humanum est errare, * but... replied the doctor,

swallowing his rs, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French

accent.



     * To err is human.



Very well, very well...



Seeing Anna Mikhylovna and her son, Prince Vasli dismissed the

doctor with a bow and approached them silently and with a look of

inquiry. The son noticed that an expression of profound sorrow suddenly

clouded his mothers face, and he smiled slightly.



Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again! And how is our

dear invalid? said she, as though unaware of the cold offensive look

fixed on her.



Prince Vasli stared at her and at Bors questioningly and perplexed.

Bors bowed politely. Prince Vasli without acknowledging the bow

turned to Anna Mikhylovna, answering her query by a movement of the

head and lips indicating very little hope for the patient.



Is it possible? exclaimed Anna Mikhylovna. Oh, how awful!

It is terrible to think.... This is my son, she added, indicating

Bors. He wanted to thank you himself.



Bors bowed again politely.



Believe me, Prince, a mothers heart will never forget what you

have done for us.



I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear Anna

Mikhylovna, said Prince Vasli, arranging his lace frill, and in

tone and manner, here in Moscow to Anna Mikhylovna whom he had placed

under an obligation, assuming an air of much greater importance than he

had done in Petersburg at Anna Schrers reception.



Try to serve well and show yourself worthy, added he, addressing

Bors with severity. I am glad.... Are you here on leave? he went

on in his usual tone of indifference.



I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,

replied Bors, betraying neither annoyance at the princes brusque

manner nor a desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quietly

and respectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance.



Are you living with your mother?



I am living at Countess Rostvas, replied Bors, again

adding, your excellency.



That is, with Ily Rostv who married Nataly Shinshin, said

Anna Mikhylovna.



I know, I know, answered Prince Vasli in his monotonous voice.

I never could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry that

unlicked bear! A perfectly absurd and stupid fellow, and a gambler too,

I am told.



But a very kind man, Prince, said Anna Mikhylovna with a

pathetic smile, as though she too knew that Count Rostv deserved this

censure, but asked him not to be too hard on the poor old man. What

do the doctors say? asked the princess after a pause, her worn face

again expressing deep sorrow.



They give little hope, replied the prince.



And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to me

and Bors. He is his godson, she added, her tone suggesting that

this fact ought to give Prince Vasli much satisfaction.



Prince Vasli became thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikhylovna saw that

he was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezkhovs fortune,

and hastened to reassure him.



If it were not for my sincere affection and devotion to Uncle,

said she, uttering the word with peculiar assurance and unconcern, I

know his character noble, upright ... but you see he has no one with

him except the young princesses.... They are still young.... She bent

her head and continued in a whisper Has he performed his final duty,

Prince? How priceless are those last moments! It can make things no

worse, and it is absolutely necessary to prepare him if he is so ill.

We women, Prince, and she smiled tenderly, always know how to say

these things. I absolutely must see him, however painful it may be for

me. I am used to suffering.



Evidently the prince understood her, and also understood, as he had done

at Anna Pvlovnas, that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna

Mikhylovna.



Would not such a meeting be too trying for him, dear Anna

Mikhylovna? said he. Let us wait until evening. The doctors are

expecting a crisis.



But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment! Consider that the

welfare of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful the duties of a

Christian...



A door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of the princesses, the

counts niece, entered with a cold, stern face. The length of her

body was strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. Prince Vasli

turned to her.



Well, how is he?



Still the same but what can you expect, this noise... said the

princess, looking at Anna Mikhylovna as at a stranger.



Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you, said Anna Mikhylovna with a

happy smile, ambling lightly up to the counts niece. I have come,

and am at your service to help you nurse my uncle. I imagine what you

have gone through, and she sympathetically turned up her eyes.



The princess gave no reply and did not even smile, but left the room as

Anna Mikhylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the position she

had conquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasli to

take a seat beside her.



Bors, she said to her son with a smile, I shall go in to see

the count, my uncle but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile

and dont forget to give him the Rostvs invitation. They ask him

to dinner. I suppose he wont go? she continued, turning to the

prince.



On the contrary, replied the prince, who had plainly become

depressed, I shall be only too glad if you relieve me of that young

man.... Here he is, and the count has not once asked for him.



He shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted Bors down one flight of

stairs and up another, to Pierres rooms.











CHAPTER XVI



Pierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself in

Petersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous conduct and

sent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostvs was true.

Pierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had now been

for some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at his fathers

house. Though he expected that the story of his escapade would be

already known in Moscow and that the ladies about his fatherwho were

never favorably disposed toward himwould have used it to turn the

count against him, he nevertheless on the day of his arrival went to

his fathers part of the house. Entering the drawing room, where the

princesses spent most of their time, he greeted the ladies, two of whom

were sitting at embroidery frames while a third read aloud. It was the

eldest who was readingthe one who had met Anna Mikhylovna. The

two younger ones were embroidering both were rosy and pretty and they

differed only in that one had a little mole on her lip which made her

much prettier. Pierre was received as if he were a corpse or a leper.

The eldest princess paused in her reading and silently stared at him

with frightened eyes the second assumed precisely the same expression

while the youngest, the one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and

lively disposition, bent over her frame to hide a smile probably evoked

by the amusing scene she foresaw. She drew her wool down through the

canvas and, scarcely able to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying

to make out the pattern.



How do you do, cousin? said Pierre. You dont recognize

me?



I recognize you only too well, too well.



How is the count? Can I see him? asked Pierre, awkwardly as usual,

but unabashed.



The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparently you

have done your best to increase his mental sufferings.



Can I see the count? Pierre again asked.



Hm.... If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see

him... Olga, go and see whether Uncles beef tea is readyit is

almost time, she added, giving Pierre to understand that they were

busy, and busy making his father comfortable, while evidently he,

Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance.



Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters then he bowed and

said Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see

him.



And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the

sister with the mole.



Next day Prince Vasli had arrived and settled in the counts house.

He sent for Pierre and said to him My dear fellow, if you are going

to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end very badly that

is all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill, and you must

not see him at all.



Since then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the whole time in

his rooms upstairs.



When Bors appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down his room,

stopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures at the wall,

as if running a sword through an invisible foe, and glaring savagely

over his spectacles, and then again resuming his walk, muttering

indistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating.



England is done for, said he, scowling and pointing his finger

at someone unseen. Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the

rights of man, is sentenced to... But before Pierrewho at that

moment imagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have just

effected the dangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and captured

Londoncould pronounce Pitts sentence, he saw a well-built and

handsome young officer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had left

Moscow when Bors was a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgotten him,

but in his usual impulsive and hearty way he took Bors by the hand

with a friendly smile.



Do you remember me? asked Bors quietly with a pleasant smile.

I have come with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is not

well.



Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always disturbing him,

answered Pierre, trying to remember who this young man was.



Bors felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider

it necessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the least

embarrassment looked Pierre straight in the face.



Count Rostv asks you to come to dinner today, said he, after a

considerable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.



Ah, Count Rostv! exclaimed Pierre joyfully. Then you are his

son, Ily? Only fancy, I didnt know you at first. Do you remember

how we went to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot?... Its such an

age...



You are mistaken, said Bors deliberately, with a bold and

slightly sarcastic smile. I am Bors, son of Princess Anna

Mikhylovna Drubetskya. Rostv, the father, is Ily, and his son is

Nicholas. I never knew any Madame Jacquot.



Pierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosquitoes or bees.



Oh dear, what am I thinking about? Ive mixed everything up. One

has so many relatives in Moscow! So you are Bors? Of course. Well, now

we know where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogne expedition?

The English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets across the

Channel. I think the expedition is quite feasible. If only Villeneuve

doesnt make a mess of things!



Bors knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition he did not read the

papers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuves name.



We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandal

than with politics, said he in his quiet ironical tone. I know

nothing about it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busy

with gossip, he continued. Just now they are talking about you and

your father.



Pierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for his companions

sake that the latter might say something he would afterwards regret.

But Bors spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly, looking straight into

Pierres eyes.



Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip, Bors went on.

Everybody is wondering to whom the count will leave his fortune,

though he may perhaps outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he will...



Yes, it is all very horrid, interrupted Pierre, very horrid.



Pierre was still afraid that this officer might inadvertently say

something disconcerting to himself.



And it must seem to you, said Bors flushing slightly, but not

changing his tone or attitude, it must seem to you that everyone is

trying to get something out of the rich man?



So it does, thought Pierre.



But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are

quite mistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We are

very poor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason that

your father is rich, I dont regard myself as a relation of his, and

neither I nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him.



For a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, he jumped

up from the sofa, seized Bors under the elbow in his quick, clumsy

way, and, blushing far more than Bors, began to speak with a feeling

of mingled shame and vexation.



Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could think?... I know

very well...



But Bors again interrupted him.



I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps you did not like it? You

must excuse me, said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of being put

at ease by him, but I hope I have not offended you. I always make it

a rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to take? Will you come to

dinner at the Rostvs?



And Bors, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous duty and

extricated himself from an awkward situation and placed another in it,

became quite pleasant again.



No, but I say, said Pierre, calming down, you are a wonderful

fellow! What you have just said is good, very good. Of course you

dont know me. We have not met for such a long time... not since we

were children. You might think that I... I understand, quite understand.

I could not have done it myself, I should not have had the courage, but

its splendid. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Its

queer, he added after a pause, that you should have suspected

me! He began to laugh. Well, what of it! I hope well get better

acquainted, and he pressed Bors hand. Do you know, I have not

once been in to see the count. He has not sent for me.... I am sorry for

him as a man, but what can one do?



And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across? asked

Bors with a smile.



Pierre saw that Bors wished to change the subject, and being of the

same mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages of the

Boulogne expedition.



A footman came in to summon Borsthe princess was going. Pierre, in

order to make Bors better acquaintance, promised to come to dinner,

and warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over his spectacles

into Bors eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacing up and

down the room for a long time, no longer piercing an imaginary foe with

his imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembrance of that pleasant,

intelligent, and resolute young man.



As often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads a lonely

life, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made up

his mind that they would be friends.



Prince Vasli saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to her eyes

and her face was tearful.



It is dreadful, dreadful! she was saying, but cost me what it

may I shall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not be

left like this. Every moment is precious. I cant think why his nieces

put it off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to prepare him!...

Adieu, Prince! May God support you...



Adieu, ma bonne, answered Prince Vasli turning away from her.



Oh, he is in a dreadful state, said the mother to her son when

they were in the carriage. He hardly recognizes anybody.



I dont understand, Mammawhat is his attitude to Pierre?

asked the son.



The will will show that, my dear our fate also depends on it.



But why do you expect that he will leave us anything?



Ah, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor!



Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, Mamma...



Oh, Heaven! How ill he is! exclaimed the mother.











CHAPTER XVII



After Anna Mikhylovna had driven off with her son to visit Count Cyril

Vladmirovich Bezkhov, Countess Rostva sat for a long time all

alone applying her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang.



What is the matter with you, my dear? she said crossly to the maid

who kept her waiting some minutes. Dont you wish to serve me? Then

Ill find you another place.



The countess was upset by her friends sorrow and humiliating poverty,

and was therefore out of sorts, a state of mind which with her always

found expression in calling her maid my dear and speaking to her

with exaggerated politeness.



I am very sorry, maam, answered the maid.



Ask the count to come to me.



The count came waddling in to see his wife with a rather guilty look as

usual.



Well, little countess? What a saut of game au madre we are to

have, my dear! I tasted it. The thousand rubles I paid for Tars were

not ill-spent. He is worth it!



He sat down by his wife, his elbows on his knees and his hands ruffling

his gray hair.



What are your commands, little countess?



You see, my dear... Whats that mess? she said, pointing to his

waistcoat. Its the saut, most likely, she added with a smile.

Well, you see, Count, I want some money.



Her face became sad.



Oh, little countess! ... and the count began bustling to get out

his pocketbook.



I want a great deal, Count! I want five hundred rubles, and taking

out her cambric handkerchief she began wiping her husbands waistcoat.



Yes, immediately, immediately! Hey, whos there? he called out

in a tone only used by persons who are certain that those they call will

rush to obey the summons. Send Dmtri to me!



Dmtri, a man of good family who had been brought up in the counts

house and now managed all his affairs, stepped softly into the room.



This is what I want, my dear fellow, said the count to the

deferential young man who had entered. Bring me... he reflected

a moment, yes, bring me seven hundred rubles, yes! But mind, dont

bring me such tattered and dirty notes as last time, but nice clean ones

for the countess.



Yes, Dmtri, clean ones, please, said the countess, sighing

deeply.



When would you like them, your excellency? asked Dmtri. Allow

me to inform you... But, dont be uneasy, he added, noticing that

the count was beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which was always

a sign of approaching anger. I was forgetting... Do you wish it

brought at once?



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



What a treasure that Dmtri is, added the count with a smile when

the young man had departed. There is never any impossible with

him. Thats a thing I hate! Everything is possible.



Ah, money, Count, money! How much sorrow it causes in the world,

said the countess. But I am in great need of this sum.



You, my little countess, are a notorious spendthrift, said the

count, and having kissed his wifes hand he went back to his study.



When Anna Mikhylovna returned from Count Bezkhovs the money, all

in clean notes, was lying ready under a handkerchief on the countess

little table, and Anna Mikhylovna noticed that something was agitating

her.



Well, my dear? asked the countess.



Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One would not know him, he is so

ill! I was only there a few moments and hardly said a word...



Annette, for heavens sake dont 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 Mikhylovna instantly guessed her intention and stooped to be

ready to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.



This is for Bors from me, for his outfit.



Anna Mikhylovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countess

wept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they were

kindhearted, and because theyfriends from childhoodhad to think

about such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over....

But those tears were pleasant to them both.











CHAPTER XVIII



Countess Rostva, with her daughters and a large number of guests, was

already seated in the drawing room. The count took the gentlemen into

his study and showed them his choice collection of Turkish pipes. From

time to time he went out to ask Hasnt she come yet? They

were expecting Mrya Dmtrievna Akhrosmova, known in society as le

terrible dragon, a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, but for

common sense and frank plainness of speech. Mrya Dmtrievna was known

to the Imperial family as well as to all Moscow and Petersburg, and both

cities wondered at her, laughed privately at her rudenesses, and told

good stories about her, while none the less all without exception

respected and feared her.



In the counts room, which was full of tobacco smoke, they talked

of the war that had been announced in a manifesto, and about the

recruiting. None of them had yet seen the manifesto, but they all knew

it had appeared. The count sat on the sofa between two guests who were

smoking and talking. He neither smoked nor talked, but bending his head

first to one side and then to the other watched the smokers with evident

pleasure and listened to the conversation of his two neighbors, whom he

egged on against each other.



One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled

face, already growing old, though he was dressed like a most fashionable

young man. He sat with his legs up on the sofa as if quite at home and,

having stuck an amber mouthpiece far into his mouth, was inhaling the

smoke spasmodically and screwing up his eyes. This was an old bachelor,

Shinshn, a cousin of the countess, a man with a sharp tongue

as they said in Moscow society. He seemed to be condescending to

his companion. The latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards,

irreproachably washed, brushed, and buttoned, held his pipe in the

middle of his mouth and with red lips gently inhaled the smoke, letting

it escape from his handsome mouth in rings. This was Lieutenant Berg, an

officer in the Semnov regiment with whom Bors was to travel to join

the army, and about whom Natsha had teased her elder sister Vra,

speaking of Berg as her intended. The count sat between them and

listened attentively. His favorite occupation when not playing boston, a

card game he was very fond of, was that of listener, especially when he

succeeded in setting two loquacious talkers at one another.



Well, then, old chap, mon trs honorable Alphonse Krlovich,

said Shinshn, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinary Russian

expressions with the choicest French phraseswhich was a peculiarity

of his speech. Vous comptez vous faire des rentes sur ltat *

you want to make something out of your company?



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



No, Peter Nikolevich I only want to show that in the cavalry

the advantages are far less than in the infantry. Just consider my own

position now, Peter Nikolevich...



Berg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision. His

conversation always related entirely to himself he would remain calm

and silent when the talk related to any topic that had no direct bearing

on himself. He could remain silent for hours without being at all put

out of countenance himself or making others uncomfortable, but as

soon as the conversation concerned himself he would begin to talk

circumstantially and with evident satisfaction.



Consider my position, Peter Nikolevich. Were I in the cavalry I

should get not more than two hundred rubles every four months, even

with the rank of lieutenant but as it is I receive two hundred and

thirty, said he, looking at Shinshn and the count with a joyful,

pleasant smile, as if it were obvious to him that his success must

always be the chief desire of everyone else.



Besides that, Peter Nikolevich, by exchanging into the Guards

I shall be in a more prominent position, continued Berg, and

vacancies occur much more frequently in the Foot Guards. Then just think

what can be done with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even manage to

put a little aside and to send something to my father, he went on,

emitting a smoke ring.



La balance y est... * A German knows how to skin a flint, as the

proverb says, remarked Shinshn, moving his pipe to the other side

of his mouth and winking at the count.



      * So that squares matters.



The count burst out laughing. The other guests seeing that Shinshn

was talking came up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony or indifference,

continued to explain how by exchanging into the Guards he had already

gained a step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps how in wartime

the company commander might get killed and he, as senior in the company,

might easily succeed to the post how popular he was with everyone in

the regiment, and how satisfied his father was with him. Berg evidently

enjoyed narrating all this, and did not seem to suspect that others,

too, might have their own interests. But all he said was so prettily

sedate, and the navet of his youthful egotism was so obvious, that

he disarmed his hearers.



Well, my boy, youll get along wherever you gofoot or

horsethat Ill warrant, said Shinshn, patting him on the

shoulder and taking his feet off the sofa.



Berg smiled joyously. The count, followed by his guests, went into the

drawing room.



It was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembled guests,

expecting the summons to zakska, * avoid engaging in any long

conversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, in order

to show that they are not at all impatient for their food. The host and

hostess look toward the door, and now and then glance at one another,

and the visitors try to guess from these glances who, or what, they are

waiting forsome important relation who has not yet arrived, or a dish

that is not yet ready.



     * Hors doeuvres.



Pierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly in the

middle of the drawing room on the first chair he had come across,

blocking the way for everyone. The countess tried to make him talk,

but he went on navely looking around through his spectacles as if in

search of somebody and answered all her questions in monosyllables. He

was in the way and was the only one who did not notice the fact. Most of

the guests, knowing of the affair with the bear, looked with curiosity

at this big, stout, quiet man, wondering how such a clumsy, modest

fellow could have played such a prank on a policeman.



You have only lately arrived? the countess asked him.



Oui, madame, replied he, looking around him.



You have not yet seen my husband?



Non, madame. He smiled quite inappropriately.



You have been in Paris recently, I believe? I suppose its very

interesting.



Very interesting.



The countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikhylovna. The latter

understood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, and

sitting down beside him she began to speak about his father but he

answered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables. The other

guests were all conversing with one another. The Razumvskis... It

was charming... You are very kind... Countess Aprksina... was heard

on all sides. The countess rose and went into the ballroom.



Mrya Dmtrievna? came her voice from there.



Herself, came the answer in a rough voice, and Mrya Dmtrievna

entered the room.



All the unmarried ladies and even the married ones except the very

oldest rose. Mrya Dmtrievna paused at the door. Tall and stout,

holding high her fifty-year-old head with its gray curls, she stood

surveying the guests, and leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as if

rolling them up. Mrya Dmtrievna always spoke in Russian.



Health and happiness to her whose name day we are keeping and to her

children, she said, in her loud, full-toned voice which drowned all

others. Well, you old sinner, she went on, turning to the count

who was kissing her hand, youre feeling dull in Moscow, I daresay?

Nowhere to hunt with your dogs? But what is to be done, old man? Just

see how these nestlings are growing up, and she pointed to the girls.

You must look for husbands for them whether you like it or not....



Well, said she, hows my Cossack? (Mrya Dmtrievna

always called Natsha a Cossack) and she stroked the childs arm as

she came up fearless and gay to kiss her hand. I know shes a scamp

of a girl, but I like her.



She took a pair of pear-shaped ruby earrings from her huge reticule and,

having given them to the rosy Natsha, who beamed with the pleasure

of her saints-day fete, turned away at once and addressed herself to

Pierre.



Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit, said she, assuming a soft high

tone of voice. Come here, my friend... and she ominously tucked

up her sleeves still higher. Pierre approached, looking at her in a

childlike way through his spectacles.



Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only one to tell

your father the truth when he was in favor, and in your case its my

evident duty. She paused. All were silent, expectant of what was to

follow, for this was clearly only a prelude.



A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies on his deathbed

and he amuses himself setting a policeman astride a bear! For shame,

sir, for shame! It would be better if you went to the war.



She turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could hardly keep

from laughing.



Well, I suppose it is time we were at table? said Mrya

Dmtrievna.



The count went in first with Mrya Dmtrievna, the countess followed

on the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of importance to them because

Nicholas was to go with him to the regiment then came Anna Mikhylovna

with Shinshn. Berg gave his arm to Vra. The smiling Julie Kargina

went in with Nicholas. After them other couples followed, filling the

whole dining hall, and last of all the children, tutors, and governesses

followed singly. The footmen began moving about, chairs scraped, the

band struck up in the gallery, and the guests settled down in their

places. Then the strains of the counts household band were replaced

by the clatter of knives and forks, the voices of visitors, and the

soft steps of the footmen. At one end of the table sat the countess with

Mrya Dmtrievna on her right and Anna Mikhylovna on her left, the

other lady visitors were farther down. At the other end sat the count,

with the hussar colonel on his left and Shinshn and the other male

visitors on his right. Midway down the long table on one side sat the

grown-up young people Vra beside Berg, and Pierre beside Bors and

on the other side, the children, tutors, and governesses. From behind

the crystal decanters and fruit vases, the count kept glancing at his

wife and her tall cap with its light-blue ribbons, and busily filled

his neighbors glasses, not neglecting his own. The countess in turn,

without omitting her duties as hostess, threw significant glances from

behind the pineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed

by their redness to contrast more than usual with his gray hair. At the

ladies end an even chatter of voices was heard all the time, at the

mens end the voices sounded louder and louder, especially that of the

colonel of hussars who, growing more and more flushed, ate and drank so

much that the count held him up as a pattern to the other guests. Berg

with tender smiles was saying to Vra that love is not an earthly but

a heavenly feeling. Bors was telling his new friend Pierre who the

guests were and exchanging glances with Natsha, who was sitting

opposite. Pierre spoke little but examined the new faces, and ate a

great deal. Of the two soups he chose turtle with savory patties and

went on to the game without omitting a single dish or one of the wines.

These latter the butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped in a

napkin, from behind the next mans shoulders and whispered Dry

Madeira... Hungarian... or Rhine wine as the case might

be. Of the four crystal glasses engraved with the counts monogram

that stood before his plate, Pierre held out one at random and drank

with enjoyment, gazing with ever-increasing amiability at the other

guests. Natsha, who sat opposite, was looking at Bors as girls of

thirteen look at the boy they are in love with and have just kissed for

the first time. Sometimes that same look fell on Pierre, and that funny

lively little girls look made him inclined to laugh without knowing

why.



Nicholas sat at some distance from Snya, beside Julie Kargina, to

whom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile. Snya wore

a company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy now she turned

pale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear what Nicholas

and Julie were saying to one another. The governess kept looking round

uneasily as if preparing to resent any slight that might be put upon the

children. The German tutor was trying to remember all the dishes, wines,

and kinds of dessert, in order to send a full description of the dinner

to his people in Germany and he felt greatly offended when the butler

with a bottle wrapped in a napkin passed him by. He frowned, trying to

appear as if he did not want any of that wine, but was mortified because

no one would understand that it was not to quench his thirst or from

greediness that he wanted it, but simply from a conscientious desire for

knowledge.











CHAPTER XIX



At the mens end of the table the talk grew more and more animated.

The colonel told them that the declaration of war had already appeared

in Petersburg and that a copy, which he had himself seen, had that day

been forwarded by courier to the commander in chief.



And why the deuce are we going to fight Bonaparte? remarked

Shinshn. He has stopped Austrias cackle and I fear it will be

our turn next.



The colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric German, evidently devoted to

the service and patriotically Russian. He resented Shinshns remark.



It is for the reasson, my goot sir, said he, speaking with a

German accent, for the reasson zat ze Emperor knows zat. He

declares in ze manifessto zat he cannot fiew wiz indifference ze danger

vreatening Russia and zat ze safety and dignity of ze Empire as vell

as ze sanctity of its alliances... he spoke this last word with

particular emphasis as if in it lay the gist of the matter.



Then with the unerring official memory that characterized him he

repeated from the opening words of the manifesto



... and the wish, which constitutes the Emperors sole and absolute

aimto establish peace in Europe on firm foundationshas now decided

him to despatch part of the army abroad and to create a new condition

for the attainment of that purpose.



Zat, my dear sir, is vy... he concluded, drinking a tumbler of

wine with dignity and looking to the count for approval.



Connaissez-vous le Proverbe* Jerome, Jerome, do not roam, but

turn spindles at home!? said Shinshn, puckering his brows and

smiling. Cela nous convient  merveille.*(2) Suvrov nowhe knew

what he was about yet they beat him  plate couture,*(3) and where

are we to find Suvrovs now? Je vous demande un peu, *(4) said he,

continually changing from French to Russian.



     *Do you know the proverb?



     *(2) That suits us down to the ground.



     *(3) Hollow.



     *(4) I just ask you that.



Ve must vight to the last tr-r-op of our plood! said the colonel,

thumping the table and ve must tie for our Emperor, and zen all vill

pe vell. And ve must discuss it as little as po-o-ossible... he dwelt

particularly on the word possible... as po-o-ossible, he ended,

again turning to the count. Zat is how ve old hussars look at it, and

zeres an end of it! And how do you, a young man and a young hussar,

how do you judge of it? he added, addressing Nicholas, who when he

heard that the war was being discussed had turned from his partner with

eyes and ears intent on the colonel.



I am quite of your opinion, replied Nicholas, flaming up, turning

his plate round and moving his wineglasses about with as much decision

and desperation as though he were at that moment facing some great

danger. I am convinced that we Russians must die or conquer, he

concluded, consciousas were othersafter the words were uttered

that his remarks were too enthusiastic and emphatic for the occasion and

were therefore awkward.



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



Snya trembled all over and blushed to her ears and behind them and

down to her neck and shoulders while Nicholas was speaking.



Pierre listened to the colonels speech and nodded approvingly.



Thats fine, said he.



The young mans a real hussar! shouted the colonel, again

thumping the table.



What are you making such a noise about over there? Mrya

Dmtrievnas deep voice suddenly inquired from the other end of the

table. What are you thumping the table for? she demanded of the

hussar, and why are you exciting yourself? Do you think the French

are here?



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



Its all about the war, the count shouted down the table. You

know my sons going, Mrya Dmtrievna? My son is going.



I have four sons in the army but still I dont fret. It is all

in Gods hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you in a

battle, replied Mrya Dmtrievnas deep voice, which easily

carried the whole length of the table.



Thats true!



Once more the conversations concentrated, the ladies at the one end

and the mens at the other.



You wont ask, Natshas little brother was saying I know

you wont ask!



I will, replied Natsha.



Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half

rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what

was coming, and turning to her mother



Mamma! rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish voice,

audible the whole length of the table.



What is it? asked the countess, startled but seeing by her

daughters face that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at her

sternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head.



The conversation was hushed.



Mamma! What sweets are we going to have? and Natshas voice

sounded still more firm and resolute.



The countess tried to frown, but could not. Mrya Dmtrievna shook her

fat finger.



Cossack! she said threateningly.



Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at the

elders.



You had better take care! said the countess.



Mamma! What sweets are we going to have? Natsha again cried

boldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be taken in

good part.



Snya and fat little Ptya doubled up with laughter.



You see! I have asked, whispered Natsha to her little brother

and to Pierre, glancing at him again.



Ice pudding, but you wont get any, said Mrya Dmtrievna.



Natsha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved even

Mrya Dmtrievna.



Mrya Dmtrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I dont like ice

cream.



Carrot ices.



No! What kind, Mrya Dmtrievna? What kind? she almost screamed

I want to know!



Mrya Dmtrievna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the

guests joined in. Everyone laughed, not at Mrya Dmtrievnas answer

but at the incredible boldness and smartness of this little girl who had

dared to treat Mrya Dmtrievna in this fashion.



Natsha only desisted when she had been told that there would be

pineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was served round. The band

again struck up, the count and countess kissed, and the guests, leaving

their seats, went up to congratulate the countess, and reached

across the table to clink glasses with the count, with the children, and

with one another. Again the footmen rushed about, chairs scraped, and

in the same order in which they had entered but with redder faces, the

guests returned to the drawing room and to the counts study.











CHAPTER XX



The card tables were drawn out, sets made up for boston, and the

counts visitors settled themselves, some in the two drawing rooms,

some in the sitting room, some in the library.



The count, holding his cards fanwise, kept himself with difficulty from

dropping into his usual after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything.

The young people, at the countess instigation, gathered round the

clavichord and harp. Julie by general request played first. After she

had played a little air with variations on the harp, she joined the

other young ladies in begging Natsha and Nicholas, who were noted for

their musical talent, to sing something. Natsha, who was treated as

though she were grown up, was evidently very proud of this but at the

same time felt shy.



What shall we sing? she said.



The Brook, suggested Nicholas.



Well, then, lets be quick. Bors, come here, said Natsha.

But where is Snya?



She looked round and seeing that her friend was not in the room ran to

look for her.



Running into Snyas room and not finding her there, Natsha ran to

the nursery, but Snya was not there either. Natsha concluded that

she must be on the chest in the passage. The chest in the passage was

the place of mourning for the younger female generation in the Rostv

household. And there in fact was Snya lying face downward on Nurses

dirty feather bed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gauzy pink

dress under her, hiding her face with her slender fingers, and sobbing

so convulsively that her bare little shoulders shook. Natshas

face, which had been so radiantly happy all that saints day, suddenly

changed her eyes became fixed, and then a shiver passed down her broad

neck and the corners of her mouth drooped.



Snya! What is it? What is the matter?... Oo... Oo... Oo...! And

Natshas large mouth widened, making her look quite ugly, and she

began to wail like a baby without knowing why, except that Snya was

crying. Snya tried to lift her head to answer but could not, and

hid her face still deeper in the bed. Natsha wept, sitting on the

blue-striped feather bed and hugging her friend. With an effort Snya

sat up and began wiping her eyes and explaining.



Nicholas is going away in a weeks time, his... papers... have

come... he told me himself... but still I should not cry, and she

showed a paper she held in her handwith the verses Nicholas had

written, still, I should not cry, but you cant... no one can

understand... what a soul he has!



And she began to cry again because he had such a noble soul.



Its all very well for you... I am not envious... I love you and

Bors also, she went on, gaining a little strength he is nice...

there are no difficulties in your way.... But Nicholas is my cousin...

one would have to... the Metropolitan himself... and even then it

cant be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma (Snya looked upon

the countess as her mother and called her so) that I am spoiling

Nicholas career and am heartless and ungrateful, while truly... God

is my witness, and she made the sign of the cross, I love her so

much, and all of you, only Vra... And what for? What have I done

to her? I am so grateful to you that I would willingly sacrifice

everything, only I have nothing....



Snya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and in

the feather bed. Natsha began consoling her, but her face showed that

she understood all the gravity of her friends trouble.



Snya, she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the true

reason of her friends sorrow, Im sure Vra has said something

to you since dinner? Hasnt she?



Yes, these verses Nicholas wrote himself and I copied some others,

and she found them on my table and said shed show them to Mamma, and

that I was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry

me, but that hell marry Julie. You see how hes been with her all

day... Natsha, what have I done to deserve it?...



And again she began to sob, more bitterly than before. Natsha lifted

her up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting

her.



Snya, dont believe her, darling! Dont believe her! Do you

remember how we and Nicholas, all three of us, talked in the sitting

room after supper? Why, we settled how everything was to be. I dont

quite remember how, but dont you remember that it could all be

arranged and how nice it all was? Theres Uncle Shinshns brother

has married his first cousin. And we are only second cousins, you know.

And Bors says it is quite possible. You know I have told him all about

it. And he is so clever and so good! said Natsha. Dont

you cry, Snya, dear love, darling Snya! and she kissed her and

laughed. Vras spiteful never mind her! And all will come right

and she wont say anything to Mamma. Nicholas will tell her himself,

and he doesnt care at all for Julie.



Natsha kissed her on the hair.



Snya sat up. The little kitten brightened, its eyes shone, and it

seemed ready to lift its tail, jump down on its soft paws, and begin

playing with the ball of worsted as a kitten should.



Do you think so?... Really? Truly? she said, quickly smoothing her

frock and hair.



Really, truly! answered Natsha, pushing in a crisp lock that had

strayed from under her friends plaits.



Both laughed.



Well, lets go and sing The Brook.



Come along!



Do you know, that fat Pierre who sat opposite me is so funny! said

Natsha, stopping suddenly. I feel so happy!



And she set off at a run along the passage.



Snya, shaking off some down which clung to her and tucking away the

verses in the bosom of her dress close to her bony little chest, ran

after Natsha down the passage into the sitting room with flushed face

and light, joyous steps. At the visitors request the young people

sang the quartette, The Brook, with which everyone was delighted.

Then Nicholas sang a song he had just learned



   At nighttime in the moons fair glow

     How sweet, as fancies wander free,

   To feel that in this world theres one

     Who still is thinking but of thee!



   That while her fingers touch the harp

     Wafting sweet music oer the lea,

   It is for thee thus swells her heart,

     Sighing its message out to thee...



   A day or two, then bliss unspoilt,

     But oh! till then I cannot live!...



He had not finished the last verse before the young people began to

get ready to dance in the large hall, and the sound of the feet and the

coughing of the musicians were heard from the gallery.





Pierre was sitting in the drawing room where Shinshn had engaged him,

as a man recently returned from abroad, in a political conversation in

which several others joined but which bored Pierre. When the music began

Natsha came in and walking straight up to Pierre said, laughing and

blushing



Mamma told me to ask you to join the dancers.



I am afraid of mixing the figures, Pierre replied but if you

will be my teacher... And lowering his big arm he offered it to the

slender little girl.



While the couples were arranging themselves and the musicians tuning up,

Pierre sat down with his little partner. Natsha was perfectly happy

she was dancing with a grown-up man, who had been abroad. She was

sitting in a conspicuous place and talking to him like a grown-up lady.

She had a fan in her hand that one of the ladies had given her to hold.

Assuming quite the pose of a society woman (heaven knows when and where

she had learned it) she talked with her partner, fanning herself and

smiling over the fan.



Dear, dear! Just look at her! exclaimed the countess as she

crossed the ballroom, pointing to Natsha.



Natsha blushed and laughed.



Well, really, Mamma! Why should you? What is there to be surprised

at?





In the midst of the third cossaise there was a clatter of chairs being

pushed back in the sitting room where the count and Mrya Dmtrievna

had been playing cards with the majority of the more distinguished and

older visitors. They now, stretching themselves after sitting so long,

and replacing their purses and pocketbooks, entered the ballroom. First

came Mrya Dmtrievna and the count, both with merry countenances. The

count, with playful ceremony somewhat in ballet style, offered his

bent arm to Mrya Dmtrievna. He drew himself up, a smile of debonair

gallantry lit up his face and as soon as the last figure of the

cossaise was ended, he clapped his hands to the musicians and shouted

up to their gallery, addressing the first violin



Semn! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?



This was the counts favorite dance, which he had danced in his youth.

(Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one figure of the anglaise.)



Look at Papa! shouted Natsha to the whole company, and quite

forgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner she bent her

curly head to her knees and made the whole room ring with her laughter.



And indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the

jovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stout partner,

Mrya Dmtrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightened his

shoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, by

a smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared the

onlookers for what was to follow. As soon as the provocatively gay

strains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resembling those of a merry peasant

dance) began to sound, all the doorways of the ballroom were suddenly

filled by the domestic serfsthe men on one side and the women on

the otherwho with beaming faces had come to see their master making

merry.



Just look at the master! A regular eagle he is! loudly remarked

the nurse, as she stood in one of the doorways.



The count danced well and knew it. But his partner could not and did not

want to dance well. Her enormous figure stood erect, her powerful arms

hanging down (she had handed her reticule to the countess), and only her

stern but handsome face really joined in the dance. What was expressed

by the whole of the counts plump figure, in Mrya Dmtrievna found

expression only in her more and more beaming face and quivering nose.

But if the count, getting more and more into the swing of it, charmed

the spectators by the unexpectedness of his adroit maneuvers and

the agility with which he capered about on his light feet, Mrya

Dmtrievna produced no less impression by slight exertionsthe least

effort to move her shoulders or bend her arms when turning, or stamp

her footwhich everyone appreciated in view of her size and habitual

severity. The dance grew livelier and livelier. The other couples could

not attract a moments attention to their own evolutions and did not

even try to do so. All were watching the count and Mrya Dmtrievna.

Natsha kept pulling everyone by sleeve or dress, urging them to

look at Papa! though as it was they never took their eyes off the

couple. In the intervals of the dance the count, breathing deeply, waved

and shouted to the musicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and faster

lightly, more lightly, and yet more lightly whirled the count, flying

round Mrya Dmtrievna, now on his toes, now on his heels until,

turning his partner round to her seat, he executed the final pas,

raising his soft foot backwards, bowing his perspiring head, smiling

and making a wide sweep with his arm, amid a thunder of applause and

laughter led by Natsha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily

and wiping their faces with their cambric handkerchiefs.



Thats how we used to dance in our time, ma chre, said the

count.



That was a Daniel Cooper! exclaimed Mrya Dmtrievna, tucking up

her sleeves and puffing heavily.











CHAPTER XXI



While in the Rostvs ballroom the sixth anglaise was being danced,

to a tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while tired

footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezkhov had a

sixth stroke. The doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After a mute

confession, communion was administered to the dying man, preparations

made for the sacrament of unction, and in his house there was the bustle

and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house, beyond

the gates, a group of undertakers, who hid whenever a carriage drove up,

waited in expectation of an important order for an expensive funeral.

The Military Governor of Moscow, who had been assiduous in sending

aides-de-camp to inquire after the counts health, came himself

that evening to bid a last farewell to the celebrated grandee of

Catherines court, Count Bezkhov.



The magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood up

respectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half an

hour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledging their

bows and trying to escape as quickly as possible from the glances fixed

on him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. Prince

Vasli, who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days,

escorted him to the door, repeating something to him several times in

low tones.



When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasli sat down all alone

on a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other,

leaning his elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand. After

sitting so for a while he rose, and, looking about him with frightened

eyes, went with unusually hurried steps down the long corridor leading

to the back of the house, to the room of the eldest princess.



Those who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous

whispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dying mans

room, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity or expectancy at

his door, which creaked slightly when opened.



The limits of human life ... are fixed and may not be

oerpassed, said an old priest to a lady who had taken a seat

beside him and was listening navely to his words.



I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction? asked the

lady, adding the priests clerical title, as if she had no opinion of

her own on the subject.



Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament, replied the priest, passing

his hand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his

bald head.



Who was that? The Military Governor himself? was being asked at

the other side of the room. How young-looking he is!



Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no longer recognizes

anyone. They wished to administer the sacrament of unction.



I knew someone who received that sacrament seven times.



The second princess had just come from the sickroom with her eyes red

from weeping and sat down beside Dr. Lorrain, who was sitting in a

graceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leaning his elbow on a

table.



Beautiful, said the doctor in answer to a remark about the

weather. The weather is beautiful, Princess and besides, in Moscow

one feels as if one were in the country.



Yes, indeed, replied the princess with a sigh. So he may have

something to drink?



Lorrain considered.



Has he taken his medicine?



Yes.



The doctor glanced at his watch.



Take a glass of boiled water and put a pinch of cream of tartar,

and he indicated with his delicate fingers what he meant by a pinch.



Dere has neffer been a gase, a German doctor was saying to an

aide-de-camp, dat one liffs after de sird stroke.



And what a well-preserved man he was! remarked the aide-de-camp.

And who will inherit his wealth? he added in a whisper.



It vont go begging, replied the German with a smile.



Everyone again looked toward the door, which creaked as the second

princess went in with the drink she had prepared according to

Lorrains instructions. The German doctor went up to Lorrain.



Do you think he can last till morning? asked the German,

addressing Lorrain in French which he pronounced badly.



Lorrain, pursing up his lips, waved a severely negative finger before

his nose.



Tonight, not later, said he in a low voice, and he moved away

with a decorous smile of self-satisfaction at being able clearly to

understand and state the patients condition.



Meanwhile Prince Vasli had opened the door into the princess room.



In this room it was almost dark only two tiny lamps were burning before

the icons and there was a pleasant scent of flowers and burnt pastilles.

The room was crowded with small pieces of furniture, whatnots,

cupboards, and little tables. The quilt of a high, white feather bed was

just visible behind a screen. A small dog began to bark.



Ah, is it you, cousin?



She rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth

that it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with

varnish.



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



No, there is no change. I only came to have a talk about business,

Catiche, * muttered the prince, seating himself wearily on the chair

she had just vacated. You have made the place warm, I must say, he

remarked. Well, sit down lets have a talk.



     *Catherine.



I thought perhaps something had happened, she said with her

unchanging stonily severe expression and, sitting down opposite the

prince, she prepared to listen.



I wished to get a nap, mon cousin, but I cant.



Well, my dear? said Prince Vasli, taking her hand and bending it

downwards as was his habit.



It was plain that this well? referred to much that they both

understood without naming.



The princess, who had a straight, rigid body, abnormally long for her

legs, looked directly at Prince Vasli with no sign of emotion in her

prominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head and glanced up at the icons

with a sigh. This might have been taken as an expression of sorrow

and devotion, or of weariness and hope of resting before long. Prince

Vasli understood it as an expression of weariness.



And I? he said do you think it is easier for me? I am as worn

out as a post horse, but still I must have a talk with you, Catiche, a

very serious talk.



Prince Vasli said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously,

now on one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant

expression which was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. His eyes

too seemed strange at one moment they looked impudently sly and at the

next glanced round in alarm.



The princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bony

hands, looked attentively into Prince Vaslis eyes evidently

resolved not to be the first to break silence, if she had to wait till

morning.



Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, Catherine Semnovna,

continued Prince Vasli, returning to his theme, apparently not

without an inner struggle at such a moment as this one must think

of everything. One must think of the future, of all of you... I love you

all, like children of my own, as you know.



The princess continued to look at him without moving, and with the same

dull expression.



And then of course my family has also to be considered, Prince

Vasli went on, testily pushing away a little table without looking at

her. You know, Catiche, that weyou three sisters, Mmontov, and

my wifeare the counts only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard

it is for you to talk or think of such matters. It is no easier for

me but, my dear, I am getting on for sixty and must be prepared for

anything. Do you know I have sent for Pierre? The count, pointing to

his portrait, definitely demanded that he should be called.



Prince Vasli looked questioningly at the princess, but could not make

out whether she was considering what he had just said or whether she was

simply looking at him.



There is one thing I constantly pray God to grant, mon cousin, she

replied, and it is that He would be merciful to him and would allow

his noble soul peacefully to leave this...



Yes, yes, of course, interrupted Prince Vasli impatiently,

rubbing his bald head and angrily pulling back toward him the little

table that he had pushed away. But... in short, the fact is... you

know yourself that last winter the count made a will by which he left

all his property, not to us his direct heirs, but to Pierre.



He has made wills enough! quietly remarked the princess. But he

cannot leave the estate to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.



But, my dear, said Prince Vasli suddenly, clutching the little

table and becoming more animated and talking more rapidly what if

a letter has been written to the Emperor in which the count asks for

Pierres legitimation? Do you understand that in consideration of the

counts services, his request would be granted?...



The princess smiled as people do who think they know more about the

subject under discussion than those they are talking with.



I can tell you more, continued Prince Vasli, seizing her hand,

that letter was written, though it was not sent, and the Emperor knew

of it. The only question is, has it been destroyed or not? If not, then

as soon as all is over, and Prince Vasli sighed to intimate what he

meant by the words all is over, and the counts papers are opened,

the will and letter will be delivered to the Emperor, and the petition

will certainly be granted. Pierre will get everything as the legitimate

son.



And our share? asked the princess smiling ironically, as if

anything might happen, only not that.



But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as daylight! He will then be the

legal heir to everything and you wont get anything. You must know,

my dear, whether the will and letter were written, and whether they have

been destroyed or not. And if they have somehow been overlooked, you

ought to know where they are, and must find them, because...



What next? the princess interrupted, smiling sardonically and not

changing the expression of her eyes. I am a woman, and you think we

are all stupid but I know this an illegitimate son cannot inherit...

un btard!* she added, as if supposing that this translation of the

word would effectively prove to Prince Vasli the invalidity of his

contention.



     * A bastard.



Well, really, Catiche! Cant you understand! You are so

intelligent, how is it you dont see that if the count has written a

letter to the Emperor begging him to recognize Pierre as legitimate, it

follows that Pierre will not be Pierre but will become Count Bezkhov,

and will then inherit everything under the will? And if the will and

letter are not destroyed, then you will have nothing but the consolation

of having been dutiful et tout ce qui sensuit!* Thats certain.



     * And all that follows therefrom.



I know the will was made, but I also know that it is invalid

and you, mon cousin, seem to consider me a perfect fool, said the

princess with the expression women assume when they suppose they are

saying something witty and stinging.



My dear Princess Catherine Semnovna, began Prince Vasli

impatiently, I came here not to wrangle with you, but to talk about

your interests as with a kinswoman, a good, kind, true relation. And I

tell you for the tenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the

will in Pierres favor are among the counts papers, then, my dear

girl, you and your sisters are not heiresses! If you dont believe me,

then believe an expert. I have just been talking to Dmtri Onfrich

(the family solicitor) and he says the same.



At this a sudden change evidently took place in the princess ideas

her thin lips grew white, though her eyes did not change, and her voice

when she began to speak passed through such transitions as she herself

evidently did not expect.



That would be a fine thing! said she. I never wanted anything

and I dont now.



She pushed the little dog off her lap and smoothed her dress.



And this is gratitudethis is recognition for those who have

sacrificed everything for his sake! she cried. Its splendid!

Fine! I dont want anything, Prince.



Yes, but you are not the only one. There are your sisters...

replied Prince Vasli.



But the princess did not listen to him.



Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. I knew that I could expect

nothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue, and ingratitudethe

blackest ingratitudein this house...



Do you or do you not know where that will is? insisted Prince

Vasli, his cheeks twitching more than ever.



Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, loved them, and

sacrificed myself. But only the base, the vile succeed! I know who has

been intriguing!



The princess wished to rise, but the prince held her by the hand. She

had the air of one who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race.

She gave her companion an angry glance.



There is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that it was

all done casually in a moment of anger, of illness, and was afterwards

forgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to rectify his mistake, to ease his

last moments by not letting him commit this injustice, and not to let

him die feeling that he is rendering unhappy those who...



Who sacrificed everything for him, chimed in the princess, who

would again have risen had not the prince still held her fast, though

he never could appreciate it. No, mon cousin, she added with a sigh,

I shall always remember that in this world one must expect no reward,

that in this world there is neither honor nor justice. In this world one

has to be cunning and cruel.



Now come, come! Be reasonable. I know your excellent heart.



No, I have a wicked heart.



I know your heart, repeated the prince. I value your friendship

and wish you to have as good an opinion of me. Dont upset yourself,

and let us talk sensibly while there is still time, be it a day or be it

but an hour.... Tell me all you know about the will, and above all where

it is. You must know. We will take it at once and show it to the

count. He has, no doubt, forgotten it and will wish to destroy it.

You understand that my sole desire is conscientiously to carry out his

wishes that is my only reason for being here. I came simply to help him

and you.



Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguingI know! cried

the princess.



Thats not the point, my dear.



Its that protg of yours, that sweet Princess Drubetskya,

that Anna Mikhylovna whom I would not take for a housemaid... the

infamous, vile woman!



Do not let us lose any time...



Ah, dont talk to me! Last winter she wheedled herself in here and

told the count such vile, disgraceful things about us, especially about

SophieI cant repeat themthat it made the count quite ill and he

would not see us for a whole fortnight. I know it was then he wrote this

vile, infamous paper, but I thought the thing was invalid.



Weve got to it at lastwhy did you not tell me about it

sooner?



Its in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow,

said the princess, ignoring his question. Now I know! Yes if I have

a sin, a great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman! almost shrieked

the princess, now quite changed. And what does she come worming

herself in here for? But I will give her a piece of my mind. The time

will come!











CHAPTER XXII



While these conversations were going on in the reception room and the

princess room, a carriage containing Pierre (who had been sent for)

and Anna Mikhylovna (who found it necessary to accompany him) was

driving into the court of Count Bezkhovs house. As the wheels

rolled softly over the straw beneath the windows, Anna Mikhylovna,

having turned with words of comfort to her companion, realized that

he was asleep in his corner and woke him up. Rousing himself, Pierre

followed Anna Mikhylovna out of the carriage, and only then began

to think of the interview with his dying father which awaited him. He

noticed that they had not come to the front entrance but to the back

door. While he was getting down from the carriage steps two men, who

looked like tradespeople, ran hurriedly from the entrance and hid in the

shadow of the wall. Pausing for a moment, Pierre noticed several other

men of the same kind hiding in the shadow of the house on both sides.

But neither Anna Mikhylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, who

could not help seeing these people, took any notice of them. It seems

to be all right, Pierre concluded, and followed Anna Mikhylovna.

She hurriedly ascended the narrow dimly lit stone staircase, calling to

Pierre, who was lagging behind, to follow. Though he did not see why it

was necessary for him to go to the count at all, still less why he had

to go by the back stairs, yet judging by Anna Mikhylovnas air

of assurance and haste, Pierre concluded that it was all absolutely

necessary. Halfway up the stairs they were almost knocked over by

some men who, carrying pails, came running downstairs, their boots

clattering. These men pressed close to the wall to let Pierre and Anna

Mikhylovna pass and did not evince the least surprise at seeing them

there.



Is this the way to the princesses apartments? asked Anna

Mikhylovna of one of them.



Yes, replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything were

now permissible the door to the left, maam.



Perhaps the count did not ask for me, said Pierre when he reached

the landing. Id better go to my own room.



Anna Mikhylovna paused and waited for him to come up.



Ah, my friend! she said, touching his arm as she had done her

sons when speaking to him that afternoon, believe me I suffer no

less than you do, but be a man!



But really, hadnt I better go away? he asked, looking kindly at

her over his spectacles.



Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been done you.

Think that he is your father ... perhaps in the agony of death. She

sighed. I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust yourself to

me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.



Pierre did not understand a word, but the conviction that all this had

to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna Mikhylovna who was

already opening a door.



This door led into a back anteroom. An old man, a servant of the

princesses, sat in a corner knitting a stocking. Pierre had never been

in this part of the house and did not even know of the existence of

these rooms. Anna Mikhylovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying past

with a decanter on a tray as my dear and my sweet, asked

about the princess health and then led Pierre along a stone passage.

The first door on the left led into the princesses apartments. The

maid with the decanter in her haste had not closed the door (everything

in the house was done in haste at that time), and Pierre and Anna

Mikhylovna in passing instinctively glanced into the room, where

Prince Vasli and the eldest princess were sitting close together

talking. Seeing them pass, Prince Vasli drew back with obvious

impatience, while the princess jumped up and with a gesture of

desperation slammed the door with all her might.



This action was so unlike her usual composure and the fear depicted on

Prince Vaslis face so out of keeping with his dignity that Pierre

stopped and glanced inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna

Mikhylovna evinced no surprise, she only smiled faintly and sighed, as

if to say that this was no more than she had expected.



Be a man, my friend. I will look after your interests, said she in

reply to his look, and went still faster along the passage.



Pierre could not make out what it was all about, and still less what

watching over his interests meant, but he decided that all these

things had to be. From the passage they went into a large, dimly

lit room adjoining the counts reception room. It was one of those

sumptuous but cold apartments known to Pierre only from the front

approach, but even in this room there now stood an empty bath, and water

had been spilled on the carpet. They were met by a deacon with a censer

and by a servant who passed out on tiptoe without heeding them. They

went into the reception room familiar to Pierre, with two Italian

windows opening into the conservatory, with its large bust and full

length portrait of Catherine the Great. The same people were still

sitting here in almost the same positions as before, whispering to one

another. All became silent and turned to look at the pale tear-worn Anna

Mikhylovna as she entered, and at the big stout figure of Pierre who,

hanging his head, meekly followed her.



Anna Mikhylovnas face expressed a consciousness that the decisive

moment had arrived. With the air of a practical Petersburg lady she now,

keeping Pierre close beside her, entered the room even more boldly than

that afternoon. She felt that as she brought with her the person the

dying man wished to see, her own admission was assured. Casting a rapid

glance at all those in the room and noticing the counts confessor

there, she glided up to him with a sort of amble, not exactly bowing yet

seeming to grow suddenly smaller, and respectfully received the blessing

first of one and then of another priest.



God be thanked that you are in time, said she to one of the

priests all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This young

man is the counts 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 counts son. Is

there any hope?



The doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and silently shrugged his

shoulders. Anna Mikhylovna with just the same movement raised her

shoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and moved away

from the doctor to Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and

tenderly sad voice, she said



Trust in His mercy! and pointing out a small sofa for him to sit

and wait for her, she went silently toward the door that everyone was

watching and it creaked very slightly as she disappeared behind it.



Pierre, having made up his mind to obey his monitress implicitly, moved

toward the sofa she had indicated. As soon as Anna Mikhylovna had

disappeared he noticed that the eyes of all in the room turned to him

with something more than curiosity and sympathy. He noticed that they

whispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with a kind

of awe and even servility. A deference such as he had never before

received was shown him. A strange lady, the one who had been talking to

the priests, rose and offered him her seat an aide-de-camp picked up

and returned a glove Pierre had dropped the doctors became respectfully

silent as he passed by, and moved to make way for him. At first Pierre

wished to take another seat so as not to trouble the lady, and also to

pick up the glove himself and to pass round the doctors who were not

even in his way but all at once he felt that this would not do, and

that tonight he was a person obliged to perform some sort of awful

rite which everyone expected of him, and that he was therefore bound

to accept their services. He took the glove in silence from the

aide-de-camp, and sat down in the ladys chair, placing his huge hands

symmetrically on his knees in the nave attitude of an Egyptian statue,

and decided in his own mind that all was as it should be, and that in

order not to lose his head and do foolish things he must not act on his

own ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to the will of

those who were guiding him.



Not two minutes had passed before Prince Vasli with head erect

majestically entered the room. He was wearing his long coat with three

stars on his breast. He seemed to have grown thinner since the morning

his eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round and noticed

Pierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he never used to do),

and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain whether it was firmly

fixed on.



Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you. That is

well! and he turned to go.



But Pierre thought it necessary to ask How is... and hesitated,

not knowing whether it would be proper to call the dying man the

count, yet ashamed to call him father.



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

friend...



Pierres mind was in such a confused state that the word stroke

suggested to him a blow from something. He looked at Prince Vasli

in perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an attack of

illness. Prince Vasli said something to Lorrain in passing and went

through the door on tiptoe. He could not walk well on tiptoe and his

whole body jerked at each step. The eldest princess followed him, and

the priests and deacons and some servants also went in at the door.

Through that door was heard a noise of things being moved about, and

at last Anna Mikhylovna, still with the same expression, pale but

resolute in the discharge of duty, ran out and touching Pierre lightly

on the arm said



The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to be

administered. Come.



Pierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet, and noticed

that the strange lady, the aide-de-camp, and some of the servants, all

followed him in, as if there were now no further need for permission to

enter that room.











CHAPTER XXIII



Pierre well knew this large room divided by columns and an arch, its

walls hung round with Persian carpets. The part of the room behind the

columns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one side and

on the other an immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated

with red light like a Russian church during evening service. Under

the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and in that chair

on snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed, Pierre

sawcovered to the waist by a bright green quiltthe familiar,

majestic figure of his father, Count Bezkhov, with that gray mane of

hair above his broad forehead which reminded one of a lion, and the deep

characteristically noble wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face. He lay

just under the icons his large thick hands outside the quilt. Into the

right hand, which was lying palm downwards, a wax taper had been thrust

between forefinger and thumb, and an old servant, bending over from

behind the chair, held it in position. By the chair stood the priests,

their long hair falling over their magnificent glittering vestments,

with lighted tapers in their hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the

service. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding

handkerchiefs to their eyes, and just in front of them their eldest

sister, Catiche, with a vicious and determined look steadily fixed on

the icons, as though declaring to all that she could not answer for

herself should she glance round. Anna Mikhylovna, with a meek,

sorrowful, and all-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door

near the strange lady. Prince Vasli in front of the door, near the

invalid chair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on

the carved back of a velvet chair he had turned round for the purpose,

and was crossing himself with his right hand, turning his eyes upward

each time he touched his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety

and resignation to the will of God. If you do not understand these

sentiments, he seemed to be saying, so much the worse for you!



Behind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doctors, and the menservants

the men and women had separated as in church. All were silently crossing

themselves, and the reading of the church service, the subdued chanting

of deep bass voices, and in the intervals sighs and the shuffling of

feet were the only sounds that could be heard. Anna Mikhylovna, with

an air of importance that showed that she felt she quite knew what she

was about, went across the room to where Pierre was standing and gave

him a taper. He lit it and, distracted by observing those around him,

began crossing himself with the hand that held the taper.



Sophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess with the mole,

watched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and remained

with it hidden for awhile then looking up and seeing Pierre she

again began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to look at him

without laughing, but could not resist looking at him so to be out of

temptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. In the midst

of the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, they whispered

to one another, and the old servant who was holding the counts hand

got up and said something to the ladies. Anna Mikhylovna stepped

forward and, stooping over the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from

behind her back. The French doctor held no taper he was leaning

against one of the columns in a respectful attitude implying that he,

a foreigner, in spite of all differences of faith, understood the full

importance of the rite now being performed and even approved of it. He

now approached the sick man with the noiseless step of one in full vigor

of life, with his delicate white fingers raised from the green quilt the

hand that was free, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflected

a moment. The sick man was given something to drink, there was a

stir around him, then the people resumed their places and the service

continued. During this interval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasli

left the chair on which he had been leaning, andwith an air

which intimated that he knew what he was about and if others did not

understand him it was so much the worse for themdid not go up to the

dying man, but passed by him, joined the eldest princess, and moved

with her to the side of the room where stood the high bedstead with its

silken hangings. On leaving the bed both Prince Vasli and the princess

passed out by a back door, but returned to their places one after the

other before the service was concluded. Pierre paid no more attention

to this occurrence than to the rest of what went on, having made up his

mind once for all that what he saw happening around him that evening was

in some way essential.



The chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the priest was

heard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having received the

sacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Around

him everyone began to stir steps were audible and whispers, among which

Anna Mikhylovnas was the most distinct.



Pierre heard her say



Certainly he must be moved onto the bed here it will be

impossible...



The sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, and servants

that Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray

manewhich, though he saw other faces as well, he had not lost sight

of for a single moment during the whole service. He judged by the

cautious movements of those who crowded round the invalid chair that

they had lifted the dying man and were moving him.



Catch hold of my arm or youll drop him! he heard one of the

servants say in a frightened whisper. Catch hold from underneath.

Here! exclaimed different voices and the heavy breathing of the

bearers and the shuffling of their feet grew more hurried, as if the

weight they were carrying were too much for them.



As the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikhylovna, passed the young man

he caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of the dying

mans high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders, raised by

those who were holding him under the armpits, and of his gray, curly,

leonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones,

its handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majestic expression, was

not disfigured by the approach of death. It was the same as Pierre

remembered it three months before, when the count had sent him to

Petersburg. But now this head was swaying helplessly with the uneven

movements of the bearers, and the cold listless gaze fixed itself upon

nothing.



After a few minutes bustle beside the high bedstead, those who had

carried the sick man dispersed. Anna Mikhylovna touched Pierres

hand and said, Come. Pierre went with her to the bed on which the

sick man had been laid in a stately pose in keeping with the ceremony

just completed. He lay with his head propped high on the pillows. His

hands were symmetrically placed on the green silk quilt, the palms

downward. When Pierre came up the count was gazing straight at him, but

with a look the significance of which could not be understood by mortal

man. Either this look meant nothing but that as long as one has eyes

they must look somewhere, or it meant too much. Pierre hesitated,

not knowing what to do, and glanced inquiringly at his guide. Anna

Mikhylovna made a hurried sign with her eyes, glancing at the sick

mans hand and moving her lips as if to send it a kiss. Pierre,

carefully stretching his neck so as not to touch the quilt, followed her

suggestion and pressed his lips to the large boned, fleshy hand. Neither

the hand nor a single muscle of the counts face stirred. Once more

Pierre looked questioningly at Anna Mikhylovna to see what he was to

do next. Anna Mikhylovna with her eyes indicated a chair that stood

beside the bed. Pierre obediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were

doing right. Anna Mikhylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell

into the navely symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently

distressed that his stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing

his utmost to look as small as possible. He looked at the count, who

still gazed at the spot where Pierres face had been before he sat

down. Anna Mikhylovna indicated by her attitude her consciousness of

the pathetic importance of these last moments of meeting between the

father and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre seemed an

hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the counts face began

to twitch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouth was drawn to one

side (only now did Pierre realize how near death his father was), and

from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct, hoarse sound. Anna

Mikhylovna looked attentively at the sick mans eyes, trying to

guess what he wanted she pointed first to Pierre, then to some drink,

then named Prince Vasli in an inquiring whisper, then pointed to the

quilt. The eyes and face of the sick man showed impatience. He made an

effort to look at the servant who stood constantly at the head of the

bed.



Wants to turn on the other side, whispered the servant, and got up

to turn the counts heavy body toward the wall.



Pierre rose to help him.



While the count was being turned over, one of his arms fell back

helplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward. Whether he

noticed the look of terror with which Pierre regarded that lifeless arm,

or whether some other thought flitted across his dying brain, at any

rate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierres terror-stricken

face, and again at the arm, and on his face a feeble, piteous smile

appeared, quite out of keeping with his features, that seemed to deride

his own helplessness. At sight of this smile Pierre felt an unexpected

quivering in his breast and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his

eyes. The sick man was turned on to his side with his face to the wall.

He sighed.



He is dozing, said Anna Mikhylovna, observing that one of the

princesses was coming to take her turn at watching. Let us go.



Pierre went out.











CHAPTER XXIV



There was now no one in the reception room except Prince Vasli and the

eldest princess, who were sitting under the portrait of Catherine the

Great and talking eagerly. As soon as they saw Pierre and his companion

they became silent, and Pierre thought he saw the princess hide

something as she whispered



I cant bear the sight of that woman.



Catiche has had tea served in the small drawing room, said Prince

Vasli to Anna Mikhylovna. Go and take something, my poor Anna

Mikhylovna, or you will not hold out.



To Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze

below the shoulder. Pierre went with Anna Mikhylovna into the small

drawing room.



There is nothing so refreshing after a sleepless night as a cup

of this delicious Russian tea, Lorrain was saying with an air of

restrained animation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate Chinese

handleless cup before a table on which tea and a cold supper were laid

in the small circular room. Around the table all who were at Count

Bezkhovs house that night had gathered to fortify themselves.

Pierre well remembered this small circular drawing room with its mirrors

and little tables. During balls given at the house Pierre, who did not

know how to dance, had liked sitting in this room to watch the ladies

who, as they passed through in their ball dresses with diamonds and

pearls on their bare shoulders, looked at themselves in the brilliantly

lighted mirrors which repeated their reflections several times. Now

this same room was dimly lighted by two candles. On one small table tea

things and supper dishes stood in disorder, and in the middle of the

night a motley throng of people sat there, not merrymaking, but somberly

whispering, and betraying by every word and movement that they none

of them forgot what was happening and what was about to happen in the

bedroom. Pierre did not eat anything though he would very much have

liked to. He looked inquiringly at his monitress and saw that she was

again going on tiptoe to the reception room where they had left Prince

Vasli and the eldest princess. Pierre concluded that this also was

essential, and after a short interval followed her. Anna Mikhylovna

was standing beside the princess, and they were both speaking in excited

whispers.



Permit me, Princess, to know what is necessary and what is not

necessary, said the younger of the two speakers, evidently in the

same state of excitement as when she had slammed the door of her room.



But, my dear princess, answered Anna Mikhylovna blandly but

impressively, blocking the way to the bedroom and preventing the other

from passing, wont this be too much for poor Uncle at a moment

when he needs repose? Worldly conversation at a moment when his soul is

already prepared...



Prince Vasli was seated in an easy chair in his familiar attitude,

with one leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks, which were so

flabby that they looked heavier below, were twitching violently but

he wore the air of a man little concerned in what the two ladies were

saying.



Come, my dear Anna Mikhylovna, let Catiche do as she pleases. You

know how fond the count is of her.



I dont even know what is in this paper, said the younger of

the two ladies, addressing Prince Vasli and pointing to an inlaid

portfolio she held in her hand. All I know is that his real will is

in his writing table, and this is a paper he has forgotten....



She tried to pass Anna Mikhylovna, but the latter sprang so as to bar

her path.



I know, my dear, kind princess, said Anna Mikhylovna, seizing

the portfolio so firmly that it was plain she would not let go easily.

Dear princess, I beg and implore you, have some pity on him! Je vous

en conjure...



The princess did not reply. Their efforts in the struggle for the

portfolio were the only sounds audible, but it was evident that if

the princess did speak, her words would not be flattering to Anna

Mikhylovna. Though the latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none

of its honeyed firmness and softness.



Pierre, my dear, come here. I think he will not be out of place in a

family consultation is it not so, Prince?



Why dont you speak, cousin? suddenly shrieked the princess so

loud that those in the drawing room heard her and were startled. Why

do you remain silent when heaven knows who permits herself to

interfere, making a scene on the very threshold of a dying mans room?

Intriguer! she hissed viciously, and tugged with all her might at the

portfolio.



But Anna Mikhylovna went forward a step or two to keep her hold on the

portfolio, and changed her grip.



Prince Vasli 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 Mikhylovna did not obey him.



Let go, I tell you! I will take the responsibility. I myself will go

and ask him, I!... does that satisfy you?



But, Prince, said Anna Mikhylovna, after such a solemn

sacrament, allow him a moments peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your

opinion, said she, turning to the young man who, having come quite

close, was gazing with astonishment at the angry face of the princess

which had lost all dignity, and at the twitching cheeks of Prince

Vasli.



Remember that you will answer for the consequences, said Prince

Vasli severely. You dont know what you are doing.



Vile woman! shouted the princess, darting unexpectedly at Anna

Mikhylovna and snatching the portfolio from her.



Prince Vasli bent his head and spread out his hands.



At this moment that terrible door, which Pierre had watched so long

and which had always opened so quietly, burst noisily open and banged

against the wall, and the second of the three sisters rushed out

wringing her hands.



What are you doing! she cried vehemently. He is dying and you

leave me alone with him!



Her sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikhylovna, stooping, quickly

caught up the object of contention and ran into the bedroom. The eldest

princess and Prince Vasli, recovering themselves, followed her. A few

minutes later the eldest sister came out with a pale hard face, again

biting her underlip. At sight of Pierre her expression showed an

irrepressible hatred.



Yes, now you may be glad! said she this is what you have

been waiting for. And bursting into tears she hid her face in her

handkerchief and rushed from the room.



Prince Vasli came next. He staggered to the sofa on which Pierre was

sitting and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hand. Pierre

noticed that he was pale and that his jaw quivered and shook as if in an

ague.



Ah, my friend! said he, taking Pierre by the elbow and there was

in his voice a sincerity and weakness Pierre had never observed in it

before. How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? I am

near sixty, dear friend... I too... All will end in death, all! Death is

awful... and he burst into tears.



Anna Mikhylovna came out last. She approached Pierre with slow, quiet

steps.



Pierre! she said.



Pierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed the young man on his

forehead, wetting him with her tears. Then after a pause she said



He is no more....



Pierre looked at her over his spectacles.



Come, I will go with you. Try to weep, nothing gives such relief as

tears.



She led him into the dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no one could

see his face. Anna Mikhylovna left him, and when she returned he was

fast asleep with his head on his arm.



In the morning Anna Mikhylovna said to Pierre



Yes, my dear, this is a great loss for us all, not to speak of you.

But God will support you you are young, and are now, I hope, in command

of an immense fortune. The will has not yet been opened. I know you

well enough to be sure that this will not turn your head, but it imposes

duties on you, and you must be a man.



Pierre was silent.



Perhaps later on I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been

there, God only knows what would have happened! You know, Uncle promised

me only the day before yesterday not to forget Bors. But he had

no time. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your fathers

wish?



Pierre understood nothing of all this and coloring shyly looked in

silence at Princess Anna Mikhylovna. After her talk with Pierre, Anna

Mikhylovna returned to the Rostvs and went to bed. On waking in

the morning she told the Rostvs and all her acquaintances the details

of Count Bezkhovs death. She said the count had died as she would

herself wish to die, that his end was not only touching but edifying. As

to the last meeting between father and son, it was so touching that she

could not think of it without tears, and did not know which had behaved

better during those awful momentsthe father who so remembered

everything and everybody at last and had spoken such pathetic words to

the son, or Pierre, whom it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he

with grief, though he tried hard to hide it in order not to sadden his

dying father. It is painful, but it does one good. It uplifts the

soul to see such men as the old count and his worthy son, said she.

Of the behavior of the eldest princess and Prince Vasli she spoke

disapprovingly, but in whispers and as a great secret.











CHAPTER XXV



At Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Andrevich Bolknskis estate, the

arrival of young Prince Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but

this expectation did not upset the regular routine of life in the old

princes household. General in Chief Prince Nicholas Andrevich

(nicknamed in society, the King of Prussia) ever since the Emperor

Paul had exiled him to his country estate had lived there continuously

with his daughter, Princess Mary, and her companion, Mademoiselle

Bourienne. Though in the new reign he was free to return to the

capitals, he still continued to live in the country, remarking that

anyone who wanted to see him could come the hundred miles from Moscow to

Bald Hills, while he himself needed no one and nothing. He used to

say that there are only two sources of human viceidleness and

superstition, and only two virtuesactivity and intelligence. He

himself undertook his daughters education, and to develop these two

cardinal virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and geometry

till she was twenty, and arranged her life so that her whole time was

occupied. He was himself always occupied writing his memoirs, solving

problems in higher mathematics, turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working

in the garden, or superintending the building that was always going on

at his estate. As regularity is a prime condition facilitating activity,

regularity in his household was carried to the highest point of

exactitude. He always came to table under precisely the same conditions,

and not only at the same hour but at the same minute. With those about

him, from his daughter to his serfs, the prince was sharp and invariably

exacting, so that without being a hardhearted man he inspired such fear

and respect as few hardhearted men would have aroused. Although he was

in retirement and had now no influence in political affairs, every high

official appointed to the province in which the princes estate lay

considered it his duty to visit him and waited in the lofty antechamber

just as the architect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the prince

appeared punctually to the appointed hour. Everyone sitting in this

antechamber experienced the same feeling of respect and even fear when

the enormously high study door opened and showed the figure of a rather

small old man, with powdered wig, small withered hands, and bushy gray

eyebrows which, when he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his shrewd,

youthfully glittering eyes.



On the morning of the day that the young couple were to arrive, Princess

Mary entered the antechamber as usual at the time appointed for the

morning greeting, crossing herself with trepidation and repeating a

silent prayer. Every morning she came in like that, and every morning

prayed that the daily interview might pass off well.



An old powdered manservant who was sitting in the antechamber rose

quietly and said in a whisper Please walk in.



Through the door came the regular hum of a lathe. The princess timidly

opened the door which moved noiselessly and easily. She paused at the

entrance. The prince was working at the lathe and after glancing round

continued his work.



The enormous study was full of things evidently in constant use.

The large table covered with books and plans, the tall glass-fronted

bookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk for writing while

standing up, on which lay an open exercise book, and the lathe with

tools laid ready to hand and shavings scattered aroundall indicated

continuous, varied, and orderly activity. The motion of the small foot

shod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver, and the firm pressure

of the lean sinewy hand, showed that the prince still possessed the

tenacious endurance and vigor of hardy old age. After a few more turns

of the lathe he removed his foot from the pedal, wiped his chisel,

dropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and, approaching

the table, summoned his daughter. He never gave his children a blessing,

so he simply held out his bristly cheek (as yet unshaven) and, regarding

her tenderly and attentively, said severely



Quite well? All right then, sit down. He took the exercise book

containing lessons in geometry written by himself and drew up a chair

with his foot.



For tomorrow! said he, quickly finding the page and making a

scratch from one paragraph to another with his hard nail.



The princess bent over the exercise book on the table.



Wait a bit, heres a letter for you, said the old man suddenly,

taking a letter addressed in a womans hand from a bag hanging above

the table, onto which he threw it.



At the sight of the letter red patches showed themselves on the

princess face. She took it quickly and bent her head over it.



From Hlose? asked the prince with a cold smile that showed his

still sound, yellowish teeth.



Yes, its from Julie, replied the princess with a timid glance

and a timid smile.



Ill let two more letters pass, but the third Ill read, said

the prince sternly Im afraid you write much nonsense. Ill read

the third!



Read this if you like, Father, said the princess, blushing still

more and holding out the letter.



The third, I said the third! cried the prince abruptly, pushing

the letter away, and leaning his elbows on the table he drew toward him

the exercise book containing geometrical figures.



Well, madam, he began, stooping over the book close to his

daughter and placing an arm on the back of the chair on which she sat,

so that she felt herself surrounded on all sides by the acrid scent of

old age and tobacco, which she had known so long. Now, madam, these

triangles are equal please note that the angle ABC...



The princess looked in a scared way at her fathers eyes glittering

close to her the red patches on her face came and went, and it was

plain that she understood nothing and was so frightened that her

fear would prevent her understanding any of her fathers further

explanations, however clear they might be. Whether it was the

teachers fault or the pupils, this same thing happened every day

the princess eyes grew dim, she could not see and could not hear

anything, but was only conscious of her stern fathers withered face

close to her, of his breath and the smell of him, and could think only

of how to get away quickly to her own room to make out the problem in

peace. The old man was beside himself moved the chair on which he was

sitting noisily backward and forward, made efforts to control himself

and not become vehement, but almost always did become vehement, scolded,

and sometimes flung the exercise book away.



The princess gave a wrong answer.



Well now, isnt she a fool! shouted the prince, pushing the book

aside and turning sharply away but rising immediately, he paced up and

down, lightly touched his daughters hair and sat down again.



He drew up his chair, and continued to explain.



This wont do, Princess it wont do, said he, when Princess

Mary, having taken and closed the exercise book with the next days

lesson, was about to leave Mathematics are most important, madam!

I dont want to have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and

youll like it, and he patted her cheek. It will drive all the

nonsense out of your head.



She turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture and took an uncut

book from the high desk.



Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries that your Hlose has

sent you. Religious! I dont interfere with anyones belief... I

have looked at it. Take it. Well, now go. Go.



He patted her on the shoulder and himself closed the door after her.



Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad, scared expression that

rarely left her and which made her plain, sickly face yet plainer. She

sat down at her writing table, on which stood miniature portraits and

which was littered with books and papers. The princess was as untidy as

her father was tidy. She put down the geometry book and eagerly broke

the seal of her letter. It was from her most intimate friend from

childhood that same Julie Kargina who had been at the Rostvs

name-day party.



Julie wrote in French



Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing is

separation! Though I tell myself that half my life and half my happiness

are wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance separating us

our hearts are united by indissoluble bonds, my heart rebels against

fate and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot

overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever since

we parted. Why are we not together as we were last summer, in your big

study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why cannot I now, as

three months ago, draw fresh moral strength from your look, so gentle,

calm, and penetrating, a look I loved so well and seem to see before me

as I write?



Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced into the mirror

which stood on her right. It reflected a weak, ungraceful figure and

thin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with particular hopelessness

at her reflection in the glass. She flatters me, thought the

princess, turning away and continuing to read. But Julie did not flatter

her friend, the princess eyeslarge, deep and luminous (it seemed

as if at times there radiated from them shafts of warm light)were

so beautiful that very often in spite of the plainness of her face

they gave her an attraction more powerful than that of beauty. But the

princess never saw the beautiful expression of her own eyesthe look

they had when she was not thinking of herself. As with everyone, her

face assumed a forced unnatural expression as soon as she looked in a

glass. She went on reading



All Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers is already

abroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on their march

to the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg and it is thought

intends to expose his precious person to the chances of war. God grant

that the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may

be overthrown by the angel whom it has pleased the Almighty, in His

goodness, to give us as sovereign! To say nothing of my brothers, this

war has deprived me of one of the associations nearest my heart. I mean

young Nicholas Rostv, who with his enthusiasm could not bear to remain

inactive and has left the university to join the army. I will confess to

you, dear Mary, that in spite of his extreme youth his departure for

the army was a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you

last summer, is so noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which

one seldom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly,

he is so frank and has so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that

my relations with him, transient as they were, have been one of the

sweetest comforts to my poor heart, which has already suffered so much.

Someday I will tell you about our parting and all that was said then.

That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to know

these poignant joys and sorrows. You are fortunate, for the latter are

generally the stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too

young ever to be more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship,

this poetic and pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of

this! The chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of

old Count Bezkhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three princesses

have received very little, Prince Vasli nothing, and it is Monsieur

Pierre who has inherited all the property and has besides been

recognized as legitimate so that he is now Count Bezkhov and

possessor of the finest fortune in Russia. It is rumored that Prince

Vasli played a very despicable part in this affair and that he

returned to Petersburg quite crestfallen.



I confess I understand very little about all these matters of wills and

inheritance but I do know that since this young man, whom we all used

to know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count Bezkhov and the

owner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to

watch the change in the tone and manners of the mammas burdened by

marriageable daughters, and of the young ladies themselves, toward

him, though, between you and me, he always seemed to me a poor sort

of fellow. As for the past two years people have amused themselves

by finding husbands for me (most of whom I dont even know), the

matchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as the future Countess

Bezkhova. But you will understand that I have no desire for the post.

 propos of marriages do you know that a while ago that universal

auntie Anna Mikhylovna told me, under the seal of strict secrecy, of

a plan of marriage for you. It is neither more nor less than with Prince

Vaslis son Anatole, whom they wish to reform by marrying him to

someone rich and distingue, and it is on you that his relations

choice has fallen. I dont know what you will think of it, but

I consider it my duty to let you know of it. He is said to be very

handsome and a terrible scapegrace. That is all I have been able to find

out about him.



But enough of gossip. I am at the end of my second sheet of paper, and

Mamma has sent for me to go and dine at the Aprksins. Read the

mystical book I am sending you it has an enormous success here. Though

there are things in it difficult for the feeble human mind to grasp, it

is an admirable book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! Give

my respects to monsieur your father and my compliments to Mademoiselle

Bourienne. I embrace you as I love you.



JULIE



P.S. Let me have news of your brother and his charming little wife.



The princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smile and her luminous

eyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed. Then she suddenly

rose and with her heavy tread went up to the table. She took a sheet of

paper and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the reply she wrote,

also in French



Dear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has given me great

delight. So you still love me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which

you say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had its usual effect

on you. You complain of our separation. What then should I say, if I

dared complain, I who am deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if

we had not religion to console us life would be very sad. Why do you

suppose that I should look severely on your affection for that young

man? On such matters I am only severe with myself. I understand such

feelings in others, and if never having felt them I cannot approve of

them, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian

love, love of ones neighbor, love of ones enemy, is worthier,

sweeter, and better than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a

young man can inspire in a romantic and loving young girl like yourself.



The news of Count Bezkhovs death reached us before your letter

and my father was much affected by it. He says the count was the last

representative but one of the great century, and that it is his own

turn now, but that he will do all he can to let his turn come as late as

possible. God preserve us from that terrible misfortune!



I cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always

seemed to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality I value

most in people. As to his inheritance and the part played by Prince

Vasli, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine

Saviours words, that it is easier for a camel to go through the

eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God, are

terribly true. I pity Prince Vasli but am still more sorry for Pierre.

So young, and burdened with such richesto what temptations he will be

exposed! If I were asked what I desire most on earth, it would be to be

poorer than the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the

volume you have sent me and which has such success in Moscow. Yet since

you tell me that among some good things it contains others which our

weak human understanding cannot grasp, it seems to me rather useless to

spend time in reading what is unintelligible and can therefore bear

no fruit. I never could understand the fondness some people have for

confusing their minds by dwelling on mystical books that merely awaken

their doubts and excite their imagination, giving them a bent for

exaggeration quite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read

the Epistles and Gospels. Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries

they contain for how can we, miserable sinners that we are, know the

terrible and holy secrets of Providence while we remain in this flesh

which forms an impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us

rather confine ourselves to studying those sublime rules which our

divine Saviour has left for our guidance here below. Let us try to

conform to them and follow them, and let us be persuaded that the less

we let our feeble human minds roam, the better we shall please God, who

rejects all knowledge that does not come from Him and the less we seek

to fathom what He has been pleased to conceal from us, the sooner will

He vouchsafe its revelation to us through His divine Spirit.



My father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but has only told me that he

has received a letter and is expecting a visit from Prince Vasli. In

regard to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you, dear sweet

friend, that I look on marriage as a divine institution to which we must

conform. However painful it may be to me, should the Almighty lay

the duties of wife and mother upon me I shall try to perform them as

faithfully as I can, without disquieting myself by examining my feelings

toward him whom He may give me for husband.



I have had a letter from my brother, who announces his speedy arrival

at Bald Hills with his wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one,

however, for he will leave us again to take part in this unhappy war

into which we have been drawn, God knows how or why. Not only where you

areat the heart of affairs and of the worldis the talk all of

war, even here amid fieldwork and the calm of naturewhich townsfolk

consider characteristic of the countryrumors of war are heard

and painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but marches and

countermarches, things of which I understand nothing and the day

before yesterday during my daily walk through the village I witnessed a

heartrending scene.... It was a convoy of conscripts enrolled from our

people and starting to join the army. You should have seen the state of

the mothers, wives, and children of the men who were going and should

have heard the sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten the

laws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and forgiveness of

injuriesand that men attribute the greatest merit to skill in killing

one another.



Adieu, dear and kind friend may our divine Saviour and His most Holy

Mother keep you in their holy and all-powerful care!



MARY



Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I have already dispatched

mine. I have written to my poor mother, said the smiling Mademoiselle

Bourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow tones and with guttural rs.

She brought into Princess Marys strenuous, mournful, and gloomy

world a quite different atmosphere, careless, lighthearted, and

self-satisfied.



Princess, I must warn you, she added, lowering her voice and

evidently listening to herself with pleasure, and speaking with

exaggerated grasseyement, the prince has been scolding Michael

Ivnovich. He is in a very bad humor, very morose. Be prepared.



Ah, dear friend, replied Princess Mary, I have asked you never

to warn me of the humor my father is in. I do not allow myself to judge

him and would not have others do so.



The princess glanced at her watch and, seeing that she was five minutes

late in starting her practice on the clavichord, went into the sitting

room with a look of alarm. Between twelve and two oclock, as the

day was mapped out, the prince rested and the princess played the

clavichord.











CHAPTER XXVI



The gray-haired valet was sitting drowsily listening to the snoring of

the prince, who was in his large study. From the far side of the house

through the closed doors came the sound of difficult passagestwenty

times repeatedof a sonata by Dussek.



Just then a closed carriage and another with a hood drove up to the

porch. Prince Andrew got out of the carriage, helped his little wife to

alight, and let her pass into the house before him. Old Tkhon, wearing

a wig, put his head out of the door of the antechamber, reported in

a whisper that the prince was sleeping, and hastily closed the door.

Tkhon knew that neither the sons arrival nor any other unusual

event must be allowed to disturb the appointed order of the day. Prince

Andrew apparently knew this as well as Tkhon he looked at his watch

as if to ascertain whether his fathers habits had changed since he

was at home last, and, having assured himself that they had not, he

turned to his wife.



He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us go across to Marys

room, he said.



The little princess had grown stouter during this time, but her eyes

and her short, downy, smiling lip lifted when she began to speak just as

merrily and prettily as ever.



Why, this is a palace! she said to her husband, looking around

with the expression with which people compliment their host at a ball.

Lets come, quick, quick! And with a glance round, she smiled at

Tkhon, at her husband, and at the footman who accompanied them.



Is that Mary practicing? Lets go quietly and take her by

surprise.



Prince Andrew followed her with a courteous but sad expression.



Youve grown older, Tkhon, he said in passing to the old man,

who kissed his hand.



Before they reached the room from which the sounds of the clavichord

came, the pretty, fair-haired Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Bourienne,

rushed out apparently beside herself with delight.



Ah! what joy for the princess! exclaimed she At last! I must

let her know.



No, no, please not... You are Mademoiselle Bourienne, said

the little princess, kissing her. I know you already through my

sister-in-laws friendship for you. She was not expecting us?



They went up to the door of the sitting room from which came the sound

of the oft-repeated passage of the sonata. Prince Andrew stopped and

made a grimace, as if expecting something unpleasant.



The little princess entered the room. The passage broke off in the

middle, a cry was heard, then Princess Marys heavy tread and the

sound of kissing. When Prince Andrew went in the two princesses, who

had only met once before for a short time at his wedding, were in

each others arms warmly pressing their lips to whatever place they

happened to touch. Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them pressing her

hand to her heart, with a beatific smile and obviously equally ready to

cry or to laugh. Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders and frowned, as

lovers of music do when they hear a false note. The two women let go

of one another, and then, as if afraid of being too late, seized each

others hands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began

kissing each other on the face, and then to Prince Andrews surprise

both began to cry and kissed again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to

cry. Prince Andrew evidently felt ill at ease, but to the two women

it seemed quite natural that they should cry, and apparently it never

entered their heads that it could have been otherwise at this meeting.



Ah! my dear!... Ah! Mary!... they suddenly exclaimed, and then

laughed. I dreamed last night...You were not expecting

us?... Ah! Mary, you have got thinner?... And you have grown

stouter!...



I knew the princess at once, put in Mademoiselle Bourienne.



And I had no idea!... exclaimed Princess Mary. Ah, Andrew, I

did not see you.



Prince Andrew and his sister, hand in hand, kissed one another, and

he told her she was still the same crybaby as ever. Princess Mary had

turned toward her brother, and through her tears the loving, warm,

gentle look of her large luminous eyes, very beautiful at that moment,

rested on Prince Andrews face.



The little princess talked incessantly, her short, downy upper lip

continually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary

and drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile of

glittering teeth and sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had

had on the Spsski Hill which might have been serious for her in her

condition, and immediately after that informed them that she had left

all her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven knew what she would have

to dress in here and that Andrew had quite changed, and that Kitty

Odntsova had married an old man, and that there was a suitor for Mary,

a real one, but that they would talk of that later. Princess Mary was

still looking silently at her brother and her beautiful eyes were full

of love and sadness. It was plain that she was following a train of

thought independent of her sister-in-laws words. In the midst of a

description of the last Petersburg fete she addressed her brother



So you are really going to the war, Andrew? she said sighing.



Lise sighed too.



Yes, and even tomorrow, replied her brother.



He is leaving me here, God knows why, when he might have had

promotion...



Princess Mary did not listen to the end, but continuing her train of

thought turned to her sister-in-law with a tender glance at her figure.



Is it certain? she said.



The face of the little princess changed. She sighed and said Yes,

quite certain. Ah! it is very dreadful...



Her lip descended. She brought her face close to her sister-in-laws

and unexpectedly again began to cry.



She needs rest, said Prince Andrew with a frown. Dont you,

Lise? Take her to your room and Ill go to Father. How is he? Just the

same?



Yes, just the same. Though I dont know what your opinion will

be, answered the princess joyfully.



And are the hours the same? And the walks in the avenues? And the

lathe? asked Prince Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile which

showed that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, he was

aware of his weaknesses.



The hours are the same, and the lathe, and also the mathematics and

my geometry lessons, said Princess Mary gleefully, as if her lessons

in geometry were among the greatest delights of her life.



When the twenty minutes had elapsed and the time had come for the old

prince to get up, Tkhon came to call the young prince to his father.

The old man made a departure from his usual routine in honor of his

sons arrival he gave orders to admit him to his apartments while

he dressed for dinner. The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned

style, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair and when Prince Andrew

entered his fathers dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and

manner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which

he talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered

chair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tkhon.



Ah! heres the warrior! Wants to vanquish Buonaparte? said the

old man, shaking his powdered head as much as the tail, which Tkhon

was holding fast to plait, would allow.



You at least must tackle him properly, or else if he goes on like

this hell soon have us, too, for his subjects! How are you? And he

held out his cheek.



The old man was in a good temper after his nap before dinner. (He

used to say that a nap after dinner was silverbefore dinner,

golden.) He cast happy, sidelong glances at his son from under his

thick, bushy eyebrows. Prince Andrew went up and kissed his father on

the spot indicated to him. He made no reply on his fathers favorite

topicmaking fun of the military men of the day, and more particularly

of Bonaparte.



Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought my wife who is

pregnant, said Prince Andrew, following every movement of his

fathers face with an eager and respectful look. How is your

health?



Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You know me I am busy from

morning till night and abstemious, so of course I am well.



Thank God, said his son smiling.



God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on, he continued,

returning to his hobby tell me how the Germans have taught you to

fight Bonaparte by this new science you call strategy.



Prince Andrew smiled.



Give me time to collect my wits, Father, said he, with a smile

that showed that his fathers foibles did not prevent his son from

loving and honoring him. Why, I have not yet had time to settle

down!



Nonsense, nonsense! cried the old man, shaking his pigtail to

see whether it was firmly plaited, and grasping his by the hand. The

house for your wife is ready. Princess Mary will take her there and

show her over, and theyll talk nineteen to the dozen. Thats

their womans way! I am glad to have her. Sit down and talk. About

Mikhelsons army I understandTolsty s too... a simultaneous

expedition.... But whats the southern army to do? Prussia is

neutral... I know that. What about Austria? said he, rising from his

chair and pacing up and down the room followed by Tkhon, who ran after

him, handing him different articles of clothing. What of Sweden? How

will they cross Pomerania?



Prince Andrew, seeing that his father insisted, beganat first

reluctantly, but gradually with more and more animation, and from habit

changing unconsciously from Russian to French as he went onto explain

the plan of operation for the coming campaign. He explained how an army,

ninety thousand strong, was to threaten Prussia so as to bring her out

of her neutrality and draw her into the war how part of that army was

to join some Swedish forces at Stralsund how two hundred and twenty

thousand Austrians, with a hundred thousand Russians, were to operate in

Italy and on the Rhine how fifty thousand Russians and as many English

were to land at Naples, and how a total force of five hundred thousand

men was to attack the French from different sides. The old prince did

not evince the least interest during this explanation, but as if he were

not listening to it continued to dress while walking about, and three

times unexpectedly interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting The

white one, the white one!



This meant that Tkhon was not handing him the waistcoat he wanted.

Another time he interrupted, saying



And will she soon be confined? and shaking his head reproachfully

said Thats bad! Go on, go on.



The third interruption came when Prince Andrew was finishing his

description. The old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old age

Malbrook sen va-t-en guerre. Dieu sait quand reviendra. *



     * Marlborough is going to the wars God knows when hell

     return.





His son only smiled.



I dont say its a plan I approve of, said the son I am

only telling you what it is. Napoleon has also formed his plan by now,

not worse than this one.



Well, youve told me nothing new, and the old man repeated,

meditatively and rapidly



Dieu sait quand reviendra. Go to the dining room.











CHAPTER XXVII



At the appointed hour the prince, powdered and shaven, entered the

dining room where his daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and Mademoiselle

Bourienne were already awaiting him together with his architect, who by

a strange caprice of his employers was admitted to table though the

position of that insignificant individual was such as could certainly

not have caused him to expect that honor. The prince, who generally kept

very strictly to social distinctions and rarely admitted even important

government officials to his table, had unexpectedly selected Michael

Ivnovich (who always went into a corner to blow his nose on his

checked handkerchief) to illustrate the theory that all men are equals,

and had more than once impressed on his daughter that Michael Ivnovich

was not a whit worse than you or I. At dinner the prince usually

spoke to the taciturn Michael Ivnovich more often than to anyone else.



In the dining room, which like all the rooms in the house was

exceedingly lofty, the members of the household and the footmenone

behind each chairstood waiting for the prince to enter. The head

butler, napkin on arm, was scanning the setting of the table, making

signs to the footmen, and anxiously glancing from the clock to the door

by which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at a large

gilt frame, new to him, containing the genealogical tree of the Princes

Bolknski, opposite which hung another such frame with a badly painted

portrait (evidently by the hand of the artist belonging to the estate)

of a ruling prince, in a crownan alleged descendant of Rrik and

ancestor of the Bolknskis. Prince Andrew, looking again at that

genealogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man laughs who looks at

a portrait so characteristic of the original as to be amusing.



How thoroughly like him that is! he said to Princess Mary, who had

come up to him.



Princess Mary looked at her brother in surprise. She did not understand

what he was laughing at. Everything her father did inspired her with

reverence and was beyond question.



Everyone has his Achilles heel, continued Prince Andrew.

Fancy, with his powerful mind, indulging in such nonsense!



Princess Mary could not understand the boldness of her brothers

criticism and was about to reply, when the expected footsteps were heard

coming from the study. The prince walked in quickly and jauntily as was

his wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness of his manners

with the strict formality of his house. At that moment the great clock

struck two and another with a shrill tone joined in from the drawing

room. The prince stood still his lively glittering eyes from under

their thick, bushy eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested on

the little princess. She felt, as courtiers do when the Tsar enters, the

sensation of fear and respect which the old man inspired in all around

him. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of

her neck.



Im glad, glad, to see you, he said, looking attentively into

her eyes, and then quickly went to his place and sat down. Sit down,

sit down! Sit down, Michael Ivnovich!



He indicated a place beside him to his daughter-in-law. A footman moved

the chair for her.



Ho, ho! said the old man, casting his eyes on her rounded figure.

Youve been in a hurry. Thats bad!



He laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lips only

and not with his eyes.



You must walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible, he

said.



The little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. She was

silent and seemed confused. The prince asked her about her father, and

she began to smile and talk. He asked about mutual acquaintances, and

she became still more animated and chattered away giving him greetings

from various people and retelling the town gossip.



Countess Aprksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she has

cried her eyes out, she said, growing more and more lively.



As she became animated the prince looked at her more and more sternly,

and suddenly, as if he had studied her sufficiently and had formed a

definite idea of her, he turned away and addressed Michael Ivnovich.



Well, Michael Ivnovich, our Bonaparte will be having a bad time

of it. Prince Andrew (he always spoke thus of his son) has been

telling me what forces are being collected against him! While you and I

never thought much of him.



Michael Ivnovich did not at all know when you and I had said

such things about Bonaparte, but understanding that he was wanted as

a peg on which to hang the princes favorite topic, he looked

inquiringly at the young prince, wondering what would follow.



He is a great tactician! said the prince to his son, pointing to

the architect.



And the conversation again turned on the war, on Bonaparte, and the

generals and statesmen of the day. The old prince seemed convinced not

only that all the men of the day were mere babies who did not know the

A B C of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was an insignificant

little Frenchy, successful only because there were no longer any

Potmkins or Suvrovs left to oppose him but he was also convinced

that there were no political difficulties in Europe and no real war,

but only a sort of puppet show at which the men of the day were playing,

pretending to do something real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his

fathers ridicule of the new men, and drew him on and listened to him

with evident pleasure.



The past always seems good, said he, but did not Suvrov

himself fall into a trap Moreau set him, and from which he did not know

how to escape?



Who told you that? Who? cried the prince. Suvrov! And he

jerked away his plate, which Tkhon briskly caught. Suvrov!...

Consider, Prince Andrew. Two... Frederick and Suvrov Moreau!...

Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvrov had had a free hand but

he had the Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath on his hands. It would have

puzzled the devil himself! When you get there youll find out what

those Hofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suvrov couldnt manage them so

what chance has Michael Kutzov? No, my dear boy, he continued,

you and your generals wont get on against Buonaparte youll

have to call in the French, so that birds of a feather may fight

together. The German, Pahlen, has been sent to New York in America, to

fetch the Frenchman, Moreau, he said, alluding to the invitation made

that year to Moreau to enter the Russian service.... Wonderful!...

Were the Potmkins, Suvrovs, and Orlvs Germans? No, lad, either you

fellows have all lost your wits, or I have outlived mine. May God help

you, but well see what will happen. Buonaparte has become a great

commander among them! Hm!...



I dont at all say that all the plans are good, said Prince

Andrew, I am only surprised at your opinion of Bonaparte. You

may laugh as much as you like, but all the same Bonaparte is a great

general!



Michael Ivnovich! cried the old prince to the architect who,

busy with his roast meat, hoped he had been forgotten Didnt

I tell you Buonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he says the same

thing.



To be sure, your excellency, replied the architect.



The prince again laughed his frigid laugh.



Buonaparte was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has got

splendid soldiers. Besides he began by attacking Germans. And only

idlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since the world began everybody

has beaten the Germans. They beat no oneexcept one another. He made

his reputation fighting them.



And the prince began explaining all the blunders which, according to

him, Bonaparte had made in his campaigns and even in politics. His

son made no rejoinder, but it was evident that whatever arguments were

presented he was as little able as his father to change his opinion. He

listened, refraining from a reply, and involuntarily wondered how this

old man, living alone in the country for so many years, could know and

discuss so minutely and acutely all the recent European military and

political events.



You think Im an old man and dont understand the present state

of affairs? concluded his father. But it troubles me. I dont

sleep at night. Come now, where has this great commander of yours shown

his skill? he concluded.



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



Well, then go off to your Buonaparte! Mademoiselle Bourienne,

heres another admirer of that powder-monkey emperor of yours, he

exclaimed in excellent French.



You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!



Dieu sait quand reviendra. hummed the prince out of tune and, with

a laugh still more so, he quitted the table.



The little princess during the whole discussion and the rest of

the dinner sat silent, glancing with a frightened look now at her

father-in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they left the table she

took her sister-in-laws arm and drew her into another room.



What a clever man your father is, said she perhaps that is why

I am afraid of him.



Oh, he is so kind! answered Princess Mary.











CHAPTER XXVIII



Prince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, not altering

his routine, retired as usual after dinner. The little princess was in

her sister-in-laws room. Prince Andrew in a traveling coat without

epaulettes had been packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to him.

After inspecting the carriage himself and seeing the trunks put in, he

ordered the horses to be harnessed. Only those things he always kept

with him remained in his room a small box, a large canteen fitted

with silver plate, two Turkish pistols and a sabera present from

his father who had brought it from the siege of Ochkov. All these

traveling effects of Prince Andrews were in very good order new,

clean, and in cloth covers carefully tied with tapes.



When starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, men capable

of reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind. At such moments

one reviews the past and plans for the future. Prince Andrews face

looked very thoughtful and tender. With his hands behind him he paced

briskly from corner to corner of the room, looking straight before him

and thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he fear going to the war, or was

he sad at leaving his wife?perhaps both, but evidently he did not

wish to be seen in that mood, for hearing footsteps in the passage he

hurriedly unclasped his hands, stopped at a table as if tying the

cover of the small box, and assumed his usual tranquil and impenetrable

expression. It was the heavy tread of Princess Mary that he heard.



I hear you have given orders to harness, she cried, panting (she

had apparently been running), and I did so wish to have another talk

with you alone! God knows how long we may again be parted. You are not

angry with me for coming? You have changed so, Andrsha, she added,

as if to explain such a question.



She smiled as she uttered his pet name, Andrsha. It was

obviously strange to her to think that this stern handsome man should be

Andrshathe slender mischievous boy who had been her playfellow in

childhood.



And where is Lise? he asked, answering her question only by a

smile.



She was so tired that she has fallen asleep on the sofa in my room.

Oh, Andrew! What a treasure of a wife you have, said she, sitting

down on the sofa, facing her brother. She is quite a child such a

dear, merry child. I have grown so fond of her.



Prince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the ironical and

contemptuous look that showed itself on his face.



One must be indulgent to little weaknesses who is free from them,

Andrew? Dont forget that she has grown up and been educated in

society, and so her position now is not a rosy one. We should enter into

everyones situation. Tout comprendre, cest tout pardonner. * Think

what it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to,

to be parted from her husband and be left alone in the country, in her

condition! Its very hard.



     * To understand all is to forgive all.



Prince Andrew smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile at those we

think we thoroughly understand.



You live in the country and dont think the life terrible, he

replied.



I... thats different. Why speak of me? I dont want any other

life, and cant, for I know no other. But think, Andrew for a young

society woman to be buried in the country during the best years of her

life, all alonefor Papa is always busy, and I... well, you know what

poor resources I have for entertaining a woman used to the best society.

There is only Mademoiselle Bourienne....



I dont like your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all, said Prince

Andrew.



No? She is very nice and kind and, above all, shes much to be

pitied. She has no one, no one. To tell the truth, I dont need her,

and shes even in my way. You know I always was a savage, and now am

even more so. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much. She and

Michael Ivnovich are the two people to whom he is always gentle and

kind, because he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sterne says

We dont love people so much for the good they have done us, as

for the good we have done them. Father took her when she was homeless

after losing her own father. She is very good-natured, and my father

likes her way of reading. She reads to him in the evenings and reads

splendidly.



To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Fathers character sometimes

makes things trying for you, doesnt it? Prince Andrew asked

suddenly.



Princess Mary was first surprised and then aghast at this question.



For me? For me?... Trying for me!... said she.



He always was rather harsh and now I should think hes getting

very trying, said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of their

father in order to puzzle or test his sister.



You are good in every way, Andrew, but you have a kind of

intellectual pride, said the princess, following the train of her own

thoughts rather than the trend of the conversationand thats a

great sin. How can one judge Father? But even if one might, what feeling

except veneration could such a man as my father evoke? And I am so

contented and happy with him. I only wish you were all as happy as I

am.



Her brother shook his head incredulously.



The only thing that is hard for me... I will tell you the truth,

Andrew... is Fathers way of treating religious subjects. I dont

understand how a man of his immense intellect can fail to see what is

as clear as day, and can go so far astray. That is the only thing

that makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see lately a shade of

improvement. His satire has been less bitter of late, and there was a

monk he received and had a long talk with.



Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting your

powder, said Prince Andrew banteringly yet tenderly.



Ah! mon ami, I only pray, and hope that God will hear me.

Andrew... she said timidly after a moments silence, I have a

great favor to ask of you.



What is it, dear?



Nopromise that you will not refuse! It will give you no trouble

and is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise,

Andrsha!... said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yet

taking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held were

the subject of her request and must not be shown before the request was

granted.



She looked timidly at her brother.



Even if it were a great deal of trouble... answered Prince Andrew,

as if guessing what it was about.



Think what you please! I know you are just like Father. Think as

you please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Fathers father, our

grandfather, wore it in all his wars. (She still did not take out

what she was holding in her reticule.) So you promise?



Of course. What is it?



Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you will

never take it off. Do you promise?



If it does not weigh a hundredweight and wont break my neck...

To please you... said Prince Andrew. But immediately, noticing

the pained expression his joke had brought to his sisters face, he

repented and added I am glad really, dear, I am very glad.



Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bring you

to Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace, said she in a voice

trembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands before her

brother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviour in a gold

setting, on a finely wrought silver chain.



She crossed herself, kissed the icon, and handed it to Andrew.



Please, Andrew, for my sake!...



Rays of gentle light shone from her large, timid eyes. Those eyes lit

up the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother

would have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andrew understood,

crossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look of tenderness, for

he was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face.



Thank you, my dear. She kissed him on the forehead and sat down

again on the sofa. They were silent for a while.



As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generous as you always

used to be. Dont judge Lise harshly, she began. She is so

sweet, so good-natured, and her position now is a very hard one.



I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Msha, or blamed

her. Why do you say all this to me?



Red patches appeared on Princess Marys face and she was silent as if

she felt guilty.



I have said nothing to you, but you have already been talked to. And

I am sorry for that, he went on.



The patches grew deeper on her forehead, neck, and cheeks. She tried to

say something but could not. Her brother had guessed right the little

princess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of her forebodings

about her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and had complained of her

fate, her father-in-law, and her husband. After crying she had fallen

asleep. Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister.



Know this, Msha I cant reproach, have not reproached, and never

shall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot reproach myself

with anything in regard to her and that always will be so in whatever

circumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth... if

you want to know whether I am happy? No! Is she happy? No! But why this

is so I dont know...



As he said this he rose, went to his sister, and, stooping, kissed

her forehead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, and

unaccustomed brightness, but he was looking not at his sister but over

her head toward the darkness of the open doorway.



Let us go to her, I must say good-by. Orgo and wake and Ill

come in a moment. Petrshka! he called to his valet Come here,

take these away. Put this on the seat and this to the right.



Princess Mary rose and moved to the door, then stopped and said

Andrew, if you had faith you would have turned to God and asked Him

to give you the love you do not feel, and your prayer would have been

answered.



Well, maybe! said Prince Andrew. Go, Msha Ill come

immediately.



On the way to his sisters room, in the passage which connected one

wing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling

sweetly. It was the third time that day that, with an ecstatic and

artless smile, she had met him in secluded passages.



Oh! I thought you were in your room, she said, for some reason

blushing and dropping her eyes.



Prince Andrew looked sternly at her and an expression of anger suddenly

came over his face. He said nothing to her but looked at her forehead

and hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the

Frenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When he reached his

sisters room his wife was already awake and her merry voice, hurrying

one word after another, came through the open door. She was speaking as

usual in French, and as if after long self-restraint she wished to make

up for lost time.



No, but imagine the old Countess Zbova, with false curls and her

mouth full of false teeth, as if she were trying to cheat old age....

Ha, ha, ha! Mary!



This very sentence about Countess Zbova and this same laugh Prince

Andrew had already heard from his wife in the presence of others some

five times. He entered the room softly. The little princess, plump and

rosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her work in her hands, talking

incessantly, repeating Petersburg reminiscences and even phrases. Prince

Andrew came up, stroked her hair, and asked if she felt rested after

their journey. She answered him and continued her chatter.



The coach with six horses was waiting at the porch. It was an autumn

night, so dark that the coachman could not see the carriage pole.

Servants with lanterns were bustling about in the porch. The immense

house was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windows. The

domestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid good-by to

the young prince. The members of the household were all gathered in the

reception hall Michael Ivnovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess

Mary, and the little princess. Prince Andrew had been called to his

fathers study as the latter wished to say good-by to him alone. All

were waiting for them to come out.



When Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-age

spectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one but his

son, sat at the table writing. He glanced round.



Going? And he went on writing.



Ive 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 womans apron strings.

The Service before everything. Thanks, thanks! And he went on

writing, so that his quill spluttered and squeaked. If you have

anything to say, say it. These two things can be done together, he

added.



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

hands....



Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.



When her confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur.... Let

him be here....



The old prince stopped writing and, as if not understanding, fixed his

stern eyes on his son.



I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work, said

Prince Andrew, evidently confused. I know that out of a million

cases only one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine. They have been

telling her things. She has had a dream and is frightened.



Hm... Hm... muttered the old prince to himself, finishing what he

was writing. Ill do it.



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

laugh.



Its a bad business, eh?



What is bad, Father?



The wife! said the old prince, briefly and significantly.



I dont understand! said Prince Andrew.



No, it cant be helped, lad, said the prince. Theyre

all like that one cant unmarry. Dont be afraid I wont tell

anyone, but you know it yourself.



He seized his son by the hand with small bony fingers, shook it, looked

straight into his sons face with keen eyes which seemed to see

through him, and again laughed his frigid laugh.



The son sighed, thus admitting that his father had understood him. The

old man continued to fold and seal his letter, snatching up and throwing

down the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomed rapidity.



Whats to be done? Shes pretty! I will do everything. Make your

mind easy, said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter.



Andrew did not speak he was both pleased and displeased that his father

understood him. The old man got up and gave the letter to his son.



Listen! said he dont worry about your wife what can be

done shall be. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilarinovich. *

I have written that he should make use of you in proper places and not

keep you long as an adjutant a bad position! Tell him I remember

and like him. Write and tell me how he receives you. If he is all

rightserve him. Nicholas Bolknskis son need not serve under

anyone if he is in disfavor. Now come here.



     *Kutzov.



He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but his son

was accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raised the

lid, drew out a drawer, and took out an exercise book filled with his

bold, tall, close handwriting.



I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs

hand them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bond

and a letter it is a premium for the man who writes a history of

Suvrovs wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for

you to read when I am gone. You will find them useful.



Andrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a long time

yet. He felt that he must not say it.



I will do it all, Father, he said.



Well, now, good-by! He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embraced

him. Remember this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurt me,

your old father... he paused unexpectedly, and then in a querulous

voice suddenly shrieked but if I hear that you have not behaved like

a son of Nicholas Bolknski, I shall be ashamed!



You need not have said that to me, Father, said the son with a

smile.



The old man was silent.



I also wanted to ask you, continued Prince Andrew, if Im

killed and if I have a son, do not let him be taken away from youas 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 mans sharp eyes were

fixed straight on his sons. Something twitched in the lower part of

the old princes face.



Weve said good-by. Go! he suddenly shouted in a loud, angry

voice, opening his door.



What is it? What? asked both princesses when they saw for a moment

at the door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a white

dressing gown, spectacled and wigless, shouting in an angry voice.



Prince Andrew sighed and made no reply.



Well! he said, turning to his wife.



And this Well! sounded coldly ironic, as if he were saying Now

go through your performance.



Andrew, already! said the little princess, turning pale and

looking with dismay at her husband.



He embraced her. She screamed and fell unconscious on his shoulder.



He cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into her face,

and carefully placed her in an easy chair.



Adieu, Mary, said he gently to his sister, taking her by the hand

and kissing her, and then he left the room with rapid steps.



The little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bourienne chafing

her temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law, still looked

with her beautiful eyes full of tears at the door through which Prince

Andrew had gone and made the sign of the cross in his direction. From

the study, like pistol shots, came the frequent sound of the old man

angrily blowing his nose. Hardly had Prince Andrew gone when the study

door opened quickly and the stern figure of the old man in the white

dressing gown looked out.



Gone? Thats all right! said he and looking angrily at the

unconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovingly and slammed

the door.











BOOK TWO 1805











CHAPTER I



In October, 1805, a Russian army was occupying the villages and towns of

the Archduchy of Austria, and yet other regiments freshly arriving from

Russia were settling near the fortress of Braunau and burdening the

inhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau was the headquarters of

the commander in chief, Kutzov.



On October 11, 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached

Braunau had halted half a mile from the town, waiting to be inspected

by the commander in chief. Despite the un-Russian appearance of the

locality and surroundingsfruit gardens, stone fences, tiled roofs,

and hills in the distanceand despite the fact that the inhabitants

(who gazed with curiosity at the soldiers) were not Russians, the

regiment had just the appearance of any Russian regiment preparing for

an inspection anywhere in the heart of Russia.



On the evening of the last days march an order had been received that

the commander in chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though

the words of the order were not clear to the regimental commander, and

the question arose whether the troops were to be in marching order or

not, it was decided at a consultation between the battalion commanders

to present the regiment in parade order, on the principle that it is

always better to bow too low than not bow low enough. So the

soldiers, after a twenty-mile march, were kept mending and cleaning all

night long without closing their eyes, while the adjutants and

company commanders calculated and reckoned, and by morning the

regimentinstead of the straggling, disorderly crowd it had been on

its last march the day beforepresented a well-ordered array of two

thousand men each of whom knew his place and his duty, had every button

and every strap in place, and shone with cleanliness. And not only

externally was all in order, but had it pleased the commander in chief

to look under the uniforms he would have found on every man a clean

shirt, and in every knapsack the appointed number of articles, awl,

soap, and all, as the soldiers say. There was only one circumstance

concerning which no one could be at ease. It was the state of the

soldiers boots. More than half the mens boots were in holes. But

this defect was not due to any fault of the regimental commander, for

in spite of repeated demands boots had not been issued by the Austrian

commissariat, and the regiment had marched some seven hundred miles.



The commander of the regiment was an elderly, choleric, stout, and

thick-set general with grizzled eyebrows and whiskers, and wider from

chest to back than across the shoulders. He had on a brand-new uniform

showing the creases where it had been folded and thick gold epaulettes

which seemed to stand rather than lie down on his massive shoulders. He

had the air of a man happily performing one of the most solemn duties of

his life. He walked about in front of the line and at every step pulled

himself up, slightly arching his back. It was plain that the commander

admired his regiment, rejoiced in it, and that his whole mind was

engrossed by it, yet his strut seemed to indicate that, besides military

matters, social interests and the fair sex occupied no small part of his

thoughts.



Well, Michael Mtrich, sir? he said, addressing one of the

battalion commanders who smilingly pressed forward (it was plain that

they both felt happy). We had our hands full last night. However, I

think the regiment is not a bad one, eh?



The battalion commander perceived the jovial irony and laughed.



It would not be turned off the field even on the Tsartsin

Meadow.



What? asked the commander.



At that moment, on the road from the town on which signalers had been

posted, two men appeared on horse back. They were an aide-de-camp

followed by a Cossack.



The aide-de-camp was sent to confirm the order which had not been

clearly worded the day before, namely, that the commander in chief

wished to see the regiment just in the state in which it had been on

the march in their greatcoats, and packs, and without any preparation

whatever.



A member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had come to Kutzov the day

before with proposals and demands for him to join up with the army of

the Archduke Ferdinand and Mack, and Kutzov, not considering this

junction advisable, meant, among other arguments in support of his view,

to show the Austrian general the wretched state in which the troops

arrived from Russia. With this object he intended to meet the regiment

so the worse the condition it was in, the better pleased the commander

in chief would be. Though the aide-de-camp did not know these

circumstances, he nevertheless delivered the definite order that the

men should be in their greatcoats and in marching order, and that the

commander in chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. On hearing this the

regimental commander hung his head, silently shrugged his shoulders, and

spread out his arms with a choleric gesture.



A fine mess weve made of it! he remarked.



There now! Didnt I tell you, Michael Mtrich, that if it was said

on the march it meant in greatcoats? said he reproachfully to

the battalion commander. Oh, my God! he added, stepping resolutely

forward. Company commanders! he shouted in a voice accustomed to

command. Sergeants major!... How soon will he be here? he asked

the aide-de-camp with a respectful politeness evidently relating to the

personage he was referring to.



In an hours time, I should say.



Shall we have time to change clothes?



I dont know, General....



The regimental commander, going up to the line himself, ordered the

soldiers to change into their greatcoats. The company commanders ran off

to their companies, the sergeants major began bustling (the greatcoats

were not in very good condition), and instantly the squares that had up

to then been in regular order and silent began to sway and stretch and

hum with voices. On all sides soldiers were running to and fro, throwing

up their knapsacks with a jerk of their shoulders and pulling the straps

over their heads, unstrapping their overcoats and drawing the sleeves on

with upraised arms.



In half an hour all was again in order, only the squares had become gray

instead of black. The regimental commander walked with his jerky steps

to the front of the regiment and examined it from a distance.



Whatever is this? This! he shouted and stood still. Commander

of the third company!



Commander of the third company wanted by the general!... commander to

the general... third company to the commander. The words passed along

the lines and an adjutant ran to look for the missing officer.



When the eager but misrepeated words had reached their destination in

a cry of The general to the third company, the missing officer

appeared from behind his company and, though he was a middle-aged man

and not in the habit of running, trotted awkwardly stumbling on his

toes toward the general. The captains face showed the uneasiness of

a schoolboy who is told to repeat a lesson he has not learned. Spots

appeared on his nose, the redness of which was evidently due to

intemperance, and his mouth twitched nervously. The general looked the

captain up and down as he came up panting, slackening his pace as he

approached.



You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this?

shouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and pointing

at a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoat of bluish

cloth, which contrasted with the others. What have you been after?

The commander in chief is expected and you leave your place? Eh? Ill

teach you to dress the men in fancy coats for a parade.... Eh...?



The commander of the company, with his eyes fixed on his superior,

pressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in this

pressure lay his only hope of salvation.



Well, why dont you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up as a

Hungarian? said the commander with an austere gibe.



Your excellency...



Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about your

excellency?... nobody knows.



Your excellency, its the officer Dlokhov, who has been reduced

to the ranks, said the captain softly.



Well? Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier?

If a soldier, he should be dressed in regulation uniform like the

others.



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



Gave him leave? Leave? Thats just like you young men, said the

regimental commander cooling down a little. Leave indeed.... One says

a word to you and you... What? he added with renewed irritation, I

beg you to dress your men decently.



And the commander, turning to look at the adjutant, directed his jerky

steps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his own display of

anger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a further excuse for

wrath. Having snapped at an officer for an unpolished badge, at another

because his line was not straight, he reached the third company.



H-o-o-w are you standing? Wheres your leg? Your leg? shouted

the commander with a tone of suffering in his voice, while there were

still five men between him and Dlokhov with his bluish-gray uniform.



Dlokhov slowly straightened his bent knee, looking straight with his

clear, insolent eyes in the generals face.



Why a blue coat? Off with it... Sergeant major! Change his coat...

the ras... he did not finish.



General, I must obey orders, but I am not bound to endure...

Dlokhov hurriedly interrupted.



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



Not bound to endure insults, Dlokhov concluded in loud, ringing

tones.



The eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general became silent,

angrily pulling down his tight scarf.



I request you to have the goodness to change your coat, he said as

he turned away.











CHAPTER II



Hes coming! shouted the signaler at that moment.



The regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized the stirrup

with trembling hands, threw his body across the saddle, righted himself,

drew his saber, and with a happy and resolute countenance, opening

his mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regiment fluttered like a bird

preening its plumage and became motionless.



Att-ention! shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shaking

voice which expressed joy for himself, severity for the regiment, and

welcome for the approaching chief.



Along the broad country road, edged on both sides by trees, came a high,

light blue Viennese calche, slightly creaking on its springs and drawn

by six horses at a smart trot. Behind the calche galloped the suite

and a convoy of Croats. Beside Kutzov sat an Austrian general, in

a white uniform that looked strange among the Russian black ones. The

calche stopped in front of the regiment. Kutzov and the Austrian

general were talking in low voices and Kutzov smiled slightly as

treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just as if those two

thousand men breathlessly gazing at him and the regimental commander did

not exist.



The word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, as with a

jingling sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence the

feeble voice of the commander in chief was heard. The regiment roared,

Health to your ex... len... len... lency! and again all became

silent. At first Kutzov stood still while the regiment moved then he

and the general in white, accompanied by the suite, walked between the

ranks.



From the way the regimental commander saluted the commander in chief and

devoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, and from

the way he walked through the ranks behind the generals, bending forward

and hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, and from the way he

darted forward at every word or gesture of the commander in chief,

it was evident that he performed his duty as a subordinate with even

greater zeal than his duty as a commander. Thanks to the strictness and

assiduity of its commander the regiment, in comparison with others that

had reached Braunau at the same time, was in splendid condition. There

were only 217 sick and stragglers. Everything was in good order except

the boots.



Kutzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few

friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, sometimes

also to the soldiers. Looking at their boots he several times shook his

head sadly, pointing them out to the Austrian general with an expression

which seemed to say that he was not blaming anyone, but could not help

noticing what a bad state of things it was. The regimental commander

ran forward on each such occasion, fearing to miss a single word of the

commander in chiefs regarding the regiment. Behind Kutzov, at a

distance that allowed every softly spoken word to be heard, followed

some twenty men of his suite. These gentlemen talked among themselves

and sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander in chief walked

a handsome adjutant. This was Prince Bolknski. Beside him was his

comrade Nesvtski, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, with a

kindly, smiling, handsome face and moist eyes. Nesvtski could hardly

keep from laughter provoked by a swarthy hussar officer who walked

beside him. This hussar, with a grave face and without a smile or a

change in the expression of his fixed eyes, watched the regimental

commanders back and mimicked his every movement. Each time the

commander started and bent forward, the hussar started and bent forward

in exactly the same manner. Nesvtski laughed and nudged the others to

make them look at the wag.



Kutzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes which were

starting from their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching the

third company he suddenly stopped. His suite, not having expected this,

involuntarily came closer to him.



Ah, Timkhin! said he, recognizing the red-nosed captain who had

been reprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat.



One would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself

more than Timkhin had done when he was reprimanded by the regimental

commander, but now that the commander in chief addressed him he drew

himself up to such an extent that it seemed he could not have sustained

it had the commander in chief continued to look at him, and so Kutzov,

who evidently understood his case and wished him nothing but good,

quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over his

scarred and puffy face.



Another Ismail comrade, said he. A brave officer! Are you

satisfied with him? he asked the regimental commander.



And the latterunconscious that he was being reflected in the hussar

officer as in a looking glassstarted, moved forward, and answered

Highly satisfied, your excellency!



We all have our weaknesses, said Kutzov smiling and walking away

from him. He used to have a predilection for Bacchus.



The regimental commander was afraid he might be blamed for this and did

not answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face of the red-nosed

captain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his expression and pose

with such exactitude that Nesvtski could not help laughing. Kutzov

turned round. The officer evidently had complete control of his face,

and while Kutzov was turning managed to make a grimace and then assume

a most serious, deferential, and innocent expression.



The third company was the last, and Kutzov pondered, apparently trying

to recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward from among the

suite and said in French



You told me to remind you of the officer Dlokhov, reduced to the

ranks in this regiment.



Where is Dlokhov? asked Kutzov.



Dlokhov, who had already changed into a soldiers gray greatcoat,

did not wait to be called. The shapely figure of the fair-haired

soldier, with his clear blue eyes, stepped forward from the ranks, went

up to the commander in chief, and presented arms.



Have you a complaint to make? Kutzov asked with a slight frown.



This is Dlokhov, said Prince Andrew.



Ah! said Kutzov. I hope this will be a lesson to you. Do your

duty. The Emperor is gracious, and I shant forget you if you deserve

well.



The clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just as boldly as

they had looked at the regimental commander, seeming by their expression

to tear open the veil of convention that separates a commander in chief

so widely from a private.



One thing I ask of your excellency, Dlokhov said in his firm,

ringing, deliberate voice. I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault

and prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!



Kutzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes with which he had

turned from Captain Timkhin again flitted over his face. He turned

away with a grimace as if to say that everything Dlokhov had said to

him and everything he could say had long been known to him, that he was

weary of it and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned away and

went to the carriage.



The regiment broke up into companies, which went to their appointed

quarters near Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots and clothes and

to rest after their hard marches.



You wont bear me a grudge, Prokhr Igntych? said the

regimental commander, overtaking the third company on its way to its

quarters and riding up to Captain Timkhin who was walking in front.

(The regimental commanders face now that the inspection was happily

over beamed with irrepressible delight.) Its in the Emperors

service... it cant be helped... one is sometimes a bit hasty on

parade... I am the first to apologize, you know me!... He was very

pleased! And he held out his hand to the captain.



Dont mention it, General, as if Id be so bold! replied the

captain, his nose growing redder as he gave a smile which showed where

two front teeth were missing that had been knocked out by the butt end

of a gun at Ismail.



And tell Mr. Dlokhov that I wont forget himhe may be quite

easy. And tell me, pleaseIve been meaning to askhow is he

behaving himself, and in general...



As far as the service goes he is quite punctilious, your excellency

but his character... said Timkhin.



And what about his character? asked the regimental commander.



Its different on different days, answered the captain. One

day he is sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next hes

a wild beast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew.



Oh, well, well! remarked the regimental commander. Still, one

must have pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has important

connections... Well, then, you just...



I will, your excellency, said Timkhin, showing by his smile that

he understood his commanders wish.



Well, of course, of course!



The regimental commander sought out Dlokhov in the ranks and, reining

in his horse, said to him



After the next affair... epaulettes.



Dlokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did the mocking

smile on his lips change.



Well, thats all right, continued the regimental commander. A

cup of vodka for the men from me, he added so that the soldiers

could hear. I thank you all! God be praised! and he rode past that

company and overtook the next one.



Well, hes really a good fellow, one can serve under him, said

Timkhin to the subaltern beside him.



In a word, a hearty one... said the subaltern, laughing (the

regimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).



The cheerful mood of their officers after the inspection infected the

soldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers voices could be

heard on every side.



And they said Kutzov was blind of one eye?



And so he is! Quite blind!



No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg bands...

he noticed everything...



When he looked at my feet, friend... well, thinks I...



And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were

smeared with chalkas white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as

they do the guns.



I say, Fdeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? You

were near him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau.



Buonaparte himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesnt

know! The Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are

putting them down. When theyve been put down, the war with Buonaparte

will begin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows youre a fool.

Youd better listen more carefully!



What devils these quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is

turning into the village already... they will have their buckwheat

cooked before we reach our quarters.



Give me a biscuit, you devil!



And did you give me tobacco yesterday? Thats just it, friend! Ah,

well, never mind, here you are.



They might call a halt here or well have to do another four miles

without eating.



Wasnt it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit still

and are drawn along.



And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they all

seemed to be Polesall under the Russian crownbut here theyre

all regular Germans.



Singers to the front came the captains order.



And from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A

drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing

his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers song, commencing with the

words Morning dawned, the sun was rising, and concluding On

then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kmenski. This song had

been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the

only change being that the words Father Kmenski were replaced by

Father Kutzov.



Having jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms

as if flinging something to the ground, the drummera lean, handsome

soldier of fortylooked sternly at the singers and screwed up his

eyes. Then having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him,

he raised both arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious

object above his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly

flung it down and began



Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!



Oh, my bower new...! chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet

player, in spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front

and, walking backwards before the company, jerked his shoulders and

flourished his castanets as if threatening someone. The soldiers,

swinging their arms and keeping time spontaneously, marched with long

steps. Behind the company the sound of wheels, the creaking of springs,

and the tramp of horses hoofs were heard. Kutzov and his suite were

returning to the town. The commander in chief made a sign that the

men should continue to march at ease, and he and all his suite showed

pleasure at the sound of the singing and the sight of the dancing

soldier and the gay and smartly marching men. In the second file

from the right flank, beside which the carriage passed the company,

a blue-eyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Dlokhov

marching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and

looking at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that

moment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutzovs

suite who had mimicked the regimental commander, fell back from the

carriage and rode up to Dlokhov.



Hussar cornet Zherkv had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to

the wild set led by Dlokhov. Zherkv had met Dlokhov abroad as a

private and had not seen fit to recognize him. But now that Kutzov had

spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the cordiality of

an old friend.



My dear fellow, how are you? said he through the singing, making

his horse keep pace with the company.



How am I? Dlokhov answered coldly. I am as you see.



The lively song gave a special flavor to the tone of free and easy

gaiety with which Zherkv spoke, and to the intentional coldness of

Dlokhovs reply.



And how do you get on with the officers? inquired Zherkv.



All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto the

staff?



I was attached Im on duty.



Both were silent.



She let the hawk fly upward from her wide right sleeve, went the

song, arousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness.

Their conversation would probably have been different but for the effect

of that song.



Is it true that Austrians have been beaten? asked Dlokhov.



The devil only knows! They say so.



Im glad, answered Dlokhov briefly and clearly, as the song

demanded.



I say, come round some evening and well have a game of faro!

said Zherkv.



Why, have you too much money?



Do come.



I cant. Ive sworn not to. I wont drink and wont play till

I get reinstated.



Well, thats only till the first engagement.



We shall see.



They were again silent.



Come if you need anything. One can at least be of use on the

staff...



Dlokhov smiled. Dont trouble. If I want anything, I wont

begIll take it!



Well, never mind I only...



And I only...



Good-by.



Good health...



        Its a long, long way.

        To my native land...





Zherkv touched his horse with the spurs it pranced excitedly from

foot to foot uncertain with which to start, then settled down, galloped

past the company, and overtook the carriage, still keeping time to the

song.











CHAPTER III



On returning from the review, Kutzov took the Austrian general into

his private room and, calling his adjutant, asked for some papers

relating to the condition of the troops on their arrival, and the

letters that had come from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of

the advanced army. Prince Andrew Bolknski came into the room with the

required papers. Kutzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath

were sitting at the table on which a plan was spread out.



Ah!... said Kutzov glancing at Bolknski as if by this

exclamation he was asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on with the

conversation in French.



All I can say, General, said he with a pleasant elegance

of expression and intonation that obliged one to listen to each

deliberately spoken word. It was evident that Kutzov himself listened

with pleasure to his own voice. All I can say, General, is that if

the matter depended on my personal wishes, the will of His Majesty the

Emperor Francis would have been fulfilled long ago. I should long

ago have joined the archduke. And believe me on my honour that to me

personally it would be a pleasure to hand over the supreme command

of the army into the hands of a better informed and more skillful

generalof whom Austria has so manyand to lay down all this heavy

responsibility. But circumstances are sometimes too strong for us,

General.



And Kutzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, You are quite at

liberty not to believe me and I dont even care whether you do or

not, but you have no grounds for telling me so. And that is the whole

point.



The Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but had no option but to reply

in the same tone.



On the contrary, he said, in a querulous and angry tone that

contrasted with his flattering words, on the contrary, your

excellencys participation in the common action is highly valued by

His Majesty but we think the present delay is depriving the splendid

Russian troops and their commander of the laurels they have been

accustomed to win in their battles, he concluded his evidently

prearranged sentence.



Kutzov bowed with the same smile.



But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with which

His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that the

Austrian troops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as General

Mack, have by now already gained a decisive victory and no longer need

our aid, said Kutzov.



The general frowned. Though there was no definite news of an Austrian

defeat, there were many circumstances confirming the unfavorable rumors

that were afloat, and so Kutzovs suggestion of an Austrian victory

sounded much like irony. But Kutzov went on blandly smiling with the

same expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose

so. And, in fact, the last letter he had received from Macks army

informed him of a victory and stated strategically the position of the

army was very favorable.



Give me that letter, said Kutzov turning to Prince Andrew.

Please have a look at itand Kutzov with an ironical smile

about the corners of his mouth read to the Austrian general the

following passage, in German, from the Archduke Ferdinands letter



We have fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand men with

which to attack and defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also,

as we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of

commanding both sides of the Danube, so that should the enemy not

cross the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves on his line

of communications, recross the river lower down, and frustrate his

intention should he try to direct his whole force against our faithful

ally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when the Imperial

Russian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction with

it, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he deserves.



Kutzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at the

member of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.



But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect

the worst, said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done

with jests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked round at the

aide-de-camp.



Excuse me, General, interrupted Kutzov, also turning to Prince

Andrew. Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlvski all the

reports from our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and

here is one from His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are

these, he said, handing him several papers, make a neat memorandum

in French out of all this, showing all the news we have had of the

movements of the Austrian army, and then give it to his excellency.



Prince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood from the

first not only what had been said but also what Kutzov would have

liked to tell him. He gathered up the papers and with a bow to both,

stepped softly over the carpet and went out into the waiting room.



Though not much time had passed since Prince Andrew had left Russia, he

had changed greatly during that period. In the expression of his face,

in his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his former

affected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time

to think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied with

agreeable and interesting work. His face expressed more satisfaction

with himself and those around him, his smile and glance were brighter

and more attractive.



Kutzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very kindly,

promised not to forget him, distinguished him above the other adjutants,

and had taken him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions.

From Vienna Kutzov wrote to his old comrade, Prince Andrews father.



Your son bids fair to become an officer distinguished by his industry,

firmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate to have such a

subordinate by me.



On Kutzovs staff, among his fellow officers and in the army

generally, Prince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two

quite opposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to be

different from themselves and from everyone else, expected great things

of him, listened to him, admired, and imitated him, and with them Prince

Andrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority, disliked him and

considered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. But among these people

Prince Andrew knew how to take his stand so that they respected and even

feared him.



Coming out of Kutzovs room into the waiting room with the papers in

his hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the aide-de-camp on duty,

Kozlvski, who was sitting at the window with a book.



Well, Prince? asked Kozlvski.



I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we are not

advancing.



And why is it?



Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders.



Any news from Mack?



No.



If it were true that he has been beaten, news would have come.



Probably, said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer door.



But at that instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with the

order of Maria Theresa on his neck and a black bandage round his head,

who had evidently just arrived, entered quickly, slamming the door.

Prince Andrew stopped short.



Commander in Chief Kutzov? said the newly arrived general

speaking quickly with a harsh German accent, looking to both sides and

advancing straight toward the inner door.



The commander in chief is engaged, said Kozlvski, going

hurriedly up to the unknown general and blocking his way to the door.

Whom shall I announce?



The unknown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlvski, who was

rather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know him.



The commander in chief is engaged, repeated Kozlvski calmly.



The generals face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. He took

out a notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the

leaf, gave it to Kozlvski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw

himself into a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, Why

do they look at me? Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as

if he intended to say something, but immediately, with affected

indifference, began to hum to himself, producing a queer sound which

immediately broke off. The door of the private room opened and Kutzov

appeared in the doorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward

as though running away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides

with his thin legs, went up to Kutzov.



Vous voyez le malheureux Mack, he uttered in a broken voice.



Kutzovs face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly

immobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave

and his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully,

closed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him, and closed

the door himself behind him.



The report which had been circulated that the Austrians had been beaten

and that the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct.

Within half an hour adjutants had been sent in various directions with

orders which showed that the Russian troops, who had hitherto been

inactive, would also soon have to meet the enemy.



Prince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief interest

lay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mack and heard the

details of his disaster he understood that half the campaign was lost,

understood all the difficulties of the Russian armys position, and

vividly imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to

play. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the

humiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a weeks time he might,

perhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the

French since Suvrov met them. He feared that Bonapartes genius

might outweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same

time could not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced.



Excited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his

room to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor

he met Nesvtski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkv

they were as usual laughing.



Why are you so glum? asked Nesvtski noticing Prince Andrews

pale face and glittering eyes.



Theres nothing to be gay about, answered Bolknski.



Just as Prince Andrew met Nesvtski and Zherkv, there came toward

them from the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general

who on Kutzovs staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian

army, and the member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the previous

evening. There was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals to

pass the three officers quite easily, but Zherkv, pushing Nesvtski

aside with his arm, said in a breathless voice,



Theyre coming!... theyre coming!... Stand aside, make way,

please make way!



The generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid

embarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkv there suddenly

appeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress.



Your excellency, said he in German, stepping forward and

addressing the Austrian general, I have the honor to congratulate

you.



He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the

other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.



The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing the

seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moments

attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening.



I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite

well, only a little bruised just here, he added, pointing with a

beaming smile to his head.



The general frowned, turned away, and went on.



Gott, wie naiv! * said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps.



     * Good God, what simplicity!





Nesvtski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but

Bolknski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and

turned to Zherkv. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance

of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the

Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkvs untimely jest.



If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself, he said

sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, I cant prevent

your doing so but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my

presence, I will teach you to behave yourself.



Nesvtski and Zherkv were so surprised by this outburst that they

gazed at Bolknski silently with wide-open eyes.



Whats the matter? I only congratulated them, said Zherkv.



I am not jesting with you please be silent! cried Bolknski,

and taking Nesvtskis arm he left Zherkv, who did not know what to

say.



Come, whats the matter, old fellow? said Nesvtski trying to

soothe him.



Whats the matter? exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in

his excitement. Dont you understand that either we are officers

serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and

grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely

lackeys who care nothing for their masters business. Quarante mille

hommes massacrs et larme de nos allis dtruite, et vous

trouvez l le mot pour rire, * he said, as if strengthening his

views by this French sentence. Cest bien pour un garon de rien

comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas

pour vous. *(2) Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this

way, he added in Russianbut pronouncing the word with a French

accenthaving noticed that Zherkv could still hear him.



     * Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies

     destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!



     * (2) It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow

     of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for

     you.





He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned

and went out of the corridor.











CHAPTER IV



The Pvlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The

squadron in which Nicholas Rostv served as a cadet was quartered in

the German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were

assigned to cavalry-captain Densov, the squadron commander, known

throughout the whole cavalry division as Vska Densov. Cadet Rostv,

ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the

squadron commander.



On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news

of Macks defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was

proceeding as usual. Densov, who had been losing at cards all night,

had not yet come home when Rostv rode back early in the morning from

a foraging expedition. Rostv in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his

horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple

youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to

part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly.



Ah, Bondarnko, dear friend! said he to the hussar who rushed up

headlong to the horse. Walk him up and down, my dear fellow, he

continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young

people show to everyone when they are happy.



Yes, your excellency, answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his

head.



Mind, walk him up and down well!



Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarnko had already

thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horses head. It was

evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to

serve him. Rostv patted the horses neck and then his flank, and

lingered for a moment.



Splendid! What a horse he will be! he thought with a smile, and

holding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the

porch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in

hand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face

immediately brightened on seeing Rostv. Schn gut Morgen! Schn

gut Morgen! * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased

to greet the young man.



    * A very good morning! A very good morning!





Schon fleissig? * said Rostv with the same gay brotherly smile

which did not leave his eager face. Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen!

Kaiser Alexander hoch! *(2) said he, quoting words often repeated by

the German landlord.



    * Busy already?



    * (2) Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians!

     Hurrah for Emperor Alexander!





The German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and

waving it above his head cried



Und die ganze Welt hoch! *



    * And hurrah for the whole world!





Rostv waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing,

Und vivat die ganze Welt! Though neither the German cleaning his

cowshed nor Rostv back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any

reason for rejoicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and

brotherly love, wagged their heads in token of their mutual affection,

and parted smiling, the German returning to his cowshed and Rostv

going to the cottage he occupied with Densov.



What about your master? he asked Lavrshka, Densovs orderly,

whom all the regiment knew for a rogue.



Hasnt been in since the evening. Must have been losing,

answered Lavrshka. I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to

brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means hes lost and

will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?



Yes, bring some.



Ten minutes later Lavrshka brought the coffee. Hes coming!

said he. Now for trouble! Rostv looked out of the window and

saw Densov coming home. Densov was a small man with a red face,

sparkling black eyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an

unfastened cloak, wide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled

shako on the back of his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, hanging

his head.



Lavwska! he shouted loudly and angrily, take it off,

blockhead!



Well, I am taking it off, replied Lavrshkas voice.



Ah, youre up already, said Densov, entering the room.



Long ago, answered Rostv, I have already been for the hay,

and have seen Frulein Mathilde.



Weally! And Ive been losing, bwother. I lost yesterday like a

damned fool! cried Densov, not pronouncing his rs. Such ill

luck! Such ill luck. As soon as you left, it began and went on. Hullo

there! Tea!



Puckering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong

teeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his thick

tangled black hair.



And what devil made me go to that wat? (an officer nicknamed

the rat) he said, rubbing his forehead and whole face with both

hands. Just fancy, he didnt let me win a single cahd, not one

cahd.



He took the lighted pipe that was offered to him, gripped it in his

fist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, while he

continued to shout.



He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doubles it

gives the singles and snatches the doubles!



He scattered the burning tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw it away.

Then he remained silent for a while, and all at once looked cheerfully

with his glittering, black eyes at Rostv.



If at least we had some women here but theres nothing foh one

to do but dwink. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, whos

there? he said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavy

boots and the clinking of spurs that came to a stop, and a respectful

cough.



The squadron quartermaster! said Lavrshka.



Densovs face puckered still more.



Wetched! he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it.

Wostv, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shove the

purse undah the pillow, he said, and went out to the quartermaster.



Rostv took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins

in separate piles, began counting them.



Ah! Telynin! How dye do? They plucked me last night, came

Densovs voice from the next room.



Where? At Bykovs, at the rats... I knew it, replied a piping

voice, and Lieutenant Telynin, a small officer of the same squadron,

entered the room.



Rostv thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand

which was offered him. Telynin for some reason had been transferred

from the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved very well in the

regiment but was not liked Rostv especially detested him and was

unable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy to the man.



Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving? he asked. (Rook

was a young horse Telynin had sold to Rostv.)



The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the

face his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.



I saw you riding this morning... he added.



Oh, hes all right, a good horse, answered Rostv, though the

horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half

that sum. Hes begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg, he

added.



The hoofs cracked! Thats nothing. Ill teach you what to do

and show you what kind of rivet to use.



Yes, please do, said Rostv.



Ill show you, Ill show you! Its not a secret. And its a

horse youll thank me for.



Then Ill have it brought round, said Rostv wishing to avoid

Telynin, and he went out to give the order.



In the passage Densov, with a pipe, was squatting on the threshold

facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostv,

Densov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his

thumb to the room where Telynin was sitting, he frowned and gave a

shudder of disgust.



Ugh! I dont like that fellow, he said, regardless of the

quartermasters presence.



Rostv shrugged his shoulders as much as to say Nor do I, but

whats one to do? and, having given his order, he returned to

Telynin.



Telynin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostv had

left him, rubbing his small white hands.



Well there certainly are disgusting people, thought Rostv as he

entered.



Have you told them to bring the horse? asked Telynin, getting up

and looking carelessly about him.



I have.



Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Densov about

yesterdays order. Have you got it, Densov?



Not yet. But where are you off to?



I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse, said

Telynin.



They went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant

explained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters.



When Rostv went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the

table. Densov was sitting there scratching with his pen on a sheet of

paper. He looked gloomily in Rostvs face and said I am witing

to her.



He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and,

evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to

write, told Rostv the contents of his letter.



You see, my fwiend, he said, we sleep when we dont love. We

are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one

is pua as on the fihst day of cweation... Whos that now? Send him

to the devil, Im busy! he shouted to Lavrshka, who went up to

him not in the least abashed.



Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. Its the

quartermaster for the money.



Densov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.



Wetched business, he muttered to himself. How much is left in

the puhse? he asked, turning to Rostv.



Seven new and three old imperials.



Oh, its wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you

scacwow? Call the quahtehmasteh, he shouted to Lavrshka.



Please, Densov, let me lend you some I have some, you know,

said Rostv, blushing.



Dont like bowwowing from my own fellows, I dont, growled

Densov.



But if you wont accept money from me like a comrade, you will

offend me. Really I have some, Rostv repeated.



No, I tell you.



And Densov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.



Where have you put it, Wostv?



Under the lower pillow.



Its not there.



Densov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.



Thats a miwacle.



Wait, havent you dropped it? said Rostv, picking up the

pillows one at a time and shaking them.



He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.



Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept

it under your head like a treasure, said Rostv. I put it just

here. Where is it? he asked, turning to Lavrshka.



I havent been in the room. It must be where you put it.



But it isnt?...



Youre always like that you thwow a thing down anywhere and forget

it. Feel in your pockets.



No, if I hadnt thought of it being a treasure, said Rostv,

but I remember putting it there.



Lavrshka turned all the bedding over, looked under the bed and under

the table, searched everywhere, and stood still in the middle of the

room. Densov silently watched Lavrshkas movements, and when the

latter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to be found

Densov glanced at Rostv.



Wostv, youve not been playing schoolboy twicks...



Rostv felt Densovs gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and

instantly dropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congested

somewhere below his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could not

draw breath.



And there hasnt been anyone in the room except the lieutenant and

yourselves. It must be here somewhere, said Lavrshka.



Now then, you devils puppet, look alive and hunt for it!

shouted Densov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the man with

a threatening gesture. If the purse isnt found Ill flog you,

Ill flog you all.



Rostv, his eyes avoiding Densov, began buttoning his coat, buckled

on his saber, and put on his cap.



I must have that purse, I tell you, shouted Densov, shaking his

orderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall.



Densov, let him alone, I know who has taken it, said Rostv,

going toward the door without raising his eyes. Densov paused, thought

a moment, and, evidently understanding what Rostv hinted at, seized

his arm.



Nonsense! he cried, and the veins on his forehead and neck stood

out like cords. You are mad, I tell you. I wont allow it.

The purse is here! Ill flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be

found.



I know who has taken it, repeated Rostv in an unsteady voice,

and went to the door.



And I tell you, dont you dahe to do it! shouted Densov,

rushing at the cadet to restrain him.



But Rostv pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though

Densov were his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his

face.



Do you understand what youre saying? he said in a trembling

voice. There was no one else in the room except myself. So that if it

is not so, then...



He could not finish, and ran out of the room.



Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody, were the last words

Rostv heard.



Rostv went to Telynins quarters.



The master is not in, hes gone to headquarters, said

Telynins orderly. Has something happened? he added, surprised

at the cadets troubled face.



No, nothing.



Youve only just missed him, said the orderly.



The headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and

Rostv, without returning home, took a horse and rode there. There was

an inn in the village which the officers frequented. Rostv rode up to

it and saw Telynins horse at the porch.



In the second room of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of

sausages and a bottle of wine.



Ah, youve come here too, young man! he said, smiling and

raising his eyebrows.



Yes, said Rostv as if it cost him a great deal to utter the

word and he sat down at the nearest table.



Both were silent. There were two Germans and a Russian officer in the

room. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter of knives

and the munching of the lieutenant.



When Telynin had finished his lunch he took out of his pocket a double

purse and, drawing its rings aside with his small, white, turned-up

fingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting his eyebrows gave it to

the waiter.



Please be quick, he said.



The coin was a new one. Rostv rose and went up to Telynin.



Allow me to look at your purse, he said in a low, almost

inaudible, voice.



With shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, Telynin handed him the

purse.



Yes, its a nice purse. Yes, yes, he said, growing suddenly

pale, and added, Look at it, young man.



Rostv took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and

looked at Telynin. The lieutenant was looking about in his usual way

and suddenly seemed to grow very merry.



If we get to Vienna Ill get rid of it there but in these wretched

little towns theres nowhere to spend it, said he. Well, let me

have it, young man, Im going.



Rostv did not speak.



And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed you quite

decently here, continued Telynin. Now then, let me have it.



He stretched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostv let go of

it. Telynin took the purse and began carelessly slipping it into the

pocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows lifted and his mouth

slightly open, as if to say, Yes, yes, I am putting my purse in my

pocket and thats quite simple and is no one elses business.



Well, young man? he said with a sigh, and from under his lifted

brows he glanced into Rostvs eyes.



Some flash as of an electric spark shot from Telynins eyes to

Rostvs and back, and back again and again in an instant.



Come here, said Rostv, catching hold of Telynins arm and

almost dragging him to the window. That money is Densovs you

took it... he whispered just above Telynins ear.



What? What? How dare you? What? said Telynin.



But these words came like a piteous, despairing cry and an entreaty for

pardon. As soon as Rostv heard them, an enormous load of doubt

fell from him. He was glad, and at the same instant began to pity the

miserable man who stood before him, but the task he had begun had to be

completed.



Heaven only knows what the people here may imagine, muttered

Telynin, taking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room. We

must have an explanation...



I know it and shall prove it, said Rostv.



I...



Every muscle of Telynins pale, terrified face began to quiver, his

eyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising

to Rostvs face, and his sobs were audible.



Count!... Dont ruin a young fellow... here is this wretched money,

take it... He threw it on the table. I have an old father and

mother!...



Rostv took the money, avoiding Telynins eyes, and went out of the

room without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retraced his

steps. O God, he said with tears in his eyes, how could you do

it?



Count... said Telynin drawing nearer to him.



Dont touch me, said Rostv, drawing back. If you need it,

take the money, and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn.











CHAPTER V



That same evening there was an animated discussion among the

squadrons officers in Densovs quarters.



And I tell you, Rostv, that you must apologize to the colonel!

said a tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches and

many wrinkles on his large features, to Rostv who was crimson with

excitement.



The staff captain, Krsten, had twice been reduced to the ranks for

affairs of honor and had twice regained his commission.



I will allow no one to call me a liar! cried Rostv. He told

me I lied, and I told him he lied. And there it rests. He may keep me

on duty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make

me apologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it

beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then...



You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, and listen, interrupted

the staff captain in his deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache.

You tell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an

officer has stolen...



Im not to blame that the conversation began in the presence of

other officers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken before them, but I am

not a diplomatist. Thats why I joined the hussars, thinking that here

one would not need finesse and he tells me that I am lyingso let him

give me satisfaction...



Thats all right. No one thinks you a coward, but thats not the

point. Ask Densov whether it is not out of the question for a cadet to

demand satisfaction of his regimental commander?



Densov sat gloomily biting his mustache and listening to the

conversation, evidently with no wish to take part in it. He answered the

staff captains question by a disapproving shake of his head.



You speak to the colonel about this nasty business before other

officers, continued the staff captain, and Bogdnich (the

colonel was called Bogdnich) shuts you up.



He did not shut me up, he said I was telling an untruth.



Well, have it so, and you talked a lot of nonsense to him and must

apologize.



Not on any account! exclaimed Rostv.



I did not expect this of you, said the staff captain seriously and

severely. You dont wish to apologize, but, man, its not only to

him but to the whole regimentall of usyoure to blame all round.

The case is this you ought to have thought the matter over and

taken advice but no, you go and blurt it all straight out before the

officers. Now what was the colonel to do? Have the officer tried and

disgrace the whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment because of one

scoundrel? Is that how you look at it? We dont see it like that. And

Bogdnich was a brick he told you you were saying what was not true.

Its not pleasant, but whats to be done, my dear fellow? You landed

yourself in it. And now, when one wants to smooth the thing over, some

conceit prevents your apologizing, and you wish to make the whole

affair public. You are offended at being put on duty a bit, but why not

apologize to an old and honorable officer? Whatever Bogdnich may

be, anyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel! Youre quick at

taking offense, but you dont mind disgracing the whole regiment!

The staff captains voice began to tremble. You have been in the

regiment next to no time, my lad, youre here today and tomorrow

youll be appointed adjutant somewhere and can snap your fingers when

it is said There are thieves among the Pvlograd officers! But

its not all the same to us! Am I not right, Densov? Its not the

same!



Densov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with

his glittering black eyes at Rostv.



You value your own pride and dont wish to apologize, continued

the staff captain, but we old fellows, who have grown up in and, God

willing, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of the

regiment, and Bogdnich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And

all this is not right, its not right! You may take offense or not but

I always stick to mother truth. Its not right!



And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostv.



Thats twue, devil take it! shouted Densov, jumping up. Now

then, Wostv, now then!



Rostv, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer

and then at the other.



No, gentlemen, no... you mustnt think... I quite understand.

Youre wrong to think that of me... I... for me... for the honor of

the regiment Id... Ah well, Ill show that in action, and for me

the honor of the flag... Well, never mind, its true Im to blame,

to blame all round. Well, what else do you want?...



Come, thats right, Count! cried the staff captain, turning

round and clapping Rostv on the shoulder with his big hand.



I tell you, shouted Densov, hes a fine fellow.



Thats better, Count, said the staff captain, beginning to

address Rostv by his title, as if in recognition of his confession.

Go and apologize, your excellency. Yes, go!



Gentlemen, Ill do anything. No one shall hear a word from me,

said Rostv in an imploring voice, but I cant apologize, by God I

cant, do what you will! How can I go and apologize like a little boy

asking forgiveness?



Densov began to laugh.



Itll be worse for you. Bogdnich is vindictive and youll pay

for your obstinacy, said Krsten.



No, on my word its not obstinacy! I cant describe the feeling.

I cant...



Well, its as you like, said the staff captain. And what has

become of that scoundrel? he asked Densov.



He has weported himself sick, hes to be stwuck off the list

tomowwow, muttered Densov.



It is an illness, theres no other way of explaining it, said

the staff captain.



Illness or not, hed better not cwoss my path. Id kill him!

shouted Densov in a bloodthirsty tone.



Just then Zherkv entered the room.



What brings you here? cried the officers turning to the newcomer.



Were to go into action, gentlemen! Mack has surrendered with his

whole army.



Its not true!



Ive seen him myself!



What? Saw the real Mack? With hands and feet?



Into action! Into action! Bring him a bottle for such news! But how

did you come here?



Ive been sent back to the regiment all on account of that devil,

Mack. An Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on

Macks arrival... Whats the matter, Rostv? You look as if youd

just come out of a hot bath.



Oh, my dear fellow, were in such a stew here these last two

days.



The regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by

Zherkv. They were under orders to advance next day.



Were going into action, gentlemen!



Well, thank God! Weve been sitting here too long!











CHAPTER VI



Kutzov fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over

the rivers Inn (at Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October 23 the

Russian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday the Russian

baggage train, the artillery, and columns of troops were defiling

through the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge.



It was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened out

before the heights on which the Russian batteries stood guarding the

bridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous curtain of slanting rain, and

then, suddenly spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objects could

be clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnished. Down below,

the little town could be seen with its white, red-roofed houses, its

cathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed jostling

masses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube, vessels, an island,

and a castle with a park surrounded by the waters of the confluence of

the Enns and the Danube became visible, and the rocky left bank of the

Danube covered with pine forests, with a mystic background of green

treetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of a convent stood out beyond a

wild virgin pine forest, and far away on the other side of the Enns the

enemys horse patrols could be discerned.



Among the field guns on the brow of the hill the general in command of

the rearguard stood with a staff officer, scanning the country through

his fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvtski, who had been sent to

the rearguard by the commander in chief, was sitting on the trail of a

gun carriage. A Cossack who accompanied him had handed him a knapsack

and a flask, and Nesvtski was treating some officers to pies and real

doppelkmmel. The officers gladly gathered round him, some on their

knees, some squatting Turkish fashion on the wet grass.



Yes, the Austrian prince who built that castle was no fool. Its

a fine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen? Nesvtski

was saying.



Thank you very much, Prince, answered one of the officers, pleased

to be talking to a staff officer of such importance. Its a lovely

place! We passed close to the park and saw two deer... and what a

splendid house!



Look, Prince, said another, who would have dearly liked to take

another pie but felt shy, and therefore pretended to be examining the

countrysideSee, our infantrymen have already got there. Look there

in the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something.

Theyll ransack that castle, he remarked with evident approval.



So they will, said Nesvtski. No, but what I should like,

added he, munching a pie in his moist-lipped handsome mouth, would be

to slip in over there.



He pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowed and

gleamed.



That would be fine, gentlemen!



The officers laughed.



Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girls

among them. On my word Id give five years of my life for it!



They must be feeling dull, too, said one of the bolder officers,

laughing.



Meanwhile the staff officer standing in front pointed out something to

the general, who looked through his field glass.



Yes, so it is, so it is, said the general angrily, lowering the

field glass and shrugging his shoulders, so it is! Theyll be fired

on at the crossing. And why are they dawdling there?



On the opposite side the enemy could be seen by the naked eye, and from

their battery a milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distant report of

a shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to the crossing.



Nesvtski rose, puffing, and went up to the general, smiling.



Would not your excellency like a little refreshment? he said.



Its a bad business, said the general without answering him,

our men have been wasting time.



Hadnt I better ride over, your excellency? asked Nesvtski.



Yes, please do, answered the general, and he repeated the order

that had already once been given in detail and tell the hussars

that they are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered and the

inflammable material on the bridge must be reinspected.



Very good, answered Nesvtski.



He called the Cossack with his horse, told him to put away the knapsack

and flask, and swung his heavy person easily into the saddle.



Ill really call in on the nuns, he said to the officers who

watched him smilingly, and he rode off by the winding path down the

hill.



Now then, lets see how far it will carry, Captain. Just try!

said the general, turning to an artillery officer. Have a little fun

to pass the time.



Crew, to your guns! commanded the officer.



In a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began

loading.



One! came the command.



Number one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafening

metallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of our

troops below the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a little smoke

showing the spot where it burst.



The faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyone got

up and began watching the movements of our troops below, as plainly

visible as if but a stones throw away, and the movements of the

approaching enemy farther off. At the same instant the sun came fully

out from behind the clouds, and the clear sound of the solitary shot

and the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged in a single joyous and

spirited impression.











CHAPTER VII



Two of the enemys shots had already flown across the bridge, where

there was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvtski, who had

alighted from his horse and whose big body was jammed against the

railings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stood a few

steps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Each time Prince

Nesvtski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again

and pressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile.



What a fine fellow you are, friend! said the Cossack to a convoy

soldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who were

crowded together close to his wheels and his horses. What a fellow!

You cant wait a moment! Dont you see the general wants to pass?



But the convoyman took no notice of the word general and shouted

at the soldiers who were blocking his way. Hi there, boys! Keep to

the left! Wait a bit. But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to

shoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense

mass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvtski saw the rapid, noisy

little waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying round the piles of

the bridge chased each other along. Looking on the bridge he saw equally

uniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder straps, covered shakos,

knapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with

broad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and

feet that moved through the sticky mud that covered the planks of the

bridge. Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of

white foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with

a type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along

sometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot,

an orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry

and sometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers or

companys baggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on

all sides, moved across the bridge.



Its as if a dam had burst, said the Cossack hopelessly. Are

there many more of you to come?



A million all but one! replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat,

with a wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.



If he (he meant the enemy) begins popping at the bridge now,

said the old soldier dismally to a comrade, youll forget to

scratch yourself.



That soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on a cart.



Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to? said an

orderly, running behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.



And he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merry soldiers who

had evidently been drinking.



And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt

end of his gun... a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said

gaily, with a wide swing of his arm.



Yes, the ham was just delicious... answered another with a loud

laugh. And they, too, passed on, so that Nesvtski did not learn who

had been struck on the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it.



Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball and they think theyll

all be killed, a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.



As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean, said a young soldier

with an enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, I felt like

dying of fright. I did, pon my word, I got that frightened! said

he, as if bragging of having been frightened.



That one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that had gone

before. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by a German, and

seemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with

a large udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an unweaned

baby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red cheeks

were sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were

allowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers

turned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace

all the soldiers remarks related to the two young ones. Every face

bore almost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the

women.



Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!



Sell me the missis, said another soldier, addressing the German,

who, angry and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast

eyes.



See how smart shes made herself! Oh, the devils!



There, Fedtov, you should be quartered on them!



I have seen as much before now, mate!



Where are you going? asked an infantry officer who was eating an

apple, also half smiling as he looked at the handsome girl.



The German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not understand.



Take it if you like, said the officer, giving the girl an apple.



The girl smiled and took it. Nesvtski like the rest of the men on the

bridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When

they had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same

kind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of

a convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole

crowd had to wait.



And why are they stopping? Theres no proper order! said the

soldiers. Where are you shoving to? Devil take you! Cant you wait?

Itll be worse if he fires the bridge. See, heres an officer jammed

in toodifferent voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked

at one another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge.



Looking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvtski

suddenly heard a sound new to him, of something swiftly approaching...

something big, that splashed into the water.



Just see where it carries to! a soldier near by said sternly,

looking round at the sound.



Encouraging us to get along quicker, said another uneasily.



The crowd moved on again. Nesvtski realized that it was a cannon ball.



Hey, Cossack, my horse! he said. Now, then, you there! get out

of the way! Make way!



With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting

continually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make way

for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those

nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed still

harder from behind.



Nesvtski, Nesvtski! you numskull! came a hoarse voice from

behind him.



Nesvtski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but separated

by the living mass of moving infantry, Vska Densov, red and shaggy,

with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily

over his shoulder.



Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass! shouted Densov

evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot

whites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small

bare hand as red as his face.



Ah, Vska! joyfully replied Nesvtski. Whats up with

you?



The squadwon cant pass, shouted Vska Densov, showing his

white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which

twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting

white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his

hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider let

him. What is this? Theyre like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the

way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart! Ill hack

you with my saber! he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its

scabbard and flourishing it.



The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and

Densov joined Nesvtski.



Hows it youre not drunk today? said Nesvtski when the

other had ridden up to him.



They dont even give one time to dwink! answered Vska

Densov. They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they

mean to fight, lets fight. But the devil knows what this is.



What a dandy you are today! said Nesvtski, looking at

Densovs new cloak and saddlecloth.



Densov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused

a smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvtskis nose.



Of course. Im going into action! Ive shaved, bwushed my teeth,

and scented myself.



The imposing figure of Nesvtski followed by his Cossack, and

the determination of Densov who flourished his sword and shouted

frantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through

to the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the

bridge Nesvtski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver the order,

and having done this he rode back.



Having cleared the way Densov stopped at the end of the bridge.

Carelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing the

ground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron draw

nearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping,

resounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in

front and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began to emerge

on his side of it.



The infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in the

trampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,

estrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually

encounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in

regular order.



Smart lads! Only fit for a fair! said one.



What good are they? Theyre led about just for show! remarked

another.



Dont kick up the dust, you infantry! jested an hussar whose

prancing horse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers.



Id like to put you on a two days march with a knapsack! Your

fine cords would soon get a bit rubbed, said an infantryman, wiping

the mud off his face with his sleeve. Perched up there, youre more

like a bird than a man.



There now, Zkin, they ought to put you on a horse. Youd look

fine, said a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under

the weight of his knapsack.



Take a stick between your legs, thatll suit you for a horse!

the hussar shouted back.











CHAPTER VIII



The last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing

together as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At last

the baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the last

battalion came onto the bridge. Only Densovs squadron of hussars

remained on the farther side of the bridge facing the enemy, who could

be seen from the hill on the opposite bank but was not yet visible from

the bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley through which the

river flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mile away.

At the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups of our

Cossack scouts were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of the high

ground, artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. These were the

French. A group of Cossack scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All

the officers and men of Densovs squadron, though they tried to talk

of other things and to look in other directions, thought only of what

was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the patches

appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemys troops.

The weather had cleared again since noon and the sun was descending

brightly upon the Danube and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and

at intervals the bugle calls and the shouts of the enemy could be heard

from the hill. There was no one now between the squadron and the enemy

except a few scattered skirmishers. An empty space of some seven hundred

yards was all that separated them. The enemy ceased firing, and that

stern, threatening, inaccessible, and intangible line which separates

two hostile armies was all the more clearly felt.



One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing

the living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And

what is there? Who is there?there beyond that field, that tree, that

roof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants to know. You fear

and yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must

be crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will

inevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are

strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such

excitedly animated and healthy men. So thinks, or at any rate

feels, anyone who comes in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives

a particular glamour and glad keenness of impression to everything that

takes place at such moments.



On the high ground where the enemy was, the smoke of a cannon rose,

and a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron. The

officers who had been standing together rode off to their places. The

hussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell on the whole

squadron. All were looking at the enemy in front and at the squadron

commander, awaiting the word of command. A second and a third cannon

ball flew past. Evidently they were firing at the hussars, but the balls

with rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads of the horsemen and fell

somewhere beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at the sound

of each shot, as at the word of command, the whole squadron with its

rows of faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath while the

ball flew past, rose in the stirrups and sank back again. The soldiers

without turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their

comrades impression. Every face, from Densovs to that of the

bugler, showed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and

excitement, around chin and mouth. The quartermaster frowned, looking

at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mirnov ducked

every time a ball flew past. Rostv on the left flank, mounted on his

Rooka handsome horse despite its game leghad the happy air of a

schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which

he feels sure he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone

with a clear, bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly

he sat under fire. But despite himself, on his face too that same

indication of something new and stern showed round the mouth.



Whos that curtseying there? Cadet Miwnov! Thats not wight!

Look at me, cried Densov who, unable to keep still on one spot,

kept turning his horse in front of the squadron.



The black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vska Densov, and his whole

short sturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in

which he held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usually

did, especially toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle he

was only redder than usual. With his shaggy head thrown back like birds

when they drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his

good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as though falling backwards in the

saddle, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron and shouted in

a hoarse voice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to

Krsten. The staff captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came at a

walk to meet him. His face with its long mustache was serious as always,

only his eyes were brighter than usual.



Well, what about it? said he to Densov. It wont come to a

fight. Youll seewe shall retire.



The devil only knows what theyre about! muttered Densov.

Ah, Wostv, he cried noticing the cadets bright face,

youve got it at last.



And he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet. Rostv

felt perfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on the bridge.

Densov galloped up to him.



Your excellency! Let us attack them! Ill dwive them off.



Attack indeed! said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering up his

face as if driving off a troublesome fly. And why are you stopping

here? Dont you see the skirmishers are retreating? Lead the squadron

back.



The squadron crossed the bridge and drew out of range of fire without

having lost a single man. The second squadron that had been in the front

line followed them across and the last Cossacks quitted the farther side

of the river.



The two Pvlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired up the

hill one after the other. Their colonel, Karl Bogdnich Schubert, came

up to Densovs squadron and rode at a footpace not far from Rostv,

without taking any notice of him although they were now meeting for the

first time since their encounter concerning Telynin. Rostv, feeling

that he was at the front and in the power of a man toward whom he now

admitted that he had been to blame, did not lift his eyes from the

colonels athletic back, his nape covered with light hair, and his red

neck. It seemed to Rostv that Bogdnich was only pretending not

to notice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadets

courage, so he drew himself up and looked around him merrily then it

seemed to him that Bogdnich rode so near in order to show him his

courage. Next he thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a

desperate attack just to punish himRostv. Then he imagined how,

after the attack, Bogdnich would come up to him as he lay wounded and

would magnanimously extend the hand of reconciliation.



The high-shouldered figure of Zherkv, familiar to the Pvlograds as

he had but recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel.

After his dismissal from headquarters Zherkv had not remained in the

regiment, saying he was not such a fool as to slave at the front when he

could get more rewards by doing nothing on the staff, and had succeeded

in attaching himself as an orderly officer to Prince Bagratin. He now

came to his former chief with an order from the commander of the rear

guard.



Colonel, he said, addressing Rostvs enemy with an air of

gloomy gravity and glancing round at his comrades, there is an order

to stop and fire the bridge.



An order to who? asked the colonel morosely.



I dont myself know to who, replied the cornet in a

serious tone, but the prince told me to go and tell the colonel

that the hussars must return quickly and fire the bridge.



Zherkv was followed by an officer of the suite who rode up to the

colonel of hussars with the same order. After him the stout Nesvtski

came galloping up on a Cossack horse that could scarcely carry his

weight.



Hows this, Colonel? he shouted as he approached. I told you

to fire the bridge, and now someone has gone and blundered they are all

beside themselves over there and one cant make anything out.



The colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvtski.



You spoke to me of inflammable material, said he, but you said

nothing about firing it.



But, my dear sir, said Nesvtski as he drew up, taking off his

cap and smoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand,

wasnt I telling you to fire the bridge, when inflammable material

had been put in position?



I am not your dear sir, Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tell

me to burn the bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit orders

strictly to obey. You said the bridge would be burned, but who would it

burn, I could not know by the holy spirit!



Ah, thats always the way! said Nesvtski with a wave of the

hand. How did you get here? said he, turning to Zherkv.



On the same business. But you are damp! Let me wring you out!



You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer... continued the colonel in an

offended tone.



Colonel, interrupted the officer of the suite, You must be

quick or the enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot.



The colonel looked silently at the officer of the suite, at the stout

staff officer, and at Zherkv, and he frowned.



I will the bridge fire, he said in a solemn tone as if to announce

that in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endure he would still

do the right thing.



Striking his horse with his long muscular legs as if it were to blame

for everything, the colonel moved forward and ordered the second

squadron, that in which Rostv was serving under Densov, to return to

the bridge.



There, its just as I thought, said Rostv to himself. He

wishes to test me! His heart contracted and the blood rushed to his

face. Let him see whether I am a coward! he thought.



Again on all the bright faces of the squadron the serious expression

appeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostv watched his enemy,

the colonel, closelyto find in his face confirmation of his own

conjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostv, and looked

as he always did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then came the word

of command.



Look sharp! Look sharp! several voices repeated around him.



Their sabers catching in the bridles and their spurs jingling, the

hussars hastily dismounted, not knowing what they were to do. The men

were crossing themselves. Rostv no longer looked at the colonel, he

had no time. He was afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much afraid

that his heart stood still. His hand trembled as he gave his horse into

an orderlys charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart with

a thud. Densov rode past him, leaning back and shouting something.

Rostv saw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs

catching and their sabers clattering.



Stretchers! shouted someone behind him.



Rostv did not think what this call for stretchers meant he ran on,

trying only to be ahead of the others but just at the bridge, not

looking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled,

and fell on his hands. The others outstripped him.



At boss zides, Captain, he heard the voice of the colonel, who,

having ridden ahead, had pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a

triumphant, cheerful face.



Rostv wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and

was about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front

the better. But Bogdnich, without looking at or recognizing Rostv,

shouted to him



Whos that running on the middle of the bridge? To the right! Come

back, Cadet! he cried angrily and turning to Densov, 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 Vska Densov, turning

in his saddle.





Meanwhile Nesvtski, Zherkv, and the officer of the suite were

standing together out of range of the shots, watching, now the small

group of men with yellow shakos, dark-green jackets braided with cord,

and blue riding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, and then at

what was approaching in the distance from the opposite sidethe blue

uniforms and groups with horses, easily recognizable as artillery.



Will they burn the bridge or not? Wholl get there first? Will they

get there and fire the bridge or will the French get within grapeshot

range and wipe them out? These were the questions each man of the

troops on the high ground above the bridge involuntarily asked himself

with a sinking heartwatching the bridge and the hussars in the bright

evening light and the blue tunics advancing from the other side with

their bayonets and guns.



Ugh. The hussars will get it hot! said Nesvtski they are

within grapeshot range now.



He shouldnt have taken so many men, said the officer of the

suite.



True enough, answered Nesvtski two smart fellows could have

done the job just as well.



Ah, your excellency, put in Zherkv, his eyes fixed on the

hussars, but still with that nave air that made it impossible to know

whether he was speaking in jest or in earnest. Ah, your excellency!

How you look at things! Send two men? And who then would give us the

Vladmir 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

Bogdnich knows how things are done.



There now! said the officer of the suite, thats

grapeshot.



He pointed to the French guns, the limbers of which were being detached

and hurriedly removed.



On the French side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smoke

appeared, then a second and a third almost simultaneously, and at the

moment when the first report was heard a fourth was seen. Then two

reports one after another, and a third.



Oh! Oh! groaned Nesvtski as if in fierce pain, seizing the

officer of the suite by the arm. Look! A man has fallen! Fallen,

fallen!



Two, I think.



If I were Tsar I would never go to war, said Nesvtski, turning

away.



The French guns were hastily reloaded. The infantry in their blue

uniforms advanced toward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared again

but at irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and rattled onto the

bridge. But this time Nesvtski could not see what was happening there,

as a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars had succeeded in

setting it on fire and the French batteries were now firing at them, no

longer to hinder them but because the guns were trained and there was

someone to fire at.



The French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before the hussars

got back to their horses. Two were misdirected and the shot went too

high, but the last round fell in the midst of a group of hussars and

knocked three of them over.



Rostv, absorbed by his relations with Bogdnich, had paused on the

bridge not knowing what to do. There was no one to hew down (as he

had always imagined battles to himself), nor could he help to fire the

bridge because he had not brought any burning straw with him like the

other soldiers. He stood looking about him, when suddenly he heard a

rattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar nearest

to him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostv ran up to him with

the others. Again someone shouted, Stretchers! Four men seized the

hussar and began lifting him.



Oooh! For Christs sake let me alone! cried the wounded man, but

still he was lifted and laid on the stretcher.



Nicholas Rostv turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed

into the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the

sun. How beautiful the sky looked how blue, how calm, and how deep!

How bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter the

waters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the faraway

blue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and

the pine forests veiled in the mist of their summits... There was peace

and happiness... I should wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I

were there, thought Rostv. In myself alone and in that sunshine

there is so much happiness but here... groans, suffering, fear, and

this uncertainty and hurry... Therethey are shouting again, and

again are all running back somewhere, and I shall run with them, and it,

death, is here above me and around... Another instant and I shall never

again see the sun, this water, that gorge!...



At that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and other

stretchers came into view before Rostv. And the fear of death and of

the stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one

feeling of sickening agitation.



O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forgive, and protect

me! Rostv whispered.



The hussars ran back to the men who held their horses their voices

sounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight.



Well, fwiend? So youve smelt powdah! shouted Vska Densov

just above his ear.



Its all over but I am a cowardyes, a coward! thought

Rostv, and sighing deeply he took Rook, his horse, which stood resting

one foot, from the orderly and began to mount.



Was that grapeshot? he asked Densov.



Yes and no mistake! cried Densov. You worked like wegular

bwicks and its nasty work! An attacks pleasant work! Hacking

away at the dogs! But this sort of thing is the very devil, with them

shooting at you like a target.



And Densov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostv, composed

of the colonel, Nesvtski, Zherkv, and the officer from the suite.



Well, it seems that no one has noticed, thought Rostv. And this

was true. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensation

which the cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.



Heres something for you to report, said Zherkv. See if I

dont get promoted to a sublieutenancy.



Inform the prince that I the bridge fired! said the colonel

triumphantly and gaily.



And if he asks about the losses?



A trifle, said the colonel in his bass voice two hussars

wounded, and one knocked out, he added, unable to restrain a happy

smile, and pronouncing the phrase knocked out with ringing

distinctness.











CHAPTER IX



Pursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command

of Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly to it,

losing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies,

and compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had

been foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men commanded

by Kutzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube, stopping where

overtaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actions only as far as

necessary to enable it to retreat without losing its heavy equipment.

There had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk but despite the

courage and enduranceacknowledged even by the enemywith which the

Russians fought, the only consequence of these actions was a yet more

rapid retreat. Austrian troops that had escaped capture at Ulm and had

joined Kutzov at Braunau now separated from the Russian army, and

Kutzov was left with only his own weak and exhausted forces. The

defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. Instead of an

offensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the

modern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutzov when he was in

Vienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable

aim remaining for him was to effect a junction with the forces that were

advancing from Russia, without losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.



On the twenty-eighth of October Kutzov with his army crossed to the

left bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time

with the river between himself and the main body of the French. On the

thirtieth he attacked Mortiers division, which was on the left bank,

and broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies were taken

banners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a

fortnights retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after a fight

had not only held the field but had repulsed the French. Though the

troops were ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third of their number

in killed, wounded, sick, and stragglers though a number of sick and

wounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter

in which Kutzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy and

though the big hospitals and the houses in Krems converted into military

hospitals could no longer accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the

stand made at Krems and the victory over Mortier raised the spirits of

the army considerably. Throughout the whole army and at headquarters

most joyful though erroneous rumors were rife of the imaginary approach

of columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of

the retreat of the frightened Bonaparte.



Prince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance on the Austrian

General Schmidt, who was killed in the action. His horse had been

wounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark

of the commander in chiefs special favor he was sent with the news of

this victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was

threatened by the French) but at Brnn. Despite his apparently delicate

build Prince Andrew could endure physical fatigue far better than many

very muscular men, and on the night of the battle, having arrived

at Krems excited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokhtrov to

Kutzov, he was sent immediately with a special dispatch to Brnn.

To be so sent meant not only a reward but an important step toward

promotion.



The night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snow that

had fallen the previous daythe day of the battle. Reviewing his

impressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the

impression his news of a victory would create, or recalling the send-off

given him by the commander in chief and his fellow officers, Prince

Andrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the feelings of a

man who has at length begun to attain a long-desired happiness. As soon

as he closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the rattle of the

wheels and the sensation of victory. Then he began to imagine that

the Russians were running away and that he himself was killed, but he

quickly roused himself with a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that

this was not so but that on the contrary the French had run away. He

again recalled all the details of the victory and his own calm courage

during the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... The dark

starry night was followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was

thawing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides

of the road were forests of different kinds, fields, and villages.



At one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded.

The Russian officer in charge of the transport lolled back in the front

cart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coarse abuse. In each of

the long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being

jolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian

words), others were eating bread the more severely wounded looked

silently, with the languid interest of sick children, at the envoy

hurrying past them.



Prince Andrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what

action they had been wounded. Day before yesterday, on the Danube,

answered the soldier. Prince Andrew took out his purse and gave the

soldier three gold pieces.



Thats for them all, he said to the officer who came up.



Get well soon, lads! he continued, turning to the soldiers.

Theres plenty to do still.



What news, sir? asked the officer, evidently anxious to start a

conversation.



Good news!... Go on! he shouted to the driver, and they galloped

on.



It was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled over the paved

streets of Brnn and found himself surrounded by high buildings, the

lights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and all that

atmosphere of a large and active town which is always so attractive to a

soldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night,

Prince Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt even more vigorous and

alert than he had done the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly

and his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary clearness and

rapidity. He again vividly recalled the details of the battle, no longer

dim, but definite and in the concise form in which he imagined himself

stating them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual

questions that might be put to him and the answers he would give. He

expected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance

to the palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and

learning that he was a special messenger led him to another entrance.



To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you will find

the adjutant on duty, said the official. He will conduct you to

the Minister of War.



The adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrew, asked him to wait, and went

in to the Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned and bowing

with particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew before him along a

corridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. The

adjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off any

attempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.



Prince Andrews joyous feeling was considerably weakened as he

approached the door of the ministers room. He felt offended, and

without his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned into

one of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly

suggested to him a point of view which gave him a right to despise

the adjutant and the minister. Away from the smell of powder, they

probably think it easy to gain victories! he thought. His eyes

narrowed disdainfully, he entered the room of the Minister of War with

peculiarly deliberate steps. This feeling of disdain was heightened

when he saw the minister seated at a large table reading some papers

and making pencil notes on them, and for the first two or three minutes

taking no notice of his arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the

ministers bent bald head with its gray temples. He went on reading

to the end, without raising his eyes at the opening of the door and the

sound of footsteps.



Take this and deliver it, said he to his adjutant, handing him the

papers and still taking no notice of the special messenger.



Prince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutzovs army

interested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters he was

concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that

impression. But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me, he

thought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them

evenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and distinctive

head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent

expression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and

habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which

does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is

continually receiving many petitioners one after another.



From General Field Marshal Kutzov? he asked. I hope it is

good news? There has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was

high time!



He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read it

with a mournful expression.



Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt! he exclaimed in German. What a

calamity! What a calamity!



Having glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the table and looked

at Prince Andrew, evidently considering something.



Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But Mortier is

not captured. Again he pondered. I am very glad you have brought

good news, though Schmidts death is a heavy price to pay for the

victory. His Majesty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I

thank you! You must have a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after the

parade. However, I will let you know.



The stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking,

reappeared.



Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to

see you, he added, bowing his head.



When Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the interest

and happiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in the

indifferent hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant. The

whole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed the battle seemed

the memory of a remote event long past.











CHAPTER X



Prince Andrew stayed at Brnn with Bilbin, a Russian acquaintance of

his in the diplomatic service.



Ah, my dear prince! I could not have a more welcome visitor,

said Bilbin as he came out to meet Prince Andrew. Franz, put the

princes things in my bedroom, said he to the servant who was

ushering Bolknski in. So youre a messenger of victory, eh?

Splendid! And I am sitting here ill, as you see.



After washing and dressing, Prince Andrew came into the diplomats

luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilbin

settled down comfortably beside the fire.



After his journey and the campaign during which he had been deprived of

all the comforts of cleanliness and all the refinements of life, Prince

Andrew felt a pleasant sense of repose among luxurious surroundings such

as he had been accustomed to from childhood. Besides it was pleasant,

after his reception by the Austrians, to speak if not in Russian

(for they were speaking French) at least with a Russian who would, he

supposed, share the general Russian antipathy to the Austrians which was

then particularly strong.



Bilbin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, and of the same circle as

Prince Andrew. They had known each other previously in Petersburg, but

had become more intimate when Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutzov.

Just as Prince Andrew was a young man who gave promise of rising high

in the military profession, so to an even greater extent Bilbin gave

promise of rising in his diplomatic career. He was still a young man but

no longer a young diplomat, as he had entered the service at the age

of sixteen, had been in Paris and Copenhagen, and now held a rather

important post in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador

in Vienna knew him and valued him. He was not one of those many

diplomats who are esteemed because they have certain negative qualities,

avoid doing certain things, and speak French. He was one of those,

who, liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his indolence would

sometimes spend a whole night at his writing table. He worked well

whatever the import of his work. It was not the question What for?

but the question How? that interested him. What the diplomatic

matter might be he did not care, but it gave him great pleasure to

prepare a circular, memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly, and

elegantly. Bilbins services were valued not only for what he wrote,

but also for his skill in dealing and conversing with those in the

highest spheres.



Bilbin liked conversation as he liked work, only when it could be

made elegantly witty. In society he always awaited an opportunity to say

something striking and took part in a conversation only when that was

possible. His conversation was always sprinkled with wittily original,

finished phrases of general interest. These sayings were prepared in the

inner laboratory of his mind in a portable form as if intentionally, so

that insignificant society people might carry them from drawing room to

drawing room. And, in fact, Bilbins witticisms were hawked about

in the Viennese drawing rooms and often had an influence on matters

considered important.



His thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrinkles, which always

looked as clean and well washed as the tips of ones fingers after a

Russian bath. The movement of these wrinkles formed the principal play

of expression on his face. Now his forehead would pucker into deep folds

and his eyebrows were lifted, then his eyebrows would descend and

deep wrinkles would crease his cheeks. His small, deep-set eyes always

twinkled and looked out straight.



Well, now tell me about your exploits, said he.



Bolknski, very modestly without once mentioning himself, described the

engagement and his reception by the Minister of War.



They received me and my news as one receives a dog in a game of

skittles, said he in conclusion.



Bilbin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disappeared.



Cependant, mon cher, he remarked, examining his nails from a

distance and puckering the skin above his left eye, malgr la haute

estime que je professe pour the Orthodox Russian army, javoue que

votre victoire nest pas des plus victorieuses. *



     * But my dear fellow, with all my respect for the Orthodox

     Russian army, I must say that your victory was not

     particularly victorious.





He went on talking in this way in French, uttering only those words in

Russian on which he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis.



Come now! You with all your forces fall on the unfortunate Mortier

and his one division, and even then Mortier slips through your fingers!

Wheres the victory?



But seriously, said Prince Andrew, we can at any rate say

without boasting that it was a little better than at Ulm...



Why didnt you capture one, just one, marshal for us?



Because not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness

of a parade. We had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear by

seven in the morning but had not reached it by five in the afternoon.



And why didnt you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to have

been there at seven in the morning, returned Bilbin with a smile.

You ought to have been there at seven in the morning.



Why did you not succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic

methods that he had better leave Genoa alone? retorted Prince Andrew

in the same tone.



I know, interrupted Bilbin, youre thinking its very

easy to take marshals, sitting on a sofa by the fire! That is true, but

still why didnt you capture him? So dont be surprised if not only

the Minister of War but also his Most August Majesty the Emperor and

King Francis is not much delighted by your victory. Even I, a poor

secretary of the Russian Embassy, do not feel any need in token of my

joy to give my Franz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen to the

Prater... True, we have no Prater here...



He looked straight at Prince Andrew and suddenly unwrinkled his

forehead.



It is now my turn to ask you why? mon cher, said Bolknski.

I confess I do not understand perhaps there are diplomatic

subtleties here beyond my feeble intelligence, but I cant make it

out. Mack loses a whole army, the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke

Karl give no signs of life and make blunder after blunder. Kutzov

alone at last gains a real victory, destroying the spell of the

invincibility of the French, and the Minister of War does not even care

to hear the details.



Thats just it, my dear fellow. You see its hurrah for the Tsar,

for Russia, for the Orthodox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but

what do we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories? Bring

us nice news of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one

archdukes as good as another, as you know) and even if it is only

over a fire brigade of Bonapartes, that will be another story and

well fire off some cannon! But this sort of thing seems done

on purpose to vex us. The Archduke Karl does nothing, the Archduke

Ferdinand disgraces himself. You abandon Vienna, give up its

defenseas much as to say Heaven is with us, but heaven help you

and your capital! The one general whom we all loved, Schmidt, you

expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate us on the victory! Admit

that more irritating news than yours could not have been conceived.

Its as if it had been done on purpose, on purpose. Besides, suppose

you did gain a brilliant victory, if even the Archduke Karl gained a

victory, what effect would that have on the general course of events?

Its too late now when Vienna is occupied by the French army!



What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?



Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at Schnbrunn, 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, Bolknski felt that he could not take in

the full significance of the words he heard.



Count Lichtenfels was here this morning, Bilbin continued,

and showed me a letter in which the parade of the French in Vienna

was fully described Prince Murat et tout le tremblement... You see that

your victory is not a matter for great rejoicing and that you cant be

received as a savior.



Really I dont care about that, I dont care at all, said

Prince Andrew, beginning to understand that his news of the battle

before Krems was really of small importance in view of such events as

the fall of Austrias capital. How is it Vienna was taken? What of

the bridge and its celebrated bridgehead and Prince Auersperg? We heard

reports that Prince Auersperg was defending Vienna? he said.



Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of the river, and is

defending usdoing it very badly, I think, but still he is defending

us. But Vienna is on the other side. No, the bridge has not yet been

taken and I hope it will not be, for it is mined and orders have been

given to blow it up. Otherwise we should long ago have been in the

mountains of Bohemia, and you and your army would have spent a bad

quarter of an hour between two fires.



But still this does not mean that the campaign is over, said

Prince Andrew.



Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think so too, but they

darent say so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign,

it wont be your skirmishing at Drrenstein, or gunpowder at all,

that will decide the matter, but those who devised it, said Bilbin

quoting one of his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead, and

pausing. The only question is what will come of the meeting between

the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia in Berlin? If Prussia

joins the Allies, Austrias hand will be forced and there will be war.

If not it is merely a question of settling where the preliminaries of

the new Campo Formio are to be drawn up.



What an extraordinary genius! Prince Andrew suddenly exclaimed,

clenching his small hand and striking the table with it, and what

luck the man has!



Buonaparte? said Bilbin inquiringly, puckering up his forehead

to indicate that he was about to say something witty. Buonaparte?

he repeated, accentuating the u I think, however, now that he lays

down laws for Austria at Schnbrunn, il faut lui faire grce de

lu! * I shall certainly adopt an innovation and call him simply

Bonaparte!



    * We must let him off the u!





But joking apart, said Prince Andrew, do you really think the

campaign is over?



This is what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she is

not used to it. She will retaliate. And she has been fooled in the

first place because her provinces have been pillagedthey say the Holy

Russian army loots terriblyher army is destroyed, her capital

taken, and all this for the beaux yeux * of His Sardinian Majesty. And

thereforethis is between ourselvesI instinctively feel that we

are being deceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with France and

projects for peace, a secret peace concluded separately.



    * Fine eyes.



Impossible! cried Prince Andrew. That would be too base.



If we live we shall see, replied Bilbin, his face again becoming

smooth as a sign that the conversation was at an end.



When Prince Andrew reached the room prepared for him and lay down in a

clean shirt on the feather bed with its warmed and fragrant pillows, he

felt that the battle of which he had brought tidings was far, far

away from him. The alliance with Prussia, Austrias treachery,

Bonapartes new triumph, tomorrows levee and parade, and the

audience with the Emperor Francis occupied his thoughts.



He closed his eyes, and immediately a sound of cannonading, of musketry

and the rattling of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and now

again drawn out in a thin line the musketeers were descending the hill,

the French were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as he rode

forward beside Schmidt with the bullets merrily whistling all around,

and he experienced tenfold the joy of living, as he had not done since

childhood.



He woke up...



Yes, that all happened! he said, and, smiling happily to himself

like a child, he fell into a deep, youthful slumber.











CHAPTER XI



Next day he woke late. Recalling his recent impressions, the first

thought that came into his mind was that today he had to be presented

to the Emperor Francis he remembered the Minister of War, the polite

Austrian adjutant, Bilbin, and last nights conversation. Having

dressed for his attendance at court in full parade uniform, which he

had not worn for a long time, he went into Bilbins study fresh,

animated, and handsome, with his hand bandaged. In the study were four

gentlemen of the diplomatic corps. With Prince Hippolyte Kurgin,

who was a secretary to the embassy, Bolknski was already acquainted.

Bilbin introduced him to the others.



The gentlemen assembled at Bilbins were young, wealthy, gay society

men, who here, as in Vienna, formed a special set which Bilbin, their

leader, called les ntres. * This set, consisting almost exclusively of

diplomats, evidently had its own interests which had nothing to do with

war or politics but related to high society, to certain women, and to

the official side of the service. These gentlemen received Prince

Andrew as one of themselves, an honor they did not extend to many. From

politeness and to start conversation, they asked him a few questions

about the army and the battle, and then the talk went off into merry

jests and gossip.



    * Ours.



But the best of it was, said one, telling of the misfortune of

a fellow diplomat, that the Chancellor told him flatly that his

appointment to London was a promotion and that he was so to regard it.

Can you fancy the figure he cut?...



But the worst of it, gentlemenI am giving Kurgin away to

youis that that man suffers, and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is

taking advantage of it!



Prince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge chair with his legs over its

arm. He began to laugh.



Tell me about that! he said.



Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent! cried several voices.



You, Bolknski, dont know, said Bilbin turning to Prince

Andrew, that all the atrocities of the French army (I nearly said of

the Russian army) are nothing compared to what this man has been doing

among the women!



La femme est la compagne de lhomme, * announced Prince

Hippolyte, and began looking through a lorgnette at his elevated legs.



    * Woman is mans companion.





Bilbin and the rest of ours burst out laughing in Hippolytes

face, and Prince Andrew saw that Hippolyte, of whomhe had to

admithe had almost been jealous on his wifes account, was the butt

of this set.



Oh, I must give you a treat, Bilbin whispered to Bolknski.

Kurgin is exquisite when he discusses politicsyou should see his

gravity!



He sat down beside Hippolyte and wrinkling his forehead began talking

to him about politics. Prince Andrew and the others gathered round these

two.



The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feeling of alliance, began

Hippolyte gazing round with importance at the others, without

expressing... as in its last note... you understand... Besides, unless

His Majesty the Emperor derogates from the principle of our alliance...



Wait, I have not finished... he said to Prince Andrew, seizing

him by the arm, I believe that intervention will be stronger than

nonintervention. And... he paused. Finally one cannot impute the

nonreceipt of our dispatch of November 18. That is how it will end.

And he released Bolknskis arm to indicate that he had now quite

finished.



Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy golden

mouth! said Bilbin, and the mop of hair on his head moved with

satisfaction.



Everybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder than anyone. He was evidently

distressed, and breathed painfully, but could not restrain the wild

laughter that convulsed his usually impassive features.



Well now, gentlemen, said Bilbin, Bolknski is my guest in

this house and in Brnn itself. I want to entertain him as far as I

can, with all the pleasures of life here. If we were in Vienna it would

be easy, but here, in this wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficult,

and I beg you all to help me. Brnns attractions must be shown him.

You can undertake the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of course

the women.



We must let him see Amelie, shes exquisite! said one of

ours, kissing his finger tips.



In general we must turn this bloodthirsty soldier to more humane

interests, said Bilbin.



I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of your hospitality,

gentlemen, it is already time for me to go, replied Prince Andrew

looking at his watch.



Where to?



To the Emperor.



Oh! Oh! Oh!



Well, au revoir, Bolknski! Au revoir, Prince! Come back early to

dinner, cried several voices. Well take you in hand.



When speaking to the Emperor, try as far as you can to praise the way

that provisions are supplied and the routes indicated, said Bilbin,

accompanying him to the hall.



I should like to speak well of them, but as far as I know the facts,

I cant, replied Bolknski, smiling.



Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He has a passion for giving

audiences, but he does not like talking himself and cant do it, as

you will see.











CHAPTER XII



At the levee Prince Andrew stood among the Austrian officers as he had

been told to, and the Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly into his

face and just nodded to him with his long head. But after it was

over, the adjutant he had seen the previous day ceremoniously informed

Bolknski that the Emperor desired to give him an audience. The Emperor

Francis received him standing in the middle of the room. Before the

conversation began Prince Andrew was struck by the fact that the Emperor

seemed confused and blushed as if not knowing what to say.



Tell me, when did the battle begin? he asked hurriedly.



Prince Andrew replied. Then followed other questions just as simple

Was Kutzov well? When had he left Krems? and so on. The Emperor

spoke as if his sole aim were to put a given number of questionsthe

answers to these questions, as was only too evident, did not interest

him.



At what oclock did the battle begin? asked the Emperor.



I cannot inform Your Majesty at what oclock the battle began at

the front, but at Drrenstein, where I was, our attack began after

five in the afternoon, replied Bolknski growing more animated and

expecting that he would have a chance to give a reliable account, which

he had ready in his mind, of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor

smiled and interrupted him.



How many miles?



From where to where, Your Majesty?



From Drrenstein to Krems.



Three and a half miles, Your Majesty.



The French have abandoned the left bank?



According to the scouts the last of them crossed on rafts during the

night.



Is there sufficient forage in Krems?



Forage has not been supplied to the extent...



The Emperor interrupted him.



At what oclock was General Schmidt killed?



At seven oclock, I believe.



At seven oclock? Its very sad, very sad!



The Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and bowed. Prince Andrew withdrew and

was immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Everywhere he

saw friendly looks and heard friendly words. Yesterdays adjutant

reproached him for not having stayed at the palace, and offered him

his own house. The Minister of War came up and congratulated him on the

Maria Theresa Order of the third grade, which the Emperor was conferring

on him. The Empress chamberlain invited him to see Her Majesty. The

archduchess also wished to see him. He did not know whom to answer, and

for a few seconds collected his thoughts. Then the Russian ambassador

took him by the shoulder, led him to the window, and began to talk to

him.



Contrary to Bilbins forecast the news he had brought was joyfully

received. A thanksgiving service was arranged, Kutzov was awarded

the Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and the whole army received rewards.

Bolknski was invited everywhere, and had to spend the whole morning

calling on the principal Austrian dignitaries. Between four and five

in the afternoon, having made all his calls, he was returning to

Bilbins house thinking out a letter to his father about the battle

and his visit to Brnn. At the door he found a vehicle half full of

luggage. Franz, Bilbins man, was dragging a portmanteau with some

difficulty out of the front door.



Before returning to Bilbins Prince Andrew had gone to a bookshop

to provide himself with some books for the campaign, and had spent some

time in the shop.



What is it? he asked.



Oh, your excellency! said Franz, with difficulty rolling the

portmanteau into the vehicle, we are to move on still farther. The

scoundrel is again at our heels!



Eh? What? asked Prince Andrew.



Bilbin came out to meet him. His usually calm face showed excitement.



There now! Confess that this is delightful, said he. This

affair of the Thabor Bridge, at Vienna.... They have crossed without

striking a blow!



Prince Andrew could not understand.



But where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the

town knows?



I come from the archduchess. I heard nothing there.



And you didnt see that everybody is packing up?



I did not... What is it all about? inquired Prince Andrew

impatiently.



Whats it all about? Why, the French have crossed the bridge that

Auersperg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up so Murat

is now rushing along the road to Brnn and will be here in a day or

two.



What? Here? But why did they not blow up the bridge, if it was

mined?



That is what I ask you. No one, not even Bonaparte, knows why.



Bolknski shrugged his shoulders.



But if the bridge is crossed it means that the army too is lost? It

will be cut off, said he.



Thats just it, answered Bilbin. Listen! The French entered

Vienna as I told you. Very well. Next day, which was yesterday, those

gentlemen, messieurs les marchaux, * Murat, Lannes, and Belliard,

mount and ride to the bridge. (Observe that all three are Gascons.)

Gentlemen, says one of them, you know the Thabor Bridge is

mined and doubly mined and that there are menacing fortifications at its

head and an army of fifteen thousand men has been ordered to blow up

the bridge and not let us cross? But it will please our sovereign the

Emperor Napoleon if we take this bridge, so let us three go and take

it! Yes, lets! say the others. And off they go and take the

bridge, cross it, and now with their whole army are on this side of the

Danube, marching on us, you, and your lines of communication.



    * The marshalls.



Stop jesting, said Prince Andrew sadly and seriously. This news

grieved him and yet he was pleased.



As soon as he learned that the Russian army was in such a hopeless

situation it occurred to him that it was he who was destined to lead it

out of this position that here was the Toulon that would lift him from

the ranks of obscure officers and offer him the first step to fame!

Listening to Bilbin he was already imagining how on reaching the army

he would give an opinion at the war council which would be the only one

that could save the army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the

executing of the plan.



Stop this jesting, he said.



I am not jesting, Bilbin went on. Nothing is truer or sadder.

These gentlemen ride onto the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs

they assure the officer on duty that they, the marshals, are on

their way to negotiate with Prince Auersperg. He lets them enter the

tte-de-pont. * They spin him a thousand gasconades, saying that

the war is over, that the Emperor Francis is arranging a meeting with

Bonaparte, that they desire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The

officer sends for Auersperg these gentlemen embrace the officers, crack

jokes, sit on the cannon, and meanwhile a French battalion gets to

the bridge unobserved, flings the bags of incendiary material into

the water, and approaches the tte-de-pont. At length appears the

lieutenant general, our dear Prince Auersperg von Mautern himself.

Dearest foe! Flower of the Austrian army, hero of the Turkish wars!

Hostilities are ended, we can shake one anothers hand.... The

Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience to make Prince Auerspergs

acquaintance. In a word, those gentlemen, Gascons indeed, so

bewildered him with fine words, and he is so flattered by his rapidly

established intimacy with the French marshals, and so dazzled by the

sight of Murats mantle and ostrich plumes, quil ny voit que du

feu, et oublie celui quil devait faire faire sur lennemi! *(2)

In spite of the animation of his speech, Bilbin did not forget to

pause after this mot to give time for its due appreciation. The

French battalion rushes to the bridgehead, spikes the guns, and the

bridge is taken! But what is best of all, he went on, his excitement

subsiding under the delightful interest of his own story, is that the

sergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal to fire

the mines and blow up the bridge, this sergeant, seeing that the French

troops were running onto the bridge, was about to fire, but Lannes

stayed his hand. The sergeant, who was evidently wiser than his general,

goes up to Auersperg and says Prince, you are being deceived, here

are the French! Murat, seeing that all is lost if the sergeant is

allowed to speak, turns to Auersperg with feigned astonishment (he is a

true Gascon) and says I dont recognize the world-famous Austrian

discipline, if you allow a subordinate to address you like that! It

was a stroke of genius. Prince Auersperg feels his dignity at stake and

orders the sergeant to be arrested. Come, you must own that this affair

of the Thabor Bridge is delightful! It is not exactly stupidity, nor

rascality....



     * Bridgehead.



     * (2) That their fire gets into his eyes and he forgets that

     he ought to be firing at the enemy.



It may be treachery, said Prince Andrew, vividly imagining the

gray overcoats, wounds, the smoke of gunpowder, the sounds of firing,

and the glory that awaited him.



Not that either. That puts the court in too bad a light, replied

Bilbin. Its not treachery nor rascality nor stupidity it is

just as at Ulm... it is...he seemed to be trying to find the right

expression. Cest... cest du Mack. Nous sommes macks (It is...

it is a bit of Mack. We are Macked), he concluded, feeling that he

had produced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repeated. His

hitherto puckered brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and with a

slight smile he began to examine his nails.



Where are you off to? he said suddenly to Prince Andrew who had

risen and was going toward his room.



I am going away.



Where to?



To the army.



But you meant to stay another two days?



But now I am off at once.



And Prince Andrew after giving directions about his departure went to

his room.



Do you know, mon cher, said Bilbin following him, I have been

thinking about you. Why are you going?



And in proof of the conclusiveness of his opinion all the wrinkles

vanished from his face.



Prince Andrew looked inquiringly at him and gave no reply.



Why are you going? I know you think it your duty to gallop back to

the army now that it is in danger. I understand that. Mon cher, it is

heroism!



Not at all, said Prince Andrew.



But as you are a philosopher, be a consistent one, look at the other

side of the question and you will see that your duty, on the contrary,

is to take care of yourself. Leave it to those who are no longer fit for

anything else.... You have not been ordered to return and have not been

dismissed from here therefore, you can stay and go with us wherever our

ill luck takes us. They say we are going to Olmtz, and Olmtz is a

very decent town. You and I will travel comfortably in my calche.



Do stop joking, Bilbin, cried Bolknski.



I am speaking sincerely as a friend! Consider! Where and why are

you going, when you might remain here? You are faced by one of two

things, and the skin over his left temple puckered, either you

will not reach your regiment before peace is concluded, or you will

share defeat and disgrace with Kutzovs whole army.



And Bilbin unwrinkled his temple, feeling that the dilemma was

insoluble.



I cannot argue about it, replied Prince Andrew coldly, but he

thought I am going to save the army.



My dear fellow, you are a hero! said Bilbin.











CHAPTER XIII



That same night, having taken leave of the Minister of War, Bolknski

set off to rejoin the army, not knowing where he would find it and

fearing to be captured by the French on the way to Krems.



In Brnn everybody attached to the court was packing up, and the heavy

baggage was already being dispatched to Olmtz. Near Hetzelsdorf Prince

Andrew struck the high road along which the Russian army was moving with

great haste and in the greatest disorder. The road was so obstructed

with carts that it was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince Andrew

took a horse and a Cossack from a Cossack commander, and hungry and

weary, making his way past the baggage wagons, rode in search of the

commander in chief and of his own luggage. Very sinister reports of the

position of the army reached him as he went along, and the appearance of

the troops in their disorderly flight confirmed these rumors.



Cette arme russe que lor de lAngleterre a transporte des

extrmits de lunivers, nous allons lui faire prouver le mme

sort(le sort de larme dUlm). * He remembered these words

in Bonapartes address to his army at the beginning of the campaign,

and they awoke in him astonishment at the genius of his hero, a feeling

of wounded pride, and a hope of glory. And should there be nothing

left but to die? he thought. Well, if need be, I shall do it no

worse than others.



     * That Russian army which has been brought from the ends of

     the earth by English gold, we shall cause to share the same

     fate(the fate of the army at Ulm).





He looked with disdain at the endless confused mass of detachments,

carts, guns, artillery, and again baggage wagons and vehicles of all

kinds overtaking one another and blocking the muddy road, three and

sometimes four abreast. From all sides, behind and before, as far as ear

could reach, there were the rattle of wheels, the creaking of carts

and gun carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, shouts, the

urging of horses, and the swearing of soldiers, orderlies, and officers.

All along the sides of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some

flayed, some not, and broken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers

sat waiting for something, and again soldiers straggling from their

companies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or

returned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At

each ascent or descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the

din of shouting more incessant. Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mud

pushed the guns and wagons themselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped,

traces broke, and lungs were strained with shouting. The officers

directing the march rode backward and forward between the carts. Their

voices were but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by their faces

that they despaired of the possibility of checking this disorder.



Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army, thought Bolknski,

recalling Bilbins words.



Wishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode up to

a convoy. Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle,

evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and

looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a calche.

A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped in shawls sat behind the

apron under the leather hood of the vehicle. Prince Andrew rode up

and was just putting his question to a soldier when his attention

was diverted by the desperate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle. An

officer in charge of transport was beating the soldier who was driving

the womans vehicle for trying to get ahead of others, and the strokes

of his whip fell on the apron of the equipage. The woman screamed

piercingly. Seeing Prince Andrew she leaned out from behind the apron

and, waving her thin arms from under the woolen shawl, cried



Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp!... For heavens sake... Protect

me! What will become of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh

Chasseurs.... They wont let us pass, we are left behind and have lost

our people...



Ill flatten you into a pancake! shouted the angry officer to

the soldier. Turn back with your slut!



Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me!... What does it all mean? screamed the

doctors wife.



Kindly let this cart pass. Dont you see its a woman? said

Prince Andrew riding up to the officer.



The officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again to the

soldier. Ill teach you to push on!... Back!



Let them pass, I tell you! repeated Prince Andrew, compressing his

lips.



And who are you? cried the officer, turning on him with tipsy

rage, who are you? Are you in command here? Eh? I am commander here,

not you! Go back or Ill flatten you into a pancake, repeated he.

This expression evidently pleased him.



That was a nice snub for the little aide-de-camp, came a voice

from behind.



Prince Andrew saw that the officer was in that state of senseless,

tipsy rage when a man does not know what he is saying. He saw that his

championship of the doctors wife in her queer trap might expose him

to what he dreaded more than anything in the worldto ridicule but

his instinct urged him on. Before the officer finished his sentence

Prince Andrew, his face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raised

his riding whip.



Kind...ly letthempass!



The officer flourished his arm and hastily rode away.



Its all the fault of these fellows on the staff that theres

this disorder, he muttered. Do as you like.



Prince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode hastily away from the

doctors wife, who was calling him her deliverer, and recalling with

a sense of disgust the minutest details of this humiliating scene he

galloped on to the village where he was told that the commander in chief

was.



On reaching the village he dismounted and went to the nearest house,

intending to rest if but for a moment, eat something, and try to sort

out the stinging and tormenting thoughts that confused his mind. This

is a mob of scoundrels and not an army, he was thinking as he went

up to the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called him by

name.



He turned round. Nesvtskis handsome face looked out of the little

window. Nesvtski, moving his moist lips as he chewed something, and

flourishing his arm, called him to enter.



Bolknski! Bolknski!... Dont you hear? Eh? Come quick... he

shouted.



Entering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nesvtski and another adjutant

having something to eat. They hastily turned round to him asking if he

had any news. On their familiar faces he read agitation and alarm.

This was particularly noticeable on Nesvtskis usually laughing

countenance.



Where is the commander in chief? asked Bolknski.



Here, in that house, answered the adjutant.



Well, is it true that its peace and capitulation? asked

Nesvtski.



I was going to ask you. I know nothing except that it was all I could

do to get here.



And we, my dear boy! Its terrible! I was wrong to laugh at Mack,

were getting it still worse, said Nesvtski. But sit down and

have something to eat.



You wont be able to find either your baggage or anything else now,

Prince. And God only knows where your man Peter is, said the other

adjutant.



Where are headquarters?



We are to spend the night in Znaim.



Well, I have got all I need into packs for two horses, said

Nesvtski. Theyve made up splendid packs for mefit to cross

the Bohemian mountains with. Its a bad lookout, old fellow! But

whats the matter with you? You must be ill to shiver like that, he

added, noticing that Prince Andrew winced as at an electric shock.



Its nothing, replied Prince Andrew.



He had just remembered his recent encounter with the doctors wife and

the convoy officer.



What is the commander in chief doing here? he asked.



I cant make out at all, said Nesvtski.



Well, all I can make out is that everything is abominable,

abominable, quite abominable! said Prince Andrew, and he went off to

the house where the commander in chief was.



Passing by Kutzovs carriage and the exhausted saddle horses of

his suite, with their Cossacks who were talking loudly together, Prince

Andrew entered the passage. Kutzov himself, he was told, was in the

house with Prince Bagratin and Weyrother. Weyrother was the Austrian

general who had succeeded Schmidt. In the passage little Kozlvski was

squatting on his heels in front of a clerk. The clerk, with cuffs turned

up, was hastily writing at a tub turned bottom upwards. Kozlvskis

face looked wornhe too had evidently not slept all night. He glanced

at Prince Andrew and did not even nod to him.



Second line... have you written it? he continued dictating to the

clerk. The Kiev Grenadiers, Podolian...



One cant write so fast, your honor, said the clerk, glancing

angrily and disrespectfully at Kozlvski.



Through the door came the sounds of Kutzovs voice, excited and

dissatisfied, interrupted by another, an unfamiliar voice. From the

sound of these voices, the inattentive way Kozlvski looked at him, the

disrespectful manner of the exhausted clerk, the fact that the clerk and

Kozlvski were squatting on the floor by a tub so near to the commander

in chief, and from the noisy laughter of the Cossacks holding the

horses near the window, Prince Andrew felt that something important and

disastrous was about to happen.



He turned to Kozlvski with urgent questions.



Immediately, Prince, said Kozlvski. Dispositions for

Bagratin.



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

Kutzov with his eagle nose and puffy face appeared in the doorway.

Prince Andrew stood right in front of Kutzov but the expression of

the commander in chiefs one sound eye showed him to be so preoccupied

with thoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence. He

looked straight at his adjutants face without recognizing him.



Well, have you finished? said he to Kozlvski.



One moment, your excellency.



Bagratin, a gaunt middle-aged man of medium height with a firm,

impassive face of Oriental type, came out after the commander in chief.



I have the honor to present myself, repeated Prince Andrew rather

loudly, handing Kutzov an envelope.



Ah, from Vienna? Very good. Later, later!



Kutzov went out into the porch with Bagratin.



Well, good-by, Prince, said he to Bagratin. My blessing, and

may Christ be with you in your great endeavor!



His face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes. With his left

hand he drew Bagratin toward him, and with his right, on which he wore

a ring, he made the sign of the cross over him with a gesture evidently

habitual, offering his puffy cheek, but Bagratin kissed him on the

neck instead.



Christ be with you! Kutzov repeated and went toward his

carriage. Get in with me, said he to Bolknski.



Your excellency, I should like to be of use here. Allow me to remain

with Prince Bagratins detachment.



Get in, said Kutzov, and noticing that Bolknski still delayed,

he added I need good officers myself, need them myself!



They got into the carriage and drove for a few minutes in silence.



There is still much, much before us, he said, as if with an old

mans penetration he understood all that was passing in Bolknskis

mind. If a tenth part of his detachment returns I shall thank God,

he added as if speaking to himself.



Prince Andrew glanced at Kutzovs face only a foot distant from him

and involuntarily noticed the carefully washed seams of the scar near

his temple, where an Ismail bullet had pierced his skull, and the empty

eye socket. Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of those mens

death, thought Bolknski.



That is why I beg to be sent to that detachment, he said.



Kutzov did not reply. He seemed to have forgotten what he had been

saying, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, gently swaying

on the soft springs of the carriage, he turned to Prince Andrew.

There was not a trace of agitation on his face. With delicate irony he

questioned Prince Andrew about the details of his interview with the

Emperor, about the remarks he had heard at court concerning the Krems

affair, and about some ladies they both knew.











CHAPTER XIV



On November 1 Kutzov had received, through a spy, news that the army

he commanded was in an almost hopeless position. The spy reported that

the French, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were advancing in

immense force upon Kutzovs line of communication with the troops

that were arriving from Russia. If Kutzov decided to remain at Krems,

Napoleons army of one hundred and fifty thousand men would cut him

off completely and surround his exhausted army of forty thousand, and he

would find himself in the position of Mack at Ulm. If Kutzov decided

to abandon the road connecting him with the troops arriving from Russia,

he would have to march with no road into unknown parts of the Bohemian

mountains, defending himself against superior forces of the enemy and

abandoning all hope of a junction with Buxhwden. If Kutzov decided

to retreat along the road from Krems to Olmtz, to unite with the

troops arriving from Russia, he risked being forestalled on that road

by the French who had crossed the Vienna bridge, and encumbered by his

baggage and transport, having to accept battle on the march against an

enemy three times as strong, who would hem him in from two sides.



Kutzov chose this latter course.



The French, the spy reported, having crossed the Vienna bridge, were

advancing by forced marches toward Znaim, which lay sixty-six miles

off on the line of Kutzovs retreat. If he reached Znaim before the

French, there would be great hope of saving the army to let the

French forestall him at Znaim meant the exposure of his whole army to a

disgrace such as that of Ulm, or to utter destruction. But to forestall

the French with his whole army was impossible. The road for the French

from Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than the road for the

Russians from Krems to Znaim.



The night he received the news, Kutzov sent Bagratins vanguard,

four thousand strong, to the right across the hills from the Krems-Znaim

to the Vienna-Znaim road. Bagratin was to make this march without

resting, and to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to his rear, and if he

succeeded in forestalling the French he was to delay them as long as

possible. Kutzov himself with all his transport took the road to

Znaim.



Marching thirty miles that stormy night across roadless hills, with his

hungry, ill-shod soldiers, and losing a third of his men as stragglers

by the way, Bagratin came out on the Vienna-Znaim road at Hollabrnn

a few hours ahead of the French who were approaching Hollabrnn from

Vienna. Kutzov with his transport had still to march for some days

before he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagratin with his four thousand

hungry, exhausted men would have to detain for days the whole enemy army

that came upon him at Hollabrnn, which was clearly impossible. But

a freak of fate made the impossible possible. The success of the trick

that had placed the Vienna bridge in the hands of the French without

a fight led Murat to try to deceive Kutzov in a similar way. Meeting

Bagratins weak detachment on the Znaim road he supposed it to be

Kutzovs whole army. To be able to crush it absolutely he awaited

the arrival of the rest of the troops who were on their way from Vienna,

and with this object offered a three days truce on condition that

both armies should remain in position without moving. Murat declared

that negotiations for peace were already proceeding, and that he

therefore offered this truce to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Count

Nostitz, the Austrian general occupying the advanced posts, believed

Murats emissary and retired, leaving Bagratins division

exposed. Another emissary rode to the Russian line to announce the peace

negotiations and to offer the Russian army the three days truce.

Bagratin replied that he was not authorized either to accept or refuse

a truce and sent his adjutant to Kutzov to report the offer he had

received.



A truce was Kutzovs sole chance of gaining time, giving

Bagratins exhausted troops some rest, and letting the transport and

heavy convoys (whose movements were concealed from the French) advance

if but one stage nearer Znaim. The offer of a truce gave the only, and

a quite unexpected, chance of saving the army. On receiving the news

he immediately dispatched Adjutant General Wintzingerode, who was in

attendance on him, to the enemy camp. Wintzingerode was not merely

to agree to the truce but also to offer terms of capitulation, and

meanwhile Kutzov sent his adjutants back to hasten to the utmost the

movements of the baggage trains of the entire army along the Krems-Znaim

road. Bagratins exhausted and hungry detachment, which alone

covered this movement of the transport and of the whole army, had to

remain stationary in face of an enemy eight times as strong as itself.



Kutzovs expectations that the proposals of capitulation (which were

in no way binding) might give time for part of the transport to pass,

and also that Murats mistake would very soon be discovered, proved

correct. As soon as Bonaparte (who was at Schnbrunn, sixteen miles

from Hollabrnn) received Murats dispatch with the proposal of a

truce and a capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrote the following

letter to Murat



Schnbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805,



at eight oclock in the morning



To PRINCE MURAT,



I cannot find words to express to you my displeasure. You command only

my advance guard, and have no right to arrange an armistice without my

order. You are causing me to lose the fruits of a campaign. Break

the armistice immediately and march on the enemy. Inform him that the

general who signed that capitulation had no right to do so, and that no

one but the Emperor of Russia has that right.



If, however, the Emperor of Russia ratifies that convention, I will

ratify it but it is only a trick. March on, destroy the Russian

army.... You are in a position to seize its baggage and artillery.



The Russian Emperors aide-de-camp is an impostor. Officers are

nothing when they have no powers this one had none.... The Austrians

let themselves be tricked at the crossing of the Vienna bridge, you are

letting yourself be tricked by an aide-de-camp of the Emperor.



NAPOLEON



Bonapartes adjutant rode full gallop with this menacing letter to

Murat. Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with all

the Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victim

escape, and Bagratins four thousand men merrily lighted campfires,

dried and warmed themselves, cooked their porridge for the first time

for three days, and not one of them knew or imagined what was in store

for him.











CHAPTER XV



Between three and four oclock in the afternoon Prince Andrew, who

had persisted in his request to Kutzov, arrived at Grunth and reported

himself to Bagratin. Bonapartes adjutant had not yet reached

Murats detachment and the battle had not yet begun. In Bagratins

detachment no one knew anything of the general position of affairs. They

talked of peace but did not believe in its possibility others talked

of a battle but also disbelieved in the nearness of an engagement.

Bagratin, knowing Bolknski to be a favorite and trusted adjutant,

received him with distinction and special marks of favor, explaining to

him that there would probably be an engagement that day or the next, and

giving him full liberty to remain with him during the battle or to join

the rearguard and have an eye on the order of retreat, which is also

very important.



However, there will hardly be an engagement today, said Bagratin

as if to reassure Prince Andrew.



If he is one of the ordinary little staff dandies sent to earn a

medal he can get his reward just as well in the rearguard, but if he

wishes to stay with me, let him... hell be of use here if hes a

brave officer, thought Bagratin. Prince Andrew, without replying,

asked the princes permission to ride round the position to see the

disposition of the forces, so as to know his bearings should he be sent

to execute an order. The officer on duty, a handsome, elegantly dressed

man with a diamond ring on his forefinger, who was fond of speaking

French though he spoke it badly, offered to conduct Prince Andrew.



On all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with dejected faces who

seemed to be seeking something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches,

and fencing from the village.



There now, Prince! We cant stop those fellows, said the staff

officer pointing to the soldiers. The officers dont keep them in

hand. And there, he pointed to a sutlers tent, they crowd in

and sit. This morning I turned them all out and now look, its full

again. I must go there, Prince, and scare them a bit. It wont take a

moment.



Yes, lets 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 didnt you mention it, Prince? I would have offered you

something.



They dismounted and entered the tent. Several officers, with flushed and

weary faces, were sitting at the table eating and drinking.



Now what does this mean, gentlemen? said the staff officer, in

the reproachful tone of a man who has repeated the same thing more

than once. You know it wont do to leave your posts like this.

The prince gave orders that no one should leave his post. Now you,

Captain, and he turned to a thin, dirty little artillery officer who

without his boots (he had given them to the canteen keeper to dry),

in only his stockings, rose when they entered, smiling not altogether

comfortably.



Well, arent you ashamed of yourself, Captain Tshin? he

continued. One would think that as an artillery officer you would set

a good example, yet here you are without your boots! The alarm will be

sounded and youll be in a pretty position without your boots! (The

staff officer smiled.) Kindly return to your posts, gentlemen, all of

you, all! he added in a tone of command.



Prince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he looked at the artillery officer

Tshin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged foot to

the other, glanced inquiringly with his large, intelligent, kindly eyes

from Prince Andrew to the staff officer.



The soldiers say it feels easier without boots, said Captain

Tshin smiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidently wishing

to adopt a jocular tone. But before he had finished he felt that his

jest was unacceptable and had not come off. He grew confused.



Kindly return to your posts, said the staff officer trying to

preserve his gravity.



Prince Andrew glanced again at the artillery officers small figure.

There was something peculiar about it, quite unsoldierly, rather comic,

but extremely attractive.



The staff officer and Prince Andrew mounted their horses and rode on.



Having ridden beyond the village, continually meeting and overtaking

soldiers and officers of various regiments, they saw on their left some

entrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug clay of which showed up

red. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt sleeves despite

the cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a host of white ants

spadefuls of red clay were continually being thrown up from behind the

bank by unseen hands. Prince Andrew and the officer rode up, looked at

the entrenchment, and went on again. Just behind it they came upon some

dozens of soldiers, continually replaced by others, who ran from the

entrenchment. They had to hold their noses and put their horses to a

trot to escape from the poisoned atmosphere of these latrines.



Voil lagrment des camps, monsieur le prince, * said the

staff officer.



    * This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince.





They rode up the opposite hill. From there the French could already be

seen. Prince Andrew stopped and began examining the position.



Thats our battery, said the staff officer indicating the

highest point. Its in charge of the queer fellow we saw without

his boots. You can see everything from there lets go there,

Prince.



Thank you very much, I will go on alone, said Prince Andrew,

wishing to rid himself of this staff officers company, please

dont trouble yourself further.



The staff officer remained behind and Prince Andrew rode on alone.



The farther forward and nearer the enemy he went, the more orderly and

cheerful were the troops. The greatest disorder and depression had been

in the baggage train he had passed that morning on the Znaim road seven

miles away from the French. At Grunth also some apprehension and alarm

could be felt, but the nearer Prince Andrew came to the French lines the

more confident was the appearance of our troops. The soldiers in

their greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants major and company

officers were counting the men, poking the last man in each section in

the ribs and telling him to hold his hand up. Soldiers scattered over

the whole place were dragging logs and brushwood and were building

shelters with merry chatter and laughter around the fires sat others,

dressed and undressed, drying their shirts and leg bands or mending

boots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers.

In one company dinner was ready, and the soldiers were gazing eagerly

at the steaming boiler, waiting till the sample, which a quartermaster

sergeant was carrying in a wooden bowl to an officer who sat on a log

before his shelter, had been tasted.



Another company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka,

crowded round a pockmarked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who, tilting

a keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out to him. The

soldiers lifted the canteen lids to their lips with reverential faces,

emptied them, rolling the vodka in their mouths, and walked away from

the sergeant major with brightened expressions, licking their lips and

wiping them on the sleeves of their greatcoats. All their faces were

as serene as if all this were happening at home awaiting peaceful

encampment, and not within sight of the enemy before an action in

which at least half of them would be left on the field. After passing a

chasseur regiment and in the lines of the Kiev grenadiersfine fellows

busy with similar peaceful affairsnear the shelter of the regimental

commander, higher than and different from the others, Prince Andrew came

out in front of a platoon of grenadiers before whom lay a naked man. Two

soldiers held him while two others were flourishing their switches and

striking him regularly on his bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally.

A stout major was pacing up and down the line, and regardless of the

screams kept repeating



Its a shame for a soldier to steal a soldier must be honest,

honorable, and brave, but if he robs his fellows there is no honor in

him, hes a scoundrel. Go on! Go on!



So the swishing sound of the strokes, and the desperate but unnatural

screams, continued.



Go on, go on! said the major.



A young officer with a bewildered and pained expression on his face

stepped away from the man and looked round inquiringly at the adjutant

as he rode by.



Prince Andrew, having reached the front line, rode along it. Our front

line and that of the enemy were far apart on the right and left flanks,

but in the center where the men with a flag of truce had passed that

morning, the lines were so near together that the men could see one

anothers faces and speak to one another. Besides the soldiers who

formed the picket line on either side, there were many curious onlookers

who, jesting and laughing, stared at their strange foreign enemies.



Since early morningdespite an injunction not to approach the picket

linethe officers had been unable to keep sight-seers away. The

soldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting a curiosity,

no longer looked at the French but paid attention to the sight-seers and

grew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince Andrew halted to have a look

at the French.



Look! Look there! one soldier was saying to another, pointing to a

Russian musketeer who had gone up to the picket line with an officer and

was rapidly and excitedly talking to a French grenadier. Hark to him

jabbering! Fine, isnt it? Its all the Frenchy can do to keep up

with him. There now, Sdorov!



Wait a bit and listen. Its fine! answered Sdorov, who was

considered an adept at French.



The soldier to whom the laughers referred was Dlokhov. Prince Andrew

recognized him and stopped to listen to what he was saying. Dlokhov

had come from the left flank where their regiment was stationed, with

his captain.



Now then, go on, go on! incited the officer, bending forward and

trying not to lose a word of the speech which was incomprehensible to

him. More, please more! Whats he saying?



Dlokhov did not answer the captain he had been drawn into a hot

dispute with the French grenadier. They were naturally talking about the

campaign. The Frenchman, confusing the Austrians with the Russians, was

trying to prove that the Russians had surrendered and had fled all

the way from Ulm, while Dlokhov maintained that the Russians had not

surrendered but had beaten the French.



We have orders to drive you off here, and we shall drive you off,

said Dlokhov.



Only take care you and your Cossacks are not all captured! said

the French grenadier.



The French onlookers and listeners laughed.



Well make you dance as we did under Suvrov..., * said

Dlokhov.



    * On vous fera danser.





Qu est-ce quil chante? * asked a Frenchman.



    * Whats he singing about?





Its ancient history, said another, guessing that it referred to

a former war. The Emperor will teach your Suvara as he has taught the

others...



Bonaparte... began Dlokhov, but the Frenchman interrupted him.



Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacr nom...! cried he angrily.



The devil skin your Emperor.



And Dlokhov swore at him in coarse soldiers Russian and shouldering

his musket walked away.



Let us go, Ivn Lukch, he said to the captain.



Ah, thats the way to talk French, said the picket soldiers.

Now, Sdorov, you have a try!



Sdorov, turning to the French, winked, and began to jabber meaningless

sounds very fast Kari, mala, tafa, safi, muter, Kask, he said,

trying to give an expressive intonation to his voice.



Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh! came peals of such healthy

and good-humored laughter from the soldiers that it infected the French

involuntarily, so much so that the only thing left to do seemed to be

to unload the muskets, explode the ammunition, and all return home as

quickly as possible.



But the guns remained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses and

entrenchments looked out just as menacingly, and the unlimbered cannon

confronted one another as before.











CHAPTER XVI



Having ridden round the whole line from right flank to left, Prince

Andrew made his way up to the battery from which the staff officer had

told him the whole field could be seen. Here he dismounted, and stopped

beside the farthest of the four unlimbered cannon. Before the guns an

artillery sentry was pacing up and down he stood at attention when the

officer arrived, but at a sign resumed his measured, monotonous pacing.

Behind the guns were their limbers and still farther back picket ropes

and artillerymens bonfires. To the left, not far from the farthest

cannon, was a small, newly constructed wattle shed from which came the

sound of officers voices in eager conversation.



It was true that a view over nearly the whole Russian position and the

greater part of the enemys opened out from this battery. Just facing

it, on the crest of the opposite hill, the village of Schn Grabern

could be seen, and in three places to left and right the French troops

amid the smoke of their campfires, the greater part of whom were

evidently in the village itself and behind the hill. To the left from

that village, amid the smoke, was something resembling a battery, but it

was impossible to see it clearly with the naked eye. Our right flank was

posted on a rather steep incline which dominated the French position.

Our infantry were stationed there, and at the farthest point the

dragoons. In the center, where Tshins battery stood and from which

Prince Andrew was surveying the position, was the easiest and most

direct descent and ascent to the brook separating us from Schn

Grabern. On the left our troops were close to a copse, in which smoked

the bonfires of our infantry who were felling wood. The French line was

wider than ours, and it was plain that they could easily outflank us

on both sides. Behind our position was a steep and deep dip, making it

difficult for artillery and cavalry to retire. Prince Andrew took

out his notebook and, leaning on the cannon, sketched a plan of the

position. He made some notes on two points, intending to mention them to

Bagratin. His idea was, first, to concentrate all the artillery in the

center, and secondly, to withdraw the cavalry to the other side of the

dip. Prince Andrew, being always near the commander in chief, closely

following the mass movements and general orders, and constantly studying

historical accounts of battles, involuntarily pictured to himself the

course of events in the forthcoming action in broad outline. He

imagined only important possibilities If the enemy attacks the right

flank, he said to himself, the Kiev grenadiers and the Podlsk

chasseurs must hold their position till reserves from the center

come up. In that case the dragoons could successfully make a flank

counterattack. If they attack our center we, having the center battery

on this high ground, shall withdraw the left flank under its cover, and

retreat to the dip by echelons. So he reasoned.... All the time

he had been beside the gun, he had heard the voices of the officers

distinctly, but as often happens had not understood a word of what they

were saying. Suddenly, however, he was struck by a voice coming from the

shed, and its tone was so sincere that he could not but listen.



No, friend, said a pleasant and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, a

familiar voice, what I say is that if it were possible to know

what is beyond death, none of us would be afraid of it. Thats so,

friend.



Another, a younger voice, interrupted him Afraid or not, you cant

escape it anyhow.



All the same, one is afraid! Oh, you clever people, said a third

manly voice interrupting them both. Of course you artillery men are

very wise, because you can take everything along with youvodka and

snacks.



And the owner of the manly voice, evidently an infantry officer,

laughed.



Yes, one is afraid, continued the first speaker, he of the

familiar voice. One is afraid of the unknown, thats what it is.

Whatever we may say about the soul going to the sky... we know there is

no sky but only an atmosphere.



The manly voice again interrupted the artillery officer.



Well, stand us some of your herb vodka, Tshin, it said.



Why, thought Prince Andrew, thats the captain who stood up

in the sutlers hut without his boots. He recognized the agreeable,

philosophizing voice with pleasure.



Some herb vodka? Certainly! said Tshin. But still, to

conceive a future life...



He did not finish. Just then there was a whistle in the air nearer and

nearer, faster and louder, louder and faster, a cannon ball, as if it

had not finished saying what was necessary, thudded into the ground near

the shed with super human force, throwing up a mass of earth. The ground

seemed to groan at the terrible impact.



And immediately Tshin, with a short pipe in the corner of his mouth

and his kind, intelligent face rather pale, rushed out of the shed

followed by the owner of the manly voice, a dashing infantry officer who

hurried off to his company, buttoning up his coat as he ran.











CHAPTER XVII



Mounting his horse again Prince Andrew lingered with the battery,

looking at the puff from the gun that had sent the ball. His eyes

ran rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw that the hitherto

motionless masses of the French now swayed and that there really was

a battery to their left. The smoke above it had not yet dispersed. Two

mounted Frenchmen, probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. A

small but distinctly visible enemy column was moving down the hill,

probably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of the first shot had

not yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by a report.

The battle had begun! Prince Andrew turned his horse and galloped back

to Grunth to find Prince Bagratin. He heard the cannonade behind him

growing louder and more frequent. Evidently our guns had begun to reply.

From the bottom of the slope, where the parleys had taken place, came

the report of musketry.



Lemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonapartes stern letter,

and Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault, had at once

moved his forces to attack the center and outflank both the Russian

wings, hoping before evening and before the arrival of the Emperor to

crush the contemptible detachment that stood before him.



It has begun. Here it is! thought Prince Andrew, feeling the

blood rush to his heart. But where and how will my Toulon present

itself?



Passing between the companies that had been eating porridge and drinking

vodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the same rapid

movement of soldiers forming ranks and getting their muskets ready,

and on all their faces he recognized the same eagerness that filled his

heart. It has begun! Here it is, dreadful but enjoyable! was what

the face of each soldier and each officer seemed to say.



Before he had reached the embankments that were being thrown up, he saw,

in the light of the dull autumn evening, mounted men coming toward him.

The foremost, wearing a Cossack cloak and lambskin cap and riding a

white horse, was Prince Bagratin. Prince Andrew stopped, waiting for

him to come up Prince Bagratin reined in his horse and recognizing

Prince Andrew nodded to him. He still looked ahead while Prince Andrew

told him what he had seen.



The feeling, It has begun! Here it is! was seen even on Prince

Bagratins hard brown face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes.

Prince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face

and wished he could tell what, if anything, this man was thinking

and feeling at that moment. Is there anything at all behind that

impassive face? Prince Andrew asked himself as he looked. Prince

Bagratin bent his head in sign of agreement with what Prince Andrew

told him, and said, Very good! in a tone that seemed to imply that

everything that took place and was reported to him was exactly what he

had foreseen. Prince Andrew, out of breath with his rapid ride, spoke

quickly. Prince Bagratin, uttering his words with an Oriental accent,

spoke particularly slowly, as if to impress the fact that there was no

need to hurry. However, he put his horse to a trot in the direction

of Tshins battery. Prince Andrew followed with the suite. Behind

Prince Bagratin rode an officer of the suite, the princes personal

adjutant, Zherkv, an orderly officer, the staff officer on duty,

riding a fine bobtailed horse, and a civilianan accountant who had

asked permission to be present at the battle out of curiosity. The

accountant, a stout, full-faced man, looked around him with a nave

smile of satisfaction and presented a strange appearance among the

hussars, Cossacks, and adjutants, in his camlet coat, as he jolted on

his horse with a convoy officers saddle.



He wants to see a battle, said Zherkv to Bolknski, pointing

to the accountant, but he feels a pain in the pit of his stomach

already.



Oh, leave off! said the accountant with a beaming but rather

cunning smile, as if flattered at being made the subject of Zherkvs

joke, and purposely trying to appear stupider than he really was.



It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince, said the staff officer.

(He remembered that in French there is some peculiar way of addressing a

prince, but could not get it quite right.)



By this time they were all approaching Tshins battery, and a ball

struck the ground in front of them.



Whats that that has fallen? asked the accountant with a nave

smile.



A French pancake, answered Zherkv.



So thats what they hit with? asked the accountant. How

awful!



He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had hardly finished speaking

when they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling which suddenly

ended with a thud into something soft... f-f-flop! and a Cossack, riding

a little to their right and behind the accountant, crashed to earth with

his horse. Zherkv and the staff officer bent over their saddles and

turned their horses away. The accountant stopped, facing the Cossack,

and examined him with attentive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the

horse still struggled.



Prince Bagratin screwed up his eyes, looked round, and, seeing the

cause of the confusion, turned away with indifference, as if to say,

Is it worth while noticing trifles? He reined in his horse with

the care of a skillful rider and, slightly bending over, disengaged his

saber which had caught in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned saber of

a kind no longer in general use. Prince Andrew remembered the story of

Suvrov giving his saber to Bagratin in Italy, and the recollection

was particularly pleasant at that moment. They had reached the battery

at which Prince Andrew had been when he examined the battlefield.



Whose company? asked Prince Bagratin of an artilleryman standing

by the ammunition wagon.



He asked, Whose company? but he really meant, Are you

frightened here? and the artilleryman understood him.



Captain Tshins, your excellency! shouted the red-haired,

freckled gunner in a merry voice, standing to attention.



Yes, yes, muttered Bagratin as if considering something, and he

rode past the limbers to the farthest cannon.



As he approached, a ringing shot issued from it deafening him and his

suite, and in the smoke that suddenly surrounded the gun they could see

the gunners who had seized it straining to roll it quickly back to its

former position. A huge, broad-shouldered gunner, Number One, holding

a mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the wheel while Number Two with

a trembling hand placed a charge in the cannons mouth. The short,

round-shouldered Captain Tshin, stumbling over the tail of the gun

carriage, moved forward and, not noticing the general, looked out

shading his eyes with his small hand.



Lift it two lines more and it will be just right, cried he in a

feeble voice to which he tried to impart a dashing note, ill-suited to

his weak figure. Number Two! he squeaked. Fire, Medvdev!



Bagratin called to him, and Tshin, raising three fingers to his cap

with a bashful and awkward gesture not at all like a military salute

but like a priests benediction, approached the general. Though

Tshins guns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he was

firing incendiary balls at the village of Schn Grabern visible just

opposite, in front of which large masses of French were advancing.



No one had given Tshin orders where and at what to fire, but after

consulting his sergeant major, Zakharchnko, for whom he had great

respect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the

village. Very good! said Bagratin in reply to the officers

report, and began deliberately to examine the whole battlefield extended

before him. The French had advanced nearest on our right. Below the

height on which the Kiev regiment was stationed, in the hollow where the

rivulet flowed, the soul-stirring rolling and crackling of musketry was

heard, and much farther to the right beyond the dragoons, the officer of

the suite pointed out to Bagratin a French column that was outflanking

us. To the left the horizon bounded by the adjacent wood. Prince

Bagratin ordered two battalions from the center to be sent to

reinforce the right flank. The officer of the suite ventured to remark

to the prince that if these battalions went away, the guns would remain

without support. Prince Bagratin turned to the officer and with his

dull eyes looked at him in silence. It seemed to Prince Andrew that the

officers remark was just and that really no answer could be made to

it. But at that moment an adjutant galloped up with a message from the

commander of the regiment in the hollow and news that immense masses

of the French were coming down upon them and that his regiment was in

disorder and was retreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. Prince Bagratin

bowed his head in sign of assent and approval. He rode off at a walk to

the right and sent an adjutant to the dragoons with orders to attack the

French. But this adjutant returned half an hour later with the news that

the commander of the dragoons had already retreated beyond the dip in

the ground, as a heavy fire had been opened on him and he was losing

men uselessly, and so had hastened to throw some sharpshooters into the

wood.



Very good! said Bagratin.



As he was leaving the battery, firing was heard on the left also, and

as it was too far to the left flank for him to have time to go there

himself, Prince Bagratin sent Zherkv to tell the general in command

(the one who had paraded his regiment before Kutzov at Braunau) that

he must retreat as quickly as possible behind the hollow in the rear,

as the right flank would probably not be able to withstand the enemys

attack very long. About Tshin and the battalion that had been in

support of his battery all was forgotten. Prince Andrew listened

attentively to Bagratins colloquies with the commanding officers

and the orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders

were really given, but that Prince Bagratin tried to make it appear

that everything done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of

subordinate commanders was done, if not by his direct command, at least

in accord with his intentions. Prince Andrew noticed, however, that

though what happened was due to chance and was independent of the

commanders will, owing to the tact Bagratin showed, his presence

was very valuable. Officers who approached him with disturbed

countenances became calm soldiers and officers greeted him gaily, grew

more cheerful in his presence, and were evidently anxious to display

their courage before him.











CHAPTER XVIII



Prince Bagratin, having reached the highest point of our right flank,

began riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heard but where

on account of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearer they got to

the hollow the less they could see but the more they felt the nearness

of the actual battlefield. They began to meet wounded men. One with a

bleeding head and no cap was being dragged along by two soldiers who

supported him under the arms. There was a gurgle in his throat and he

was spitting blood. A bullet had evidently hit him in the throat or

mouth. Another was walking sturdily by himself but without his musket,

groaning aloud and swinging his arm which had just been hurt, while

blood from it was streaming over his greatcoat as from a bottle. He had

that moment been wounded and his face showed fear rather than suffering.

Crossing a road they descended a steep incline and saw several men

lying on the ground they also met a crowd of soldiers some of whom were

unwounded. The soldiers were ascending the hill breathing heavily, and

despite the generals presence were talking loudly and gesticulating.

In front of them rows of gray cloaks were already visible through the

smoke, and an officer catching sight of Bagratin rushed shouting after

the crowd of retreating soldiers, ordering them back. Bagratin rode up

to the ranks along which shots crackled now here and now there, drowning

the sound of voices and the shouts of command. The whole air reeked with

smoke. The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened with it. Some

were using their ramrods, others putting powder on the touchpans or

taking charges from their pouches, while others were firing, though who

they were firing at could not be seen for the smoke which there was no

wind to carry away. A pleasant humming and whistling of bullets were

often heard. What is this? thought Prince Andrew approaching the

crowd of soldiers. It cant be an attack, for they are not moving

it cant be a squarefor they are not drawn up for that.



The commander of the regiment, a thin, feeble-looking old man with a

pleasant smilehis eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes,

giving him a mild expression, rode up to Bagratin and welcomed him as

a host welcomes an honored guest. He reported that his regiment had

been attacked by French cavalry and that, though the attack had been

repulsed, he had lost more than half his men. He said the attack

had been repulsed, employing this military term to describe what had

occurred to his regiment, but in reality he did not himself know what

had happened during that half-hour to the troops entrusted to him, and

could not say with certainty whether the attack had been repulsed or his

regiment had been broken up. All he knew was that at the commencement

of the action balls and shells began flying all over his regiment and

hitting men and that afterwards someone had shouted Cavalry! and

our men had begun firing. They were still firing, not at the cavalry

which had disappeared, but at French infantry who had come into the

hollow and were firing at our men. Prince Bagratin bowed his head as a

sign that this was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning

to his adjutant he ordered him to bring down the two battalions of the

Sixth Chasseurs whom they had just passed. Prince Andrew was struck by

the changed expression on Prince Bagratins face at this moment. It

expressed the concentrated and happy resolution you see on the face of

a man who on a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the water.

The dull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation

of profound thought. The round, steady, hawks eyes looked before him

eagerly and rather disdainfully, not resting on anything although his

movements were still slow and measured.



The commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagratin, entreating

him to go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were.

Please, your excellency, for Gods sake! he kept saying,

glancing for support at an officer of the suite who turned away

from him. There, you see! and he drew attention to the bullets

whistling, singing, and hissing continually around them. He spoke in the

tone of entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman who

has picked up an ax We are used to it, but you, sir, will blister

your hands. He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, and his

half-closed eyes gave still more persuasiveness to his words. The staff

officer joined in the colonels appeals, but Bagratin did not reply

he only gave an order to cease firing and re-form, so as to give room

for the two approaching battalions. While he was speaking, the curtain

of smoke that had concealed the hollow, driven by a rising wind, began

to move from right to left as if drawn by an invisible hand, and the

hill opposite, with the French moving about on it, opened out before

them. All eyes fastened involuntarily on this French column advancing

against them and winding down over the uneven ground. One could already

see the soldiers shaggy caps, distinguish the officers from the men,

and see the standard flapping against its staff.



They march splendidly, remarked someone in Bagratins suite.



The head of the column had already descended into the hollow. The clash

would take place on this side of it...



The remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidly formed up

and moved to the right from behind it, dispersing the laggards, came

two battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in fine order. Before they had

reached Bagratin, the weighty tread of the mass of men marching in

step could be heard. On their left flank, nearest to Bagratin, marched

a company commander, a fine round-faced man, with a stupid and happy

expressionthe same man who had rushed out of the wattle shed. At that

moment he was clearly thinking of nothing but how dashing a fellow he

would appear as he passed the commander.



With the self-satisfaction of a man on parade, he stepped lightly with

his muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himself to his full

height without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting with the heavy

tread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. He carried close

to his leg a narrow unsheathed sword (small, curved, and not like a real

weapon) and looked now at the superior officers and now back at the men

without losing step, his whole powerful body turning flexibly. It was as

if all the powers of his soul were concentrated on passing the commander

in the best possible manner, and feeling that he was doing it well he

was happy. Left... left... left... he seemed to repeat to himself

at each alternate step and in time to this, with stern but varied

faces, the wall of soldiers burdened with knapsacks and muskets marched

in step, and each one of these hundreds of soldiers seemed to be

repeating to himself at each alternate step, Left... left...

left... A fat major skirted a bush, puffing and falling out of

step a soldier who had fallen behind, his face showing alarm at his

defection, ran at a trot, panting to catch up with his company. A cannon

ball, cleaving the air, flew over the heads of Bagratin and his suite,

and fell into the column to the measure of Left... left! Close

up! came the company commanders voice in jaunty tones. The

soldiers passed in a semicircle round something where the ball had

fallen, and an old trooper on the flank, a noncommissioned officer who

had stopped beside the dead men, ran to catch up his line and, falling

into step with a hop, looked back angrily, and through the ominous

silence and the regular tramp of feet beating the ground in unison, one

seemed to hear left... left... left.



Well done, lads! said Prince Bagratin.



Glad to do our best, your exlen-lency! came a confused shout

from the ranks. A morose soldier marching on the left turned his eyes on

Bagratin as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say We

know that ourselves! Another, without looking round, as though

fearing to relax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on.



The order was given to halt and down knapsacks.



Bagratin rode round the ranks that had marched past him and

dismounted. He gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed over his

felt coat, stretched his legs, and set his cap straight. The head of the

French column, with its officers leading, appeared from below the hill.



Forward, with God! said Bagratin, in a resolute, sonorous voice,

turning for a moment to the front line, and slightly swinging his arms,

he went forward uneasily over the rough field with the awkward gait of

a cavalryman. Prince Andrew felt that an invisible power was leading him

forward, and experienced great happiness.



The French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking beside Bagratin,

could clearly distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets, and even their

faces. (He distinctly saw an old French officer who, with gaitered

legs and turned-out toes, climbed the hill with difficulty.) Prince

Bagratin gave no further orders and silently continued to walk on in

front of the ranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang out from the

French, smoke appeared all along their uneven ranks, and musket shots

sounded. Several of our men fell, among them the round-faced officer

who had marched so gaily and complacently. But at the moment the first

report was heard, Bagratin looked round and shouted, Hurrah!



Hurrahah!ah! rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks, and

passing Bagratin and racing one another they rushed in an irregular

but joyous and eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe.











CHAPTER XIX



The attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our right

flank. In the center Tshins forgotten battery, which had managed to

set fire to the Schn Grabern village, delayed the French advance. The

French were putting out the fire which the wind was spreading, and thus

gave us time to retreat. The retirement of the center to the other side

of the dip in the ground at the rear was hurried and noisy, but the

different companies did not get mixed. But our leftwhich consisted

of the Azv and Podlsk infantry and the Pvlograd hussarswas

simultaneously attacked and outflanked by superior French forces under

Lannes and was thrown into confusion. Bagratin had sent Zherkv

to the general commanding that left flank with orders to retreat

immediately.



Zherkv, not removing his hand from his cap, turned his horse about

and galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagratin than his courage

failed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where it was

dangerous.



Having reached the left flank, instead of going to the front where the

firing was, he began to look for the general and his staff where they

could not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order.



The command of the left flank belonged by seniority to the commander of

the regiment Kutzov had reviewed at Braunau and in which Dlokhov was

serving as a private. But the command of the extreme left flank had been

assigned to the commander of the Pvlograd regiment in which Rostv

was serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The two commanders were much

exasperated with one another and, long after the action had begun on

the right flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged

in discussion with the sole object of offending one another. But the

regiments, both cavalry and infantry, were by no means ready for the

impending action. From privates to general they were not expecting a

battle and were engaged in peaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the

horses and the infantry collecting wood.



He higher iss dan I in rank, said the German colonel of the

hussars, flushing and addressing an adjutant who had ridden up, so

let him do what he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my hussars... Bugler,

sount ze retreat!



But haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, mingling

together, thundered on the right and in the center, while the capotes

of Lannes sharpshooters were already seen crossing the milldam and

forming up within twice the range of a musket shot. The general in

command of the infantry went toward his horse with jerky steps, and

having mounted drew himself up very straight and tall and rode to the

Pvlograd commander. The commanders met with polite bows but with

secret malevolence in their hearts.



Once again, Colonel, said the general, I cant leave half

my men in the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you, he repeated, to

occupy the position and prepare for an attack.



I peg of you yourself not to mix in vot is not your business!

suddenly replied the irate colonel. If you vere in the cavalry...



I am not in the cavalry, Colonel, but I am a Russian general and if

you are not aware of the fact...



Quite avare, your excellency, suddenly shouted the colonel,

touching his horse and turning purple in the face. Vill you be so

goot to come to ze front and see dat zis position iss no goot? I dont

vish to destroy my men for your pleasure!



You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my own pleasure

and I wont allow it to be said!



Taking the colonels outburst as a challenge to his courage, the

general expanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the

front line, as if their differences would be settled there amongst the

bullets. They reached the front, several bullets sped over them, and

they halted in silence. There was nothing fresh to be seen from the

line, for from where they had been before it had been evident that it

was impossible for cavalry to act among the bushes and broken ground,

as well as that the French were outflanking our left. The general

and colonel looked sternly and significantly at one another like two

fighting cocks preparing for battle, each vainly trying to detect signs

of cowardice in the other. Both passed the examination successfully. As

there was nothing to be said, and neither wished to give occasion for

it to be alleged that he had been the first to leave the range of fire,

they would have remained there for a long time testing each others

courage had it not been that just then they heard the rattle of musketry

and a muffled shout almost behind them in the wood. The French had

attacked the men collecting wood in the copse. It was no longer possible

for the hussars to retreat with the infantry. They were cut off from

the line of retreat on the left by the French. However inconvenient the

position, it was now necessary to attack in order to cut a way through

for themselves.



The squadron in which Rostv was serving had scarcely time to mount

before it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as at the Enns bridge,

there was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, and again that

terrible dividing line of uncertainty and fearresembling the line

separating the living from the deadlay between them. All were

conscious of this unseen line, and the question whether they would cross

it or not, and how they would cross it, agitated them all.



The colonel rode to the front, angrily gave some reply to questions put

to him by the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on having

his own way, gave an order. No one said anything definite, but the rumor

of an attack spread through the squadron. The command to form up rang

out and the sabers whizzed as they were drawn from their scabbards.

Still no one moved. The troops of the left flank, infantry and hussars

alike, felt that the commander did not himself know what to do, and this

irresolution communicated itself to the men.



If only they would be quick! thought Rostv, feeling that at last

the time had come to experience the joy of an attack of which he had so

often heard from his fellow hussars.



Foward, with God, lads! rang out Densovs voice. At a

twot foward!



The horses croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled at the

reins and started of his own accord.



Before him, on the right, Rostv saw the front lines of his hussars and

still farther ahead a dark line which he could not see distinctly but

took to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but some way off.



Faster! came the word of command, and Rostv felt Rooks flanks

drooping as he broke into a gallop.



Rostv anticipated his horses movements and became more and more

elated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree had been

in the middle of the line that had seemed so terribleand now he

had crossed that line and not only was there nothing terrible, but

everything was becoming more and more happy and animated. Oh, how I

will slash at him! thought Rostv, gripping the hilt of his saber.



Hur-a-a-a-ah! came a roar of voices. Let anyone come my way

now, thought Rostv driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go

at a full gallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy was

already visible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweep

over the squadron. Rostv raised his saber, ready to strike, but at

that instant the trooper Niktenko, who was galloping ahead, shot away

from him, and Rostv felt as in a dream that he continued to be carried

forward with unnatural speed but yet stayed on the same spot. From

behind him Bondarchk, an hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked

angrily at him. Bondarchks horse swerved and galloped past.



How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed! Rostv

asked and answered at the same instant. He was alone in the middle of a

field. Instead of the moving horses and hussars backs, he saw nothing

before him but the motionless earth and the stubble around him. There

was warm blood under his arm. No, I am wounded and the horse is

killed. Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his

riders leg. Blood was flowing from his head he struggled but could

not rise. Rostv also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache

having become entangled in the saddle. Where our men were, and where the

French, he did not know. There was no one near.



Having disentangled his leg, he rose. Where, on which side, was now

the line that had so sharply divided the two armies? he asked himself

and could not answer. Can something bad have happened to me?

he wondered as he got up and at that moment he felt that something

superfluous was hanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist felt as if

it were not his. He examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to find

blood on it. Ah, here are people coming, he thought joyfully,

seeing some men running toward him. They will help me! In front

came a man wearing a strange shako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned,

and with a hooked nose. Then came two more, and many more running

behind. One of them said something strange, not in Russian. In among the

hindmost of these men wearing similar shakos was a Russian hussar. He

was being held by the arms and his horse was being led behind him.



It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can it be that they will

take me too? Who are these men? thought Rostv, scarcely believing

his eyes. Can they be French? He looked at the approaching

Frenchmen, and though but a moment before he had been galloping to get

at them and hack them to pieces, their proximity now seemed so awful

that he could not believe his eyes. Who are they? Why are they

running? Can they be coming at me? And why? To kill me? Me whom everyone

is so fond of? He remembered his mothers love for him, and his

familys, and his friends, and the enemys intention to kill him

seemed impossible. But perhaps they may do it! For more than ten

seconds he stood not moving from the spot or realizing the situation.

The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked nose, was already so

close that the expression of his face could be seen. And the excited,

alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down, holding his breath,

and running so lightly, frightened Rostv. He seized his pistol and,

instead of firing it, flung it at the Frenchman and ran with all his

might toward the bushes. He did not now run with the feeling of doubt

and conflict with which he had trodden the Enns bridge, but with the

feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. One single sentiment, that

of fear for his young and happy life, possessed his whole being. Rapidly

leaping the furrows, he fled across the field with the impetuosity he

used to show at catchplay, now and then turning his good-natured, pale,

young face to look back. A shudder of terror went through him No,

better not look, he thought, but having reached the bushes he glanced

round once more. The French had fallen behind, and just as he looked

round the first man changed his run to a walk and, turning, shouted

something loudly to a comrade farther back. Rostv paused. No,

theres some mistake, thought he. They cant have wanted to

kill me. But at the same time, his left arm felt as heavy as if

a seventy-pound weight were tied to it. He could run no more. The

Frenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostv closed his eyes and stooped

down. One bullet and then another whistled past him. He mustered his

last remaining strength, took hold of his left hand with his right, and

reached the bushes. Behind these were some Russian sharpshooters.











CHAPTER XX



The infantry regiments that had been caught unawares in the outskirts

of the wood ran out of it, the different companies getting mixed, and

retreated as a disorderly crowd. One soldier, in his fear, uttered the

senseless cry, Cut off! that is so terrible in battle, and that

word infected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic.



Surrounded! Cut off? Were lost! shouted the fugitives.



The moment he heard the firing and the cry from behind, the general

realized that something dreadful had happened to his regiment, and the

thought that he, an exemplary officer of many years service who

had never been to blame, might be held responsible at headquarters

for negligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting the

recalcitrant cavalry colonel, his own dignity as a general, and above

all quite forgetting the danger and all regard for self-preservation, he

clutched the crupper of his saddle and, spurring his horse, galloped to

the regiment under a hail of bullets which fell around, but fortunately

missed him. His one desire was to know what was happening and at any

cost correct, or remedy, the mistake if he had made one, so that he,

an exemplary officer of twenty-two years service, who had never been

censured, should not be held to blame.



Having galloped safely through the French, he reached a field behind

the copse across which our men, regardless of orders, were running and

descending the valley. That moment of moral hesitation which decides

the fate of battles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers

attend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him,

continue their flight? Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem

so terrible to the soldiers, despite his furious purple countenance

distorted out of all likeness to his former self, and the flourishing of

his saber, the soldiers all continued to run, talking, firing into the

air, and disobeying orders. The moral hesitation which decided the fate

of battles was evidently culminating in a panic.



The general had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of the

powder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But at that

moment the French who were attacking, suddenly and without any apparent

reason, ran back and disappeared from the outskirts, and Russian

sharpshooters showed themselves in the copse. It was Timkhins

company, which alone had maintained its order in the wood and, having

lain in ambush in a ditch, now attacked the French unexpectedly.

Timkhin, armed only with a sword, had rushed at the enemy with such

a desperate cry and such mad, drunken determination that, taken by

surprise, the French had thrown down their muskets and run. Dlokhov,

running beside Timkhin, killed a Frenchman at close quarters and was

the first to seize the surrendering French officer by his collar. Our

fugitives returned, the battalions re-formed, and the French who had

nearly cut our left flank in half were for the moment repulsed. Our

reserve units were able to join up, and the fight was at an end. The

regimental commander and Major Ekonmov had stopped beside a bridge,

letting the retreating companies pass by them, when a soldier came up

and took hold of the commanders stirrup, almost leaning against him.

The man was wearing a bluish coat of broadcloth, he had no knapsack

or cap, his head was bandaged, and over his shoulder a French munition

pouch was slung. He had an officers sword in his hand. The soldier

was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently into the commanders face,

and his lips were smiling. Though the commander was occupied in giving

instructions to Major Ekonmov, he could not help taking notice of the

soldier.



Your excellency, here are two trophies, said Dlokhov, pointing

to the French sword and pouch. I have taken an officer prisoner. I

stopped the company. Dlokhov breathed heavily from weariness and

spoke in abrupt sentences. The whole company can bear witness. I beg

you will remember this, your excellency!



All right, all right, replied the commander, and turned to Major

Ekonmov.



But Dlokhov did not go away he untied the handkerchief around his

head, pulled it off, and showed the blood congealed on his hair.



A bayonet wound. I remained at the front. Remember, your

excellency!





Tshins battery had been forgotten and only at the very end of the

action did Prince Bagratin, still hearing the cannonade in the center,

send his orderly staff officer, and later Prince Andrew also, to order

the battery to retire as quickly as possible. When the supports attached

to Tshins battery had been moved away in the middle of the action

by someones order, the battery had continued firing and was only not

captured by the French because the enemy could not surmise that anyone

could have the effrontery to continue firing from four quite undefended

guns. On the contrary, the energetic action of that battery led the

French to suppose that herein the centerthe main Russian forces

were concentrated. Twice they had attempted to attack this point, but on

each occasion had been driven back by grapeshot from the four isolated

guns on the hillock.



Soon after Prince Bagratin had left him, Tshin had succeeded in

setting fire to Schn Grabern.



Look at them scurrying! Its burning! Just see the smoke! Fine!

Grand! Look at the smoke, the smoke! exclaimed the artillerymen,

brightening up.



All the guns, without waiting for orders, were being fired in the

direction of the conflagration. As if urging each other on, the soldiers

cried at each shot Fine! Thats good! Look at it... Grand! The

fire, fanned by the breeze, was rapidly spreading. The French columns

that had advanced beyond the village went back but as though in revenge

for this failure, the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the village

and began firing them at Tshins battery.



In their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck in

successfully cannonading the French, our artillerymen only noticed this

battery when two balls, and then four more, fell among our guns, one

knocking over two horses and another tearing off a munition-wagon

drivers leg. Their spirits once roused were, however, not diminished,

but only changed character. The horses were replaced by others from a

reserve gun carriage, the wounded were carried away, and the four guns

were turned against the ten-gun battery. Tshins companion officer

had been killed at the beginning of the engagement and within an hour

seventeen of the forty men of the guns crews had been disabled, but

the artillerymen were still as merry and lively as ever. Twice they

noticed the French appearing below them, and then they fired grapeshot

at them.



Little Tshin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderly to

refill my pipe for that one! and then, scattering sparks from it,

ran forward shading his eyes with his small hand to look at the French.



Smack at em, lads! he kept saying, seizing the guns by the

wheels and working the screws himself.



Amid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him

jump, Tshin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from gun to gun,

now aiming, now counting the charges, now giving orders about replacing

dead or wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his

feeble voice, so high pitched and irresolute. His face grew more and

more animated. Only when a man was killed or wounded did he frown and

turn away from the sight, shouting angrily at the men who, as is always

the case, hesitated about lifting the injured or dead. The soldiers,

for the most part handsome fellows and, as is always the case in an

artillery company, a head and shoulders taller and twice as broad

as their officerall looked at their commander like children in an

embarrassing situation, and the expression on his face was invariably

reflected on theirs.



Owing to the terrible uproar and the necessity for concentration and

activity, Tshin did not experience the slightest unpleasant sense of

fear, and the thought that he might be killed or badly wounded never

occurred to him. On the contrary, he became more and more elated. It

seemed to him that it was a very long time ago, almost a day, since he

had first seen the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the corner

of the field he stood on was well-known and familiar ground. Though he

thought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the

best of officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to

feverish delirium or drunkenness.



From the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistle and

thud of the enemys cannon balls, from the flushed and perspiring

faces of the crew bustling round the guns, from the sight of the blood

of men and horses, from the little puffs of smoke on the enemys side

(always followed by a ball flying past and striking the earth, a man, a

gun, a horse), from the sight of all these things a fantastic world of

his own had taken possession of his brain and at that moment afforded

him pleasure. The enemys guns were in his fancy not guns but pipes

from which occasional puffs were blown by an invisible smoker.



There... hes puffing again, muttered Tshin to himself, as a

small cloud rose from the hill and was borne in a streak to the left by

the wind.



Now look out for the ball... well throw it back.



What do you want, your honor? asked an artilleryman, standing

close by, who heard him muttering.



Nothing... only a shell... he answered.



Come along, our Matvvna! he said to himself. Matvvna *

was the name his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which

was large and of an old pattern. The French swarming round their guns

seemed to him like ants. In that world, the handsome drunkard Number One

of the second guns crew was uncle Tshin looked at him more

often than at anyone else and took delight in his every movement.

The sound of musketry at the foot of the hill, now diminishing, now

increasing, seemed like someones breathing. He listened intently to

the ebb and flow of these sounds.



    * Daughter of Matthew.



Ah! Breathing again, breathing! he muttered to himself.



He imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man who was throwing

cannon balls at the French with both hands.



Now then, Matvvna, dear old lady, dont let me down! he was

saying as he moved from the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called

above his head Captain Tshin! Captain!



Tshin turned round in dismay. It was the staff officer who had turned

him out of the booth at Grunth. He was shouting in a gasping voice



Are you mad? You have twice been ordered to retreat, and you...



Why are they down on me? thought Tshin, looking in alarm at his

superior.



I... dont... he muttered, holding up two fingers to his cap.

I...



But the staff officer did not finish what he wanted to say. A cannon

ball, flying close to him, caused him to duck and bend over his horse.

He paused, and just as he was about to say something more, another ball

stopped him. He turned his horse and galloped off.



Retire! All to retire! he shouted from a distance.



The soldiers laughed. A moment later, an adjutant arrived with the same

order.



It was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw on riding up to the space

where Tshins guns were stationed was an unharnessed horse with a

broken leg, that lay screaming piteously beside the harnessed horses.

Blood was gushing from its leg as from a spring. Among the limbers lay

several dead men. One ball after another passed over as he approached

and he felt a nervous shudder run down his spine. But the mere thought

of being afraid roused him again. I cannot be afraid, thought he,

and dismounted slowly among the guns. He delivered the order and did

not leave the battery. He decided to have the guns removed from their

positions and withdrawn in his presence. Together with Tshin, stepping

across the bodies and under a terrible fire from the French, he attended

to the removal of the guns.



A staff officer was here a minute ago, but skipped off, said an

artilleryman to Prince Andrew. Not like your honor!



Prince Andrew said nothing to Tshin. They were both so busy as to seem

not to notice one another. When having limbered up the only two cannon

that remained uninjured out of the four, they began moving down the hill

(one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind), Prince Andrew rode

up to Tshin.



Well, till we meet again... he said, holding out his hand to

Tshin.



Good-by, my dear fellow, said Tshin. Dear soul! Good-by, my

dear fellow! and for some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his

eyes.











CHAPTER XXI



The wind had fallen and black clouds, merging with the powder smoke,

hung low over the field of battle on the horizon. It was growing

dark and the glow of two conflagrations was the more conspicuous. The

cannonade was dying down, but the rattle of musketry behind and on the

right sounded oftener and nearer. As soon as Tshin with his guns,

continually driving round or coming upon wounded men, was out of range

of fire and had descended into the dip, he was met by some of the staff,

among them the staff officer and Zherkv, who had been twice sent to

Tshins battery but had never reached it. Interrupting one

another, they all gave, and transmitted, orders as to how to proceed,

reprimanding and reproaching him. Tshin gave no orders, and,

silentlyfearing to speak because at every word he felt ready to

weep without knowing whyrode behind on his artillery nag. Though

the orders were to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselves

after troops and begged for seats on the gun carriages. The jaunty

infantry officer who just before the battle had rushed out of

Tshins wattle shed was laid, with a bullet in his stomach, on

Matvvnas carriage. At the foot of the hill, a pale hussar

cadet, supporting one hand with the other, came up to Tshin and asked

for a seat.



Captain, for Gods sake! Ive hurt my arm, he said timidly.

For Gods sake... I cant walk. For Gods sake!



It was plain that this cadet had already repeatedly asked for a lift and

been refused. He asked in a hesitating, piteous voice.



Tell them to give me a seat, for Gods sake!



Give him a seat, said Tshin. Lay a cloak for him to sit on,

lad, he said, addressing his favorite soldier. And where is the

wounded officer?



He has been set down. He died, replied someone.



Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit down! Spread out the cloak,

Antnov.



The cadet was Rostv. With one hand he supported the other he was

pale and his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed on

Matvvna, the gun from which they had removed the dead officer.

The cloak they spread under him was wet with blood which stained his

breeches and arm.



What, are you wounded, my lad? said Tshin, approaching the gun

on which Rostv sat.



No, its a sprain.



Then what is this blood on the gun carriage? inquired Tshin.



It was the officer, your honor, stained it, answered the

artilleryman, wiping away the blood with his coat sleeve, as if

apologizing for the state of his gun.



It was all that they could do to get the guns up the rise aided by the

infantry, and having reached the village of Gruntersdorf they halted. It

had grown so dark that one could not distinguish the uniforms ten paces

off, and the firing had begun to subside. Suddenly, near by on the

right, shouting and firing were again heard. Flashes of shot gleamed in

the darkness. This was the last French attack and was met by soldiers

who had sheltered in the village houses. They all rushed out of

the village again, but Tshins guns could not move, and the

artillerymen, Tshin, and the cadet exchanged silent glances as they

awaited their fate. The firing died down and soldiers, talking eagerly,

streamed out of a side street.



Not hurt, Petrv? asked one.



Weve given it em hot, mate! They wont make another push

now, said another.



You couldnt see a thing. How they shot at their own fellows!

Nothing could be seen. Pitch-dark, brother! Isnt there something to

drink?



The French had been repulsed for the last time. And again and again in

the complete darkness Tshins guns moved forward, surrounded by the

humming infantry as by a frame.



In the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river was flowing

always in one direction, humming with whispers and talk and the sound of

hoofs and wheels. Amid the general rumble, the groans and voices of the

wounded were more distinctly heard than any other sound in the darkness

of the night. The gloom that enveloped the army was filled with their

groans, which seemed to melt into one with the darkness of the night.

After a while the moving mass became agitated, someone rode past on

a white horse followed by his suite, and said something in passing

What did he say? Where to, now? Halt, is it? Did he thank us? came

eager questions from all sides. The whole moving mass began pressing

closer together and a report spread that they were ordered to halt

evidently those in front had halted. All remained where they were in the

middle of the muddy road.



Fires were lighted and the talk became more audible. Captain Tshin,

having given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing

station or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by a bonfire the

soldiers had kindled on the road. Rostv, too, dragged himself to the

fire. From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shivering shook his whole

body. Drowsiness was irresistibly mastering him, but he kept awake by

an excruciating pain in his arm, for which he could find no satisfactory

position. He kept closing his eyes and then again looking at the fire,

which seemed to him dazzlingly red, and at the feeble, round-shouldered

figure of Tshin who was sitting cross-legged like a Turk beside him.

Tshins large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with sympathy and

commiseration on Rostv, who saw that Tshin with his whole heart

wished to help him but could not.



From all sides were heard the footsteps and talk of the infantry, who

were walking, driving past, and settling down all around. The sound

of voices, the tramping feet, the horses hoofs moving in mud, the

crackling of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulous rumble.



It was no longer, as before, a dark, unseen river flowing through the

gloom, but a dark sea swelling and gradually subsiding after a storm.

Rostv looked at and listened listlessly to what passed before and

around him. An infantryman came to the fire, squatted on his heels, held

his hands to the blaze, and turned away his face.



You dont mind your honor? he asked Tshin. Ive lost my

company, your honor. I dont know where... such bad luck!



With the soldier, an infantry officer with a bandaged cheek came up to

the bonfire, and addressing Tshin asked him to have the guns moved a

trifle to let a wagon go past. After he had gone, two soldiers rushed to

the campfire. They were quarreling and fighting desperately, each trying

to snatch from the other a boot they were both holding on to.



You picked it up?... I dare say! Youre very smart! one of them

shouted hoarsely.



Then a thin, pale soldier, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained leg

band, came up and in angry tones asked the artillerymen for water.



Must one die like a dog? said he.



Tshin told them to give the man some water. Then a cheerful soldier

ran up, begging a little fire for the infantry.



A nice little hot torch for the infantry! Good luck to you, fellow

countrymen. Thanks for the firewell return it with interest,

said he, carrying away into the darkness a glowing stick.



Next came four soldiers, carrying something heavy on a cloak, and passed

by the fire. One of them stumbled.



Who the devil has put the logs on the road? snarled he.



Hes deadwhy carry him? said another.



Shut up!



And they disappeared into the darkness with their load.



Still aching? Tshin asked Rostv in a whisper.



Yes.



Your honor, youre wanted by the general. He is in the hut here,

said a gunner, coming up to Tshin.



Coming, friend.



Tshin rose and, buttoning his greatcoat and pulling it straight,

walked away from the fire.



Not far from the artillery campfire, in a hut that had been prepared

for him, Prince Bagratin sat at dinner, talking with some commanding

officers who had gathered at his quarters. The little old man with

the half-closed eyes was there greedily gnawing a mutton bone, and the

general who had served blamelessly for twenty-two years, flushed by a

glass of vodka and the dinner and the staff officer with the signet

ring, and Zherkv, uneasily glancing at them all, and Prince Andrew,

pale, with compressed lips and feverishly glittering eyes.



In a corner of the hut stood a standard captured from the French, and

the accountant with the nave face was feeling its texture, shaking his

head in perplexityperhaps because the banner really interested him,

perhaps because it was hard for him, hungry as he was, to look on at

a dinner where there was no place for him. In the next hut there was a

French colonel who had been taken prisoner by our dragoons. Our officers

were flocking in to look at him. Prince Bagratin was thanking the

individual commanders and inquiring into details of the action and our

losses. The general whose regiment had been inspected at Braunau was

informing the prince that as soon as the action began he had withdrawn

from the wood, mustered the men who were woodcutting, and, allowing the

French to pass him, had made a bayonet charge with two battalions and

had broken up the French troops.



When I saw, your excellency, that their first battalion was

disorganized, I stopped in the road and thought Ill let them

come on and will meet them with the fire of the whole battalionand

thats what I did.



The general had so wished to do this and was so sorry he had not managed

to do it that it seemed to him as if it had really happened. Perhaps

it might really have been so? Could one possibly make out amid all that

confusion what did or did not happen?



By the way, your excellency, I should inform you, he

continuedremembering Dlokhovs conversation with Kutzov and his

last interview with the gentleman-rankerthat Private Dlokhov,

who was reduced to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner in my

presence and particularly distinguished himself.



I saw the Pvlograd hussars attack there, your excellency, chimed

in Zherkv, looking uneasily around. He had not seen the hussars all

that day, but had heard about them from an infantry officer. They

broke up two squares, your excellency.



Several of those present smiled at Zherkvs words, expecting one of

his usual jokes, but noticing that what he was saying redounded to

the glory of our arms and of the days work, they assumed a serious

expression, though many of them knew that what he was saying was a lie

devoid of any foundation. Prince Bagratin turned to the old colonel



Gentlemen, I thank you all all arms have behaved heroically

infantry, cavalry, and artillery. How was it that two guns were

abandoned in the center? he inquired, searching with his eyes for

someone. (Prince Bagratin did not ask about the guns on the left

flank he knew that all the guns there had been abandoned at the very

beginning of the action.) I think I sent you? he added, turning to

the staff officer on duty.



One was damaged, answered the staff officer, and the other I

cant understand. I was there all the time giving orders and had only

just left.... It is true that it was hot there, he added, modestly.



Someone mentioned that Captain Tshin was bivouacking close to the

village and had already been sent for.



Oh, but you were there? said Prince Bagratin, addressing Prince

Andrew.



Of course, we only just missed one another, said the staff

officer, with a smile to Bolknski.



I had not the pleasure of seeing you, said Prince Andrew, coldly

and abruptly.



All were silent. Tshin appeared at the threshold and made his way

timidly from behind the backs of the generals. As he stepped past the

generals in the crowded hut, feeling embarrassed as he always was by the

sight of his superiors, he did not notice the staff of the banner and

stumbled over it. Several of those present laughed.



How was it a gun was abandoned? asked Bagratin, frowning, not so

much at the captain as at those who were laughing, among whom Zherkv

laughed loudest.



Only now, when he was confronted by the stern authorities, did his guilt

and the disgrace of having lost two guns and yet remaining alive present

themselves to Tshin in all their horror. He had been so excited that

he had not thought about it until that moment. The officers laughter

confused him still more. He stood before Bagratin with his lower

jaw trembling and was hardly able to mutter I dont know... your

excellency... I had no men... your excellency.



You might have taken some from the covering troops.



Tshin did not say that there were no covering troops, though that

was perfectly true. He was afraid of getting some other officer into

trouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Bagratin as a schoolboy who

has blundered looks at an examiner.



The silence lasted some time. Prince Bagratin, apparently not wishing

to be severe, found nothing to say the others did not venture to

intervene. Prince Andrew looked at Tshin from under his brows and his

fingers twitched nervously.



Your excellency! Prince Andrew broke the silence with his abrupt

voice, you were pleased to send me to Captain Tshins battery. I

went there and found two thirds of the men and horses knocked out, two

guns smashed, and no supports at all.



Prince Bagratin and Tshin looked with equal intentness at

Bolknski, who spoke with suppressed agitation.



And, if your excellency will allow me to express my opinion, he

continued, we owe todays success chiefly to the action of that

battery and the heroic endurance of Captain Tshin and his company,

and without awaiting a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left the table.



Prince Bagratin looked at Tshin, evidently reluctant to show

distrust in Bolknskis emphatic opinion yet not feeling able fully

to credit it, bent his head, and told Tshin that he could go. Prince

Andrew went out with him.



Thank you you saved me, my dear fellow! said Tshin.



Prince Andrew gave him a look, but said nothing and went away. He felt

sad and depressed. It was all so strange, so unlike what he had hoped.





Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? And when will

all this end? thought Rostv, looking at the changing shadows before

him. The pain in his arm became more and more intense. Irresistible

drowsiness overpowered him, red rings danced before his eyes, and the

impression of those voices and faces and a sense of loneliness merged

with the physical pain. It was they, these soldierswounded and

unwoundedit was they who were crushing, weighing down, and twisting

the sinews and scorching the flesh of his sprained arm and shoulder. To

rid himself of them he closed his eyes.



For a moment he dozed, but in that short interval innumerable things

appeared to him in a dream his mother and her large white hand,

Snyas thin little shoulders, Natshas eyes and laughter,

Densov with his voice and mustache, and Telynin and all that affair

with Telynin and Bogdnich. That affair was the same thing as this

soldier with the harsh voice, and it was that affair and this soldier

that were so agonizingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm and

always dragging it in one direction. He tried to get away from them, but

they would not for an instant let his shoulder move a hairs breadth.

It would not acheit would be wellif only they did not pull it, but

it was impossible to get rid of them.



He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hung less

than a yard above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of falling snow were

fluttering in that light. Tshin had not returned, the doctor had not

come. He was alone now, except for a soldier who was sitting naked at

the other side of the fire, warming his thin yellow body.



Nobody wants me! thought Rostv. There is no one to help me or

pity me. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy, and loved. He sighed

and, doing so, groaned involuntarily.



Eh, is anything hurting you? asked the soldier, shaking his shirt

out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and

added What a lot of men have been crippled todayfrightful!



Rostv did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the snowflakes

fluttering above the fire and remembered a Russian winter at his warm,

bright home, his fluffy fur coat, his quickly gliding sleigh, his

healthy body, and all the affection and care of his family. And why

did I come here? he wondered.



Next day the French army did not renew their attack, and the remnant of

Bagratins detachment was reunited to Kutzovs army.











BOOK THREE 1805











CHAPTER I



Prince Vasli was not a man who deliberately thought out his plans.

Still less did he think of injuring anyone for his own advantage. He

was merely a man of the world who had got on and to whom getting on had

become a habit. Schemes and devices for which he never rightly accounted

to himself, but which formed the whole interest of his life,

were constantly shaping themselves in his mind, arising from the

circumstances and persons he met. Of these plans he had not merely one

or two in his head but dozens, some only beginning to form themselves,

some approaching achievement, and some in course of disintegration. He

did not, for instance, say to himself This man now has influence, I

must gain his confidence and friendship and through him obtain a special

grant. Nor did he say to himself Pierre is a rich man, I must

entice him to marry my daughter and lend me the forty thousand rubles

I need. But when he came across a man of position his instinct

immediately told him that this man could be useful, and without any

premeditation Prince Vasli took the first opportunity to gain his

confidence, flatter him, become intimate with him, and finally make his

request.



He had Pierre at hand in Moscow and procured for him an appointment as

Gentleman of the Bedchamber, which at that time conferred the status of

Councilor of State, and insisted on the young man accompanying him to

Petersburg and staying at his house. With apparent absent-mindedness,

yet with unhesitating assurance that he was doing the right thing,

Prince Vasli did everything to get Pierre to marry his daughter. Had

he thought out his plans beforehand he could not have been so natural

and shown such unaffected familiarity in intercourse with everybody both

above and below him in social standing. Something always drew him toward

those richer and more powerful than himself and he had rare skill in

seizing the most opportune moment for making use of people.



Pierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezkhov and a rich man, felt

himself after his recent loneliness and freedom from cares so beset and

preoccupied that only in bed was he able to be by himself. He had to

sign papers, to present himself at government offices, the purpose of

which was not clear to him, to question his chief steward, to visit his

estate near Moscow, and to receive many people who formerly did not

even wish to know of his existence but would now have been offended

and grieved had he chosen not to see them. These different

peoplebusinessmen, relations, and acquaintances alikewere all

disposed to treat the young heir in the most friendly and flattering

manner they were all evidently firmly convinced of Pierres noble

qualities. He was always hearing such words as With your remarkable

kindness, or, With your excellent heart, You are yourself so

honorable, Count, or, Were he as clever as you, and so on,

till he began sincerely to believe in his own exceptional kindness and

extraordinary intelligence, the more so as in the depth of his heart it

had always seemed to him that he really was very kind and intelligent.

Even people who had formerly been spiteful toward him and evidently

unfriendly now became gentle and affectionate. The angry eldest

princess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a dolls,

had come into Pierres room after the funeral. With drooping eyes

and frequent blushes she told him she was very sorry about their past

misunderstandings and did not now feel she had a right to ask him for

anything, except only for permission, after the blow she had received,

to remain for a few weeks longer in the house she so loved and where

she had sacrificed so much. She could not refrain from weeping at these

words. Touched that this statuesque princess could so change, Pierre

took her hand and begged her forgiveness, without knowing what for.

From that day the eldest princess quite changed toward Pierre and began

knitting a striped scarf for him.



Do this for my sake, mon cher after all, she had to put up with a

great deal from the deceased, said Prince Vasli to him, handing him

a deed to sign for the princess benefit.



Prince Vasli had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to throw

this bonea bill for thirty thousand rublesto the poor princess

that it might not occur to her to speak of his share in the affair of

the inlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the deed and after that the princess

grew still kinder. The younger sisters also became affectionate to him,

especially the youngest, the pretty one with the mole, who often made

him feel confused by her smiles and her own confusion when meeting him.



It seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone should like him, and it

would have seemed so unnatural had anyone disliked him, that he could

not but believe in the sincerity of those around him. Besides, he had

no time to ask himself whether these people were sincere or not. He

was always busy and always felt in a state of mild and cheerful

intoxication. He felt as though he were the center of some important and

general movement that something was constantly expected of him, that if

he did not do it he would grieve and disappoint many people, but if he

did this and that, all would be well and he did what was demanded of

him, but still that happy result always remained in the future.



More than anyone else, Prince Vasli took possession of Pierres

affairs and of Pierre himself in those early days. From the death of

Count Bezkhov he did not let go his hold of the lad. He had the air of

a man oppressed by business, weary and suffering, who yet would not, for

pitys sake, leave this helpless youth who, after all, was the son of

his old friend and the possessor of such enormous wealth, to the caprice

of fate and the designs of rogues. During the few days he spent in

Moscow after the death of Count Bezkhov, he would call Pierre, or

go to him himself, and tell him what ought to be done in a tone of

weariness and assurance, as if he were adding every time You know

I am overwhelmed with business and it is purely out of charity that

I trouble myself about you, and you also know quite well that what I

propose is the only thing possible.



Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off at last, said Prince

Vasli one day, closing his eyes and fingering Pierres elbow,

speaking as if he were saying something which had long since been agreed

upon and could not now be altered. We start tomorrow and Im giving

you a place in my carriage. I am very glad. All our important business

here is now settled, and I ought to have been off long ago. Here is

something I have received from the chancellor. I asked him for you, and

you have been entered in the diplomatic corps and made a Gentleman of

the Bedchamber. The diplomatic career now lies open before you.



Notwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these words

were pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering his career,

wished to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasli interrupted him in

the special deep cooing tone, precluding the possibility of interrupting

his speech, which he used in extreme cases when special persuasion was

needed.



Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, to satisfy my conscience,

and there is nothing to thank me for. No one has ever complained yet of

being too much loved and besides, you are free, you could throw it

up tomorrow. But you will see everything for yourself when you get to

Petersburg. It is high time for you to get away from these terrible

recollections. Prince Vasli sighed. Yes, yes, my boy. And my

valet can go in your carriage. Ah! I was nearly forgetting, he added.

You know, mon cher, your father and I had some accounts to settle, so

I have received what was due from the Ryazn estate and will keep it

you wont require it. Well go into the accounts later.



By what was due from the Ryazn estate Prince Vasli meant

several thousand rubles quitrent received from Pierres peasants,

which the prince had retained for himself.



In Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere of

gentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or rather the

rank (for he did nothing), that Prince Vasli had procured for him,

and acquaintances, invitations, and social occupations were so numerous

that, even more than in Moscow, he felt a sense of bewilderment, bustle,

and continual expectation of some good, always in front of him but never

attained.



Of his former bachelor acquaintances many were no longer in Petersburg.

The Guards had gone to the front Dlokhov had been reduced to the

ranks Anatole was in the army somewhere in the provinces Prince Andrew

was abroad so Pierre had not the opportunity to spend his nights as he

used to like to spend them, or to open his mind by intimate talks with

a friend older than himself and whom he respected. His whole time

was taken up with dinners and balls and was spent chiefly at Prince

Vaslis house in the company of the stout princess, his wife, and

his beautiful daughter Hlne.



Like the others, Anna Pvlovna Schrer showed Pierre the change of

attitude toward him that had taken place in society.



Formerly in Anna Pvlovnas presence, Pierre had always felt that

what he was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, that

remarks which seemed to him clever while they formed in his mind became

foolish as soon as he uttered them, while on the contrary Hippolytes

stupidest remarks came out clever and apt. Now everything Pierre said

was charmant. Even if Anna Pvlovna did not say so, he could see that

she wished to and only refrained out of regard for his modesty.



In the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one of Anna

Pvlovnas usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added

You will find the beautiful Hlne here, whom it is always

delightful to see.



When he read that sentence, Pierre felt for the first time that some

link which other people recognized had grown up between himself and

Hlne, and that thought both alarmed him, as if some obligation were

being imposed on him which he could not fulfill, and pleased him as an

entertaining supposition.



Anna Pvlovnas At Home was like the former one, only the

novelty she offered her guests this time was not Mortemart, but a

diplomatist fresh from Berlin with the very latest details of the

Emperor Alexanders visit to Potsdam, and of how the two august

friends had pledged themselves in an indissoluble alliance to uphold

the cause of justice against the enemy of the human race. Anna Pvlovna

received Pierre with a shade of melancholy, evidently relating to the

young mans recent loss by the death of Count Bezkhov (everyone

constantly considered it a duty to assure Pierre that he was greatly

afflicted by the death of the father he had hardly known), and her

melancholy was just like the august melancholy she showed at the mention

of her most august Majesty the Empress Mrya Fdorovna. Pierre felt

flattered by this. Anna Pvlovna arranged the different groups in her

drawing room with her habitual skill. The large group, in which were

Prince Vasli and the generals, had the benefit of the diplomat.

Another group was at the tea table. Pierre wished to join the former,

but Anna Pvlovnawho was in the excited condition of a commander on

a battlefield to whom thousands of new and brilliant ideas occur which

there is hardly time to put in actionseeing Pierre, touched his

sleeve with her finger, saying



Wait a bit, I have something in view for you this evening.

(She glanced at Hlne and smiled at her.) My dear Hlne, be

charitable to my poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep her company for

ten minutes. And that it will not be too dull, here is the dear count

who will not refuse to accompany you.



The beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pvlovna detained Pierre, looking

as if she had to give some final necessary instructions.



Isnt she exquisite? she said to Pierre, pointing to the stately

beauty as she glided away. And how she carries herself! For so young

a girl, such tact, such masterly perfection of manner! It comes from

her heart. Happy the man who wins her! With her the least worldly of men

would occupy a most brilliant position in society. Dont you think so?

I only wanted to know your opinion, and Anna Pvlovna let Pierre go.



Pierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to Hlnes

perfection of manner. If he ever thought of Hlne, it was just of

her beauty and her remarkable skill in appearing silently dignified in

society.



The old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but seemed

desirous of hiding her adoration for Hlne and inclined rather

to show her fear of Anna Pvlovna. She looked at her niece, as if

inquiring what she was to do with these people. On leaving them, Anna

Pvlovna again touched Pierres sleeve, saying I hope you wont

say that it is dull in my house again, and she glanced at Hlne.



Hlne smiled, with a look implying that she did not admit the

possibility of anyone seeing her without being enchanted. The aunt

coughed, swallowed, and said in French that she was very pleased to see

Hlne, then she turned to Pierre with the same words of welcome

and the same look. In the middle of a dull and halting conversation,

Hlne turned to Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that she gave

to everyone. Pierre was so used to that smile, and it had so little

meaning for him, that he paid no attention to it. The aunt was just

speaking of a collection of snuffboxes that had belonged to Pierres

father, Count Bezkhov, and showed them her own box. Princess Hlne

asked to see the portrait of the aunts husband on the box lid.



That is probably the work of Vinesse, said Pierre, mentioning

a celebrated miniaturist, and he leaned over the table to take the

snuffbox while trying to hear what was being said at the other table.



He half rose, meaning to go round, but the aunt handed him the snuffbox,

passing it across Hlnes back. Hlne stooped forward to make

room, and looked round with a smile. She was, as always at evening

parties, wearing a dress such as was then fashionable, cut very low at

front and back. Her bust, which had always seemed like marble to Pierre,

was so close to him that his shortsighted eyes could not but perceive

the living charm of her neck and shoulders, so near to his lips that

he need only have bent his head a little to have touched them. He was

conscious of the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the

creaking of her corset as she moved. He did not see her marble beauty

forming a complete whole with her dress, but all the charm of her body

only covered by her garments. And having once seen this he could not

help being aware of it, just as we cannot renew an illusion we have once

seen through.



So you have never noticed before how beautiful I am? Hlne

seemed to say. You had not noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a

woman who may belong to anyoneto you too, said her glance. And at

that moment Pierre felt that Hlne not only could, but must, be his

wife, and that it could not be otherwise.



He knew this at that moment as surely as if he had been standing at the

altar with her. How and when this would be he did not know, he did not

even know if it would be a good thing (he even felt, he knew not why,

that it would be a bad thing), but he knew it would happen.



Pierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, and wished once more to see

her as a distant beauty far removed from him, as he had seen her every

day until then, but he could no longer do it. He could not, any more

than a man who has been looking at a tuft of steppe grass through the

mist and taking it for a tree can again take it for a tree after he has

once recognized it to be a tuft of grass. She was terribly close to him.

She already had power over him, and between them there was no longer any

barrier except the barrier of his own will.



Well, I will leave you in your little corner, came Anna

Pvlovnas voice, I see you are all right there.



And Pierre, anxiously trying to remember whether he had done anything

reprehensible, looked round with a blush. It seemed to him that everyone

knew what had happened to him as he knew it himself.



A little later when he went up to the large circle, Anna Pvlovna said

to him I hear you are refitting your Petersburg house?



This was true. The architect had told him that it was necessary, and

Pierre, without knowing why, was having his enormous Petersburg house

done up.



Thats a good thing, but dont move from Prince Vaslis. It

is good to have a friend like the prince, she said, smiling at Prince

Vasli. I know something about that. Dont I? And you are still so

young. You need advice. Dont be angry with me for exercising an old

womans privilege.



She paused, as women always do, expecting something after they have

mentioned their age. If you marry it will be a different thing,

she continued, uniting them both in one glance. Pierre did not look at

Hlne nor she at him. But she was just as terribly close to him. He

muttered something and colored.



When he got home he could not sleep for a long time for thinking of what

had happened. What had happened? Nothing. He had merely understood that

the woman he had known as a child, of whom when her beauty was mentioned

he had said absent-mindedly Yes, shes good looking, he had

understood that this woman might belong to him.



But shes stupid. I have myself said she is stupid, he thought.

There is something nasty, something wrong, in the feeling she excites

in me. I have been told that her brother Anatole was in love with her

and she with him, that there was quite a scandal and that thats why

he was sent away. Hippolyte is her brother... Prince Vasli is her

father... Its bad.... he reflected, but while he was thinking this

(the reflection was still incomplete), he caught himself smiling and was

conscious that another line of thought had sprung up, and while thinking

of her worthlessness he was also dreaming of how she would be his

wife, how she would love him become quite different, and how all he had

thought and heard of her might be false. And he again saw her not as the

daughter of Prince Vasli, but visualized her whole body only veiled

by its gray dress. But no! Why did this thought never occur to me

before? and again he told himself that it was impossible, that there

would be something unnatural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable, in

this marriage. He recalled her former words and looks and the words

and looks of those who had seen them together. He recalled Anna

Pvlovnas words and looks when she spoke to him about his house,

recalled thousands of such hints from Prince Vasli and others, and was

seized by terror lest he had already, in some way, bound himself to do

something that was evidently wrong and that he ought not to do. But at

the very time he was expressing this conviction to himself, in another

part of his mind her image rose in all its womanly beauty.











CHAPTER II



In November, 1805, Prince Vasli had to go on a tour of inspection

in four different provinces. He had arranged this for himself so as to

visit his neglected estates at the same time and pick up his son Anatole

where his regiment was stationed, and take him to visit Prince Nicholas

Bolknski in order to arrange a match for him with the daughter of that

rich old man. But before leaving home and undertaking these new affairs,

Prince Vasli had to settle matters with Pierre, who, it is true, had

latterly spent whole days at home, that is, in Prince Vaslis house

where he was staying, and had been absurd, excited, and foolish in

Hlnes presence (as a lover should be), but had not yet proposed

to her.



This is all very fine, but things must be settled, said Prince

Vasli to himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning, feeling that

Pierre who was under such obligations to him (But never mind that)

was not behaving very well in this matter. Youth, frivolity... well,

God be with him, thought he, relishing his own goodness of heart,

but it must be brought to a head. The day after tomorrow will be

Llyas name day. I will invite two or three people, and if he does

not understand what he ought to do then it will be my affairyes, my

affair. I am her father.



Six weeks after Anna Pvlovnas At Home and after the sleepless

night when he had decided that to marry Hlne would be a calamity and

that he ought to avoid her and go away, Pierre, despite that decision,

had not left Prince Vaslis and felt with terror that in peoples

eyes he was every day more and more connected with her, that it was

impossible for him to return to his former conception of her, that he

could not break away from her, and that though it would be a terrible

thing he would have to unite his fate with hers. He might perhaps have

been able to free himself but that Prince Vasli (who had rarely before

given receptions) now hardly let a day go by without having an evening

party at which Pierre had to be present unless he wished to spoil

the general pleasure and disappoint everyones expectation. Prince

Vasli, in the rare moments when he was at home, would take Pierres

hand in passing and draw it downwards, or absent-mindedly hold out his

wrinkled, clean-shaven cheek for Pierre to kiss and would say Till

tomorrow, or, Be in to dinner or I shall not see you, or, I

am staying in for your sake, and so on. And though Prince Vasli,

when he stayed in (as he said) for Pierres sake, hardly exchanged a

couple of words with him, Pierre felt unable to disappoint him.

Every day he said to himself one and the same thing It is time I

understood her and made up my mind what she really is. Was I mistaken

before, or am I mistaken now? No, she is not stupid, she is an excellent

girl, he sometimes said to himself she never makes a mistake,

never says anything stupid. She says little, but what she does say is

always clear and simple, so she is not stupid. She never was abashed and

is not abashed now, so she cannot be a bad woman! He had often begun

to make reflections or think aloud in her company, and she had always

answered him either by a brief but appropriate remarkshowing that it

did not interest heror by a silent look and smile which more palpably

than anything else showed Pierre her superiority. She was right in

regarding all arguments as nonsense in comparison with that smile.



She always addressed him with a radiantly confiding smile meant for him

alone, in which there was something more significant than in the general

smile that usually brightened her face. Pierre knew that everyone was

waiting for him to say a word and cross a certain line, and he knew that

sooner or later he would step across it, but an incomprehensible terror

seized him at the thought of that dreadful step. A thousand times during

that month and a half while he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer to

that dreadful abyss, Pierre said to himself What am I doing? I need

resolution. Can it be that I have none?



He wished to take a decision, but felt with dismay that in this matter

he lacked that strength of will which he had known in himself and really

possessed. Pierre was one of those who are only strong when they feel

themselves quite innocent, and since that day when he was overpowered

by a feeling of desire while stooping over the snuffbox at Anna

Pvlovnas, an unacknowledged sense of the guilt of that desire

paralyzed his will.



On Hlnes name day, a small party of just their own peopleas

his wife saidmet for supper at Prince Vaslis. All these friends

and relations had been given to understand that the fate of the young

girl would be decided that evening. The visitors were seated at supper.

Princess Kurgina, a portly imposing woman who had once been handsome,

was sitting at the head of the table. On either side of her sat the

more important guestsan old general and his wife, and Anna Pvlovna

Schrer. At the other end sat the younger and less important guests,

and there too sat the members of the family, and Pierre and Hlne,

side by side. Prince Vasli was not having any supper he went round

the table in a merry mood, sitting down now by one, now by another, of

the guests. To each of them he made some careless and agreeable remark

except to Pierre and Hlne, whose presence he seemed not to notice.

He enlivened the whole party. The wax candles burned brightly, the

silver and crystal gleamed, so did the ladies toilets and the gold

and silver of the mens epaulets servants in scarlet liveries moved

round the table, the clatter of plates, knives, and glasses mingled with

the animated hum of several conversations. At one end of the table, the

old chamberlain was heard assuring an old baroness that he loved her

passionately, at which she laughed at the other could be heard the

story of the misfortunes of some Mary Vktorovna or other. At the

center of the table, Prince Vasli attracted everybodys attention.

With a facetious smile on his face, he was telling the ladies about last

Wednesdays meeting of the Imperial Council, at which Sergy Kuzmch

Vyazmtinov, the new military governor general of Petersburg, had

received and read the then famous rescript of the Emperor Alexander

from the army to Sergy Kuzmch, in which the Emperor said that he was

receiving from all sides declarations of the peoples loyalty, that

the declaration from Petersburg gave him particular pleasure, and that

he was proud to be at the head of such a nation and would endeavor to be

worthy of it. This rescript began with the words Sergy Kuzmch,

From all sides reports reach me, etc.



Well, and so he never got farther than Sergy Kuzmch?

asked one of the ladies.



Exactly, not a hairs breadth farther, answered Prince Vasli,

laughing, Sergy Kuzmch... From all sides... From all sides...

Sergy Kuzmch... Poor Vyazmtinov could not get any farther!

He began the rescript again and again, but as soon as he uttered

Sergy he sobbed, Kuz-m-ch, tears, and From all

sides was smothered in sobs and he could get no farther. And again

his handkerchief, and again Sergy Kuzmch, From all sides,...

and tears, till at last somebody else was asked to read it.



Kuzmch... From all sides... and then tears, someone repeated

laughing.



Dont be unkind, cried Anna Pvlovna from her end of the table

holding up a threatening finger. He is such a worthy and excellent

man, our dear Vyazmtinov....



Everybody laughed a great deal. At the head of the table, where the

honored guests sat, everyone seemed to be in high spirits and under the

influence of a variety of exciting sensations. Only Pierre and

Hlne sat silently side by side almost at the bottom of the table, a

suppressed smile brightening both their faces, a smile that had nothing

to do with Sergy Kuzmcha smile of bashfulness at their own

feelings. But much as all the rest laughed, talked, and joked, much

as they enjoyed their Rhine wine, saut, and ices, and however they

avoided looking at the young couple, and heedless and unobservant as

they seemed of them, one could feel by the occasional glances they gave

that the story about Sergy Kuzmch, the laughter, and the food

were all a pretense, and that the whole attention of that company was

directed toPierre and Hlne. Prince Vasli mimicked the sobbing

of Sergy Kuzmch and at the same time his eyes glanced toward his

daughter, and while he laughed the expression on his face clearly said

Yes... its getting on, it will all be settled today. Anna

Pvlovna threatened him on behalf of our dear Vyazmtinov, and

in her eyes, which, for an instant, glanced at Pierre, Prince Vasli

read a congratulation on his future son-in-law and on his daughters

happiness. The old princess sighed sadly as she offered some wine to the

old lady next to her and glanced angrily at her daughter, and her sigh

seemed to say Yes, theres nothing left for you and me but to sip

sweet wine, my dear, now that the time has come for these young ones to

be thus boldly, provocatively happy. And what nonsense all this is

that I am saying! thought a diplomatist, glancing at the happy faces

of the lovers. Thats happiness!



Into the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests uniting that

society had entered the simple feeling of the attraction of a healthy

and handsome young man and woman for one another. And this human feeling

dominated everything else and soared above all their affected chatter.

Jests fell flat, news was not interesting, and the animation was

evidently forced. Not only the guests but even the footmen waiting at

table seemed to feel this, and they forgot their duties as they looked

at the beautiful Hlne with her radiant face and at the red, broad,

and happy though uneasy face of Pierre. It seemed as if the very light

of the candles was focused on those two happy faces alone.



Pierre felt that he was the center of it all, and this both pleased and

embarrassed him. He was like a man entirely absorbed in some occupation.

He did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly. Only now and

then detached ideas and impressions from the world of reality shot

unexpectedly through his mind.



So it is all finished! he thought. And how has it all happened?

How quickly! Now I know that not because of her alone, nor of myself

alone, but because of everyone, it must inevitably come about. They are

all expecting it, they are so sure that it will happen that I cannot, I

cannot, disappoint them. But how will it be? I do not know, but it

will certainly happen! thought Pierre, glancing at those dazzling

shoulders close to his eyes.



Or he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what. He felt it

awkward to attract everyones attention and to be considered a

lucky man and, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort of Paris

possessed of a Helen. But no doubt it always is and must be so!

he consoled himself. And besides, what have I done to bring it about?

How did it begin? I traveled from Moscow with Prince Vasli. Then there

was nothing. So why should I not stay at his house? Then I played cards

with her and picked up her reticule and drove out with her. How did it

begin, when did it all come about? And here he was sitting by her

side as her betrothed, seeing, hearing, feeling her nearness, her

breathing, her movements, her beauty. Then it would suddenly seem to him

that it was not she but he was so unusually beautiful, and that that was

why they all looked so at him, and flattered by this general admiration

he would expand his chest, raise his head, and rejoice at his good

fortune. Suddenly he heard a familiar voice repeating something to him a

second time. But Pierre was so absorbed that he did not understand what

was said.



I am asking you when you last heard from Bolknski, repeated

Prince Vasli a third time. How absent-minded you are, my dear

fellow.



Prince Vasli smiled, and Pierre noticed that everyone was smiling at

him and Hlne. Well, what of it, if you all know it? thought

Pierre. What of it? Its the truth! and he himself smiled his

gentle childlike smile, and Hlne smiled too.



When did you get the letter? Was it from Olmtz? repeated

Prince Vasli, who pretended to want to know this in order to settle a

dispute.



How can one talk or think of such trifles? thought Pierre.



Yes, from Olmtz, he answered, with a sigh.



After supper Pierre with his partner followed the others into the

drawing room. The guests began to disperse, some without taking leave

of Hlne. Some, as if unwilling to distract her from an important

occupation, came up to her for a moment and made haste to go away,

refusing to let her see them off. The diplomatist preserved a mournful

silence as he left the drawing room. He pictured the vanity of his

diplomatic career in comparison with Pierres happiness. The old

general grumbled at his wife when she asked how his leg was. Oh, the

old fool, he thought. That Princess Hlne will be beautiful

still when shes fifty.



I think I may congratulate you, whispered Anna Pvlovna to the

old princess, kissing her soundly. If I hadnt this headache Id

have stayed longer.



The old princess did not reply, she was tormented by jealousy of her

daughters happiness.



While the guests were taking their leave Pierre remained for a long time

alone with Hlne in the little drawing room where they were sitting.

He had often before, during the last six weeks, remained alone with her,

but had never spoken to her of love. Now he felt that it was inevitable,

but he could not make up his mind to take the final step. He felt

ashamed he felt that he was occupying someone elses place here

beside Hlne. This happiness is not for you, some inner voice

whispered to him. This happiness is for those who have not in them

what there is in you.



But, as he had to say something, he began by asking her whether she was

satisfied with the party. She replied in her usual simple manner that

this name day of hers had been one of the pleasantest she had ever had.



Some of the nearest relatives had not yet left. They were sitting in

the large drawing room. Prince Vasli came up to Pierre with languid

footsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting late. Prince Vasli gave

him a look of stern inquiry, as though what Pierre had just said was

so strange that one could not take it in. But then the expression of

severity changed, and he drew Pierres hand downwards, made him sit

down, and smiled affectionately.



Well, Llya? he asked, turning instantly to his daughter and

addressing her with the careless tone of habitual tenderness natural to

parents who have petted their children from babyhood, but which Prince

Vasli had only acquired by imitating other parents.



And he again turned to Pierre.



Sergy KuzmchFrom all sides he said, unbuttoning the top

button of his waistcoat.



Pierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew it was not the story

about Sergy Kuzmch that interested Prince Vasli just then, and

Prince Vasli saw that Pierre knew this. He suddenly muttered

something and went away. It seemed to Pierre that even the prince was

disconcerted. The sight of the discomposure of that old man of the world

touched Pierre he looked at Hlne and she too seemed disconcerted,

and her look seemed to say Well, it is your own fault.



The step must be taken but I cannot, I cannot! thought Pierre,

and he again began speaking about indifferent matters, about Sergy

Kuzmch, asking what the point of the story was as he had not heard it

properly. Hlne answered with a smile that she too had missed it.



When Prince Vasli returned to the drawing room, the princess, his

wife, was talking in low tones to the elderly lady about Pierre.



Of course, it is a very brilliant match, but happiness, my dear...



Marriages are made in heaven, replied the elderly lady.



Prince Vasli passed by, seeming not to hear the ladies, and sat down

on a sofa in a far corner of the room. He closed his eyes and seemed to

be dozing. His head sank forward and then he roused himself.



Aline, he said to his wife, go and see what they are about.



The princess went up to the door, passed by it with a dignified and

indifferent air, and glanced into the little drawing room. Pierre and

Hlne still sat talking just as before.



Still the same, she said to her husband.



Prince Vasli frowned, twisting his mouth, his cheeks quivered and his

face assumed the coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar to him. Shaking

himself, he rose, threw back his head, and with resolute steps went

past the ladies into the little drawing room. With quick steps he went

joyfully up to Pierre. His face was so unusually triumphant that Pierre

rose in alarm on seeing it.



Thank God! said Prince Vasli. My wife has told me

everything! (He put one arm around Pierre and the other around his

daughter.)My dear boy... Llya... I am very pleased. (His

voice trembled.) I loved your father... and she will make you a good

wife... God bless you!...



He embraced his daughter, and then again Pierre, and kissed him with his

malodorous mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks.



Princess, come here! he shouted.



The old princess came in and also wept. The elderly lady was using

her handkerchief too. Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the beautiful

Hlnes hand several times. After a while they were left alone

again.



All this had to be and could not be otherwise, thought Pierre,

so it is useless to ask whether it is good or bad. It is good because

its definite and one is rid of the old tormenting doubt. Pierre

held the hand of his betrothed in silence, looking at her beautiful

bosom as it rose and fell.



Hlne! he said aloud and paused.



Something special is always said in such cases, he thought, but

could not remember what it was that people say. He looked at her face.

She drew nearer to him. Her face flushed.



Oh, take those off... those... she said, pointing to his

spectacles.



Pierre took them off, and his eyes, besides the strange look eyes have

from which spectacles have just been removed, had also a frightened and

inquiring look. He was about to stoop over her hand and kiss it, but

with a rapid, almost brutal movement of her head, she intercepted his

lips and met them with her own. Her face struck Pierre, by its altered,

unpleasantly excited expression.



It is too late now, its done besides I love her, thought

Pierre.



Je vous aime! * he said, remembering what has to be said at such

moments but his words sounded so weak that he felt ashamed of himself.



    * I love you.





Six weeks later he was married, and settled in Count Bezkhovs

large, newly furnished Petersburg house, the happy possessor, as people

said, of a wife who was a celebrated beauty and of millions of money.











CHAPTER III



Old Prince Nicholas Bolknski received a letter from Prince Vasli

in November, 1805, announcing that he and his son would be paying him

a visit. I am starting on a journey of inspection, and of course I

shall think nothing of an extra seventy miles to come and see you at

the same time, my honored benefactor, wrote Prince Vasli. My son

Anatole is accompanying me on his way to the army, so I hope you will

allow him personally to express the deep respect that, emulating his

father, he feels for you.



It seems that there will be no need to bring Mary out, suitors are

coming to us of their own accord, incautiously remarked the little

princess on hearing the news.



Prince Nicholas frowned, but said nothing.



A fortnight after the letter Prince Vaslis servants came one

evening in advance of him, and he and his son arrived next day.



Old Bolknski had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vaslis

character, but more so recently, since in the new reigns of Paul and

Alexander Prince Vasli had risen to high position and honors. And now,

from the hints contained in his letter and given by the little princess,

he saw which way the wind was blowing, and his low opinion changed into

a feeling of contemptuous ill will. He snorted whenever he mentioned

him. On the day of Prince Vaslis arrival, Prince Bolknski was

particularly discontented and out of temper. Whether he was in a bad

temper because Prince Vasli was coming, or whether his being in a bad

temper made him specially annoyed at Prince Vaslis visit, he was

in a bad temper, and in the morning Tkhon had already advised the

architect not to go to the prince with his report.



Do you hear how hes walking? said Tkhon, drawing the

architects attention to the sound of the princes footsteps.

Stepping flat on his heelswe know what that means....



However, at nine oclock the prince, in his velvet coat with a sable

collar and cap, went out for his usual walk. It had snowed the day

before and the path to the hothouse, along which the prince was in the

habit of walking, had been swept the marks of the broom were still

visible in the snow and a shovel had been left sticking in one of the

soft snowbanks that bordered both sides of the path. The prince went

through the conservatories, the serfs quarters, and the outbuildings,

frowning and silent.



Can a sleigh pass? he asked his overseer, a venerable man,

resembling his master in manners and looks, who was accompanying him

back to the house.



The snow is deep. I am having the avenue swept, your honor.



The prince bowed his head and went up to the porch. God be

thanked, thought the overseer, the storm has blown over!



It would have been hard to drive up, your honor, he added. I

heard, your honor, that a minister is coming to visit your honor.



The prince turned round to the overseer and fixed his eyes on him,

frowning.



What? A minister? What minister? Who gave orders? he said in

his shrill, harsh voice. The road is not swept for the princess my

daughter, but for a minister! For me, there are no ministers!



Your honor, I thought...



You thought! shouted the prince, his words coming more and more

rapidly and indistinctly. You thought!... Rascals! Blackguards!...

Ill teach you to think! and lifting his stick he swung it and

would have hit Alptych, the overseer, had not the latter instinctively

avoided the blow. Thought... Blackguards... shouted the prince

rapidly.



But although Alptych, frightened at his own temerity in avoiding the

stroke, came up to the prince, bowing his bald head resignedly before

him, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, though he continued

to shout Blackguards!... Throw the snow back on the road! did not

lift his stick again but hurried into the house.



Before dinner, Princess Mary and Mademoiselle Bourienne, who knew

that the prince was in a bad humor, stood awaiting him Mademoiselle

Bourienne with a radiant face that said I know nothing, I am the

same as usual, and Princess Mary pale, frightened, and with downcast

eyes. What she found hardest to bear was to know that on such occasions

she ought to behave like Mademoiselle Bourienne, but could not.

She thought If I seem not to notice he will think that I do not

sympathize with him if I seem sad and out of spirits myself, he will

say (as he has done before) that Im in the dumps.



The prince looked at his daughters frightened face and snorted.



Fool... or dummy! he muttered.



And the other one is not here. Theyve been telling tales, he

thoughtreferring to the little princess who was not in the dining

room.



Where is the princess? he asked. Hiding?



She is not very well, answered Mademoiselle Bourienne with

a bright smile, so she wont come down. It is natural in her

state.



Hm! Hm! muttered the prince, sitting down.



His plate seemed to him not quite clean, and pointing to a spot he

flung it away. Tkhon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little

princess was not unwell, but had such an overpowering fear of the prince

that, hearing he was in a bad humor, she had decided not to appear.



I am afraid for the baby, she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne

Heaven knows what a fright might do.



In general at Bald Hills the little princess lived in constant fear, and

with a sense of antipathy to the old prince which she did not

realize because the fear was so much the stronger feeling. The prince

reciprocated this antipathy, but it was overpowered by his contempt

for her. When the little princess had grown accustomed to life at Bald

Hills, she took a special fancy to Mademoiselle Bourienne, spent whole

days with her, asked her to sleep in her room, and often talked with her

about the old prince and criticized him.



So we are to have visitors, mon prince? remarked Mademoiselle

Bourienne, unfolding her white napkin with her rosy fingers. His

Excellency Prince Vasli Kurgin and his son, I understand? she

said inquiringly.



Hm!his excellency is a puppy.... I got him his appointment in the

service, said the prince disdainfully. Why his son is coming I

dont understand. Perhaps Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary know.

I dont want him. (He looked at his blushing daughter.) Are you

unwell today? Eh? Afraid of the minister as that idiot Alptych

called him this morning?



No, mon pre.



Though Mademoiselle Bourienne had been so unsuccessful in her choice

of a subject, she did not stop talking, but chattered about the

conservatories and the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and

after the soup the prince became more genial.



After dinner, he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess

was sitting at a small table, chattering with Msha, her maid. She grew

pale on seeing her father-in-law.



She was much altered. She was now plain rather than pretty. Her cheeks

had sunk, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes drawn down.



Yes, I feel a kind of oppression, she said in reply to the

princes question as to how she felt.



Do you want anything?



No, merci, mon pre.



Well, all right, all right.



He left the room and went to the waiting room where Alptych stood with

bowed head.



Has the snow been shoveled back?



Yes, your excellency. Forgive me for heavens sake... It was only

my stupidity.



All right, all right, interrupted the prince, and laughing his

unnatural way, he stretched out his hand for Alptych to kiss, and then

proceeded to his study.



Prince Vasli arrived that evening. He was met in the avenue by

coachmen and footmen, who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up to

one of the lodges over the road purposely laden with snow.



Prince Vasli and Anatole had separate rooms assigned to them.



Anatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat with arms akimbo before a

table on a corner of which he smilingly and absent-mindedly fixed his

large and handsome eyes. He regarded his whole life as a continual round

of amusement which someone for some reason had to provide for him.

And he looked on this visit to a churlish old man and a rich and ugly

heiress in the same way. All this might, he thought, turn out very well

and amusingly. And why not marry her if she really has so much money?

That never does any harm, thought Anatole.



He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance which had

become habitual to him and, his handsome head held high, entered his

fathers room with the good-humored and victorious air natural to

him. Prince Vaslis two valets were busy dressing him, and he looked

round with much animation and cheerfully nodded to his son as the latter

entered, as if to say Yes, thats how I want you to look.



I say, Father, joking apart, is she very hideous? Anatole asked,

as if continuing a conversation the subject of which had often been

mentioned during the journey.



Enough! What nonsense! Above all, try to be respectful and cautious

with the old prince.



If he starts a row Ill go away, said Prince Anatole. I

cant bear those old men! Eh?



Remember, for you everything depends on this.



In the meantime, not only was it known in the maidservants rooms that

the minister and his son had arrived, but the appearance of both had

been minutely described. Princess Mary was sitting alone in her room,

vainly trying to master her agitation.



Why did they write, why did Lise tell me about it? It can never

happen! she said, looking at herself in the glass. How shall I

enter the drawing room? Even if I like him I cant now be myself with

him. The mere thought of her fathers look filled her with terror.

The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already received

from Msha, the ladys maid, the necessary report of how handsome the

ministers son was, with his rosy cheeks and dark eyebrows, and with

what difficulty the father had dragged his legs upstairs while the son

had followed him like an eagle, three steps at a time. Having received

this information, the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose

chattering voices had reached her from the corridor, went into Princess

Marys room.



You know theyve come, Marie? said the little princess, waddling

in, and sinking heavily into an armchair.



She was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in the morning,

but had on one of her best dresses. Her hair was carefully done and her

face was animated, which, however, did not conceal its sunken and faded

outlines. Dressed as she used to be in Petersburg society, it was still

more noticeable how much plainer she had become. Some unobtrusive touch

had been added to Mademoiselle Bouriennes toilet which rendered her

fresh and pretty face yet more attractive.



What! Are you going to remain as you are, dear princess? she

began. Theyll be announcing that the gentlemen are in the drawing

room and we shall have to go down, and you have not smartened yourself

up at all!



The little princess got up, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and merrily

began to devise and carry out a plan of how Princess Mary should be

dressed. Princess Marys self-esteem was wounded by the fact that

the arrival of a suitor agitated her, and still more so by both

her companions not having the least conception that it could be

otherwise. To tell them that she felt ashamed for herself and for them

would be to betray her agitation, while to decline their offers to

dress her would prolong their banter and insistence. She flushed, her

beautiful eyes grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and it took

on the unattractive martyrlike expression it so often wore, as she

submitted herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both these women

quite sincerely tried to make her look pretty. She was so plain that

neither of them could think of her as a rival, so they began dressing

her with perfect sincerity, and with the nave and firm conviction

women have that dress can make a face pretty.



No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty, said Lise, looking

sideways at Princess Mary from a little distance. You have a maroon

dress, have it fetched. Really! You know the fate of your whole life may

be at stake. But this one is too light, its not becoming!



It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary

that was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little

princess felt this they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed

in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on

the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well. They forgot that

the frightened face and the figure could not be altered, and that

however they might change the setting and adornment of that face, it

would still remain piteous and plain. After two or three changes to

which Princess Mary meekly submitted, just as her hair had been arranged

on the top of her head (a style that quite altered and spoiled her

looks) and she had put on a maroon dress with a pale-blue scarf, the

little princess walked twice round her, now adjusting a fold of the

dress with her little hand, now arranging the scarf and looking at her

with her head bent first on one side and then on the other.



No, it will not do, she said decidedly, clasping her hands. No,

Mary, really this dress does not suit you. I prefer you in your little

gray everyday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. Katie, she said

to the maid, bring the princess her gray dress, and youll see,

Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I shall arrange it, she added, smiling

with a foretaste of artistic pleasure.



But when Katie brought the required dress, Princess Mary remained

sitting motionless before the glass, looking at her face, and saw in the

mirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth quivering, ready to burst

into sobs.



Come, dear princess, said Mademoiselle Bourienne, just one more

little effort.



The little princess, taking the dress from the maid, came up to Princess

Mary.



Well, now well arrange something quite simple and becoming, she

said.



The three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bouriennes, and Katies, who

was laughing at something, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirping

of birds.



No, leave me alone, said Princess Mary.



Her voice sounded so serious and so sad that the chirping of the birds

was silenced at once. They looked at the beautiful, large, thoughtful

eyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing shiningly and imploringly at

them, and understood that it was useless and even cruel to insist.



At least, change your coiffure, said the little princess.

Didnt I tell you, she went on, turning reproachfully to

Mademoiselle Bourienne, Marys is a face which such a coiffure does

not suit in the least. Not in the least! Please change it.



Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It is all quite the same to

me, answered a voice struggling with tears.



Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to own to themselves

that Princess Mary in this guise looked very plain, worse than usual,

but it was too late. She was looking at them with an expression they

both knew, an expression thoughtful and sad. This expression in Princess

Mary did not frighten them (she never inspired fear in anyone), but they

knew that when it appeared on her face, she became mute and was not to

be shaken in her determination.



You will change it, wont you? said Lise. And as Princess Mary

gave no answer, she left the room.



Princess Mary was left alone. She did not comply with Lises request,

she not only left her hair as it was, but did not even look in her

glass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat with downcast eyes and

pondered. A husband, a man, a strong dominant and strangely attractive

being rose in her imagination, and carried her into a totally different

happy world of his own. She fancied a child, her ownsuch as she had

seen the day before in the arms of her nurses daughterat her

own breast, the husband standing by and gazing tenderly at her and the

child. But no, it is impossible, I am too ugly, she thought.



Please come to tea. The prince will be out in a moment, came the

maids voice at the door.



She roused herself, and felt appalled at what she had been thinking, and

before going down she went into the room where the icons hung and, her

eyes fixed on the dark face of a large icon of the Saviour lit by a

lamp, she stood before it with folded hands for a few moments. A painful

doubt filled her soul. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a

man, be for her? In her thoughts of marriage Princess Mary dreamed of

happiness and of children, but her strongest, most deeply hidden longing

was for earthly love. The more she tried to hide this feeling from

others and even from herself, the stronger it grew. O God, she

said, how am I to stifle in my heart these temptations of the devil?

How am I to renounce forever these vile fancies, so as peacefully to

fulfill Thy will? And scarcely had she put that question than God

gave her the answer in her own heart. Desire nothing for thyself,

seek nothing, be not anxious or envious. Mans future and thy own fate

must remain hidden from thee, but live so that thou mayest be ready for

anything. If it be Gods will to prove thee in the duties of marriage,

be ready to fulfill His will. With this consoling thought (but

yet with a hope for the fulfillment of her forbidden earthly longing)

Princess Mary sighed, and having crossed herself went down, thinking

neither of her gown and coiffure nor of how she would go in nor of what

she would say. What could all that matter in comparison with the will of

God, without Whose care not a hair of mans head can fall?











CHAPTER IV



When Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasli and his son were already

in the drawing room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle

Bourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on her heels,

the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and the little princess,

indicating her to the gentlemen, said Voil Marie! Princess Mary

saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw Prince Vaslis face,

serious for an instant at the sight of her, but immediately smiling

again, and the little princess curiously noting the impression

Marie produced on the visitors. And she saw Mademoiselle

Bourienne, with her ribbon and pretty face, and her unusually animated

look which was fixed on him, but him she could not see, she only saw

something large, brilliant, and handsome moving toward her as she

entered the room. Prince Vasli approached first, and she kissed the

bold forehead that bent over her hand and answered his question by

saying that, on the contrary, she remembered him quite well. Then

Anatole came up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a

soft hand taking hers firmly, and she touched with her lips a white

forehead, over which was beautiful light-brown hair smelling of pomade.

When she looked up at him she was struck by his beauty. Anatole stood

with his right thumb under a button of his uniform, his chest expanded

and his back drawn in, slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a

little bent, looked with beaming face at the princess without

speaking and evidently not thinking about her at all. Anatole was not

quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in conversation, but he had the

faculty, so invaluable in society, of composure and imperturbable

self-possession. If a man lacking in self-confidence remains dumb on

a first introduction and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of

such silence and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect is

bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the

princess hair. It was evident that he could be silent in this way for

a very long time. If anyone finds this silence inconvenient, let him

talk, but I dont want to, he seemed to say. Besides this, in his

behavior to women Anatole had a manner which particularly inspires in

them curiosity, awe, and even lovea supercilious consciousness of

his own superiority. It was as if he said to them I know you, I know

you, but why should I bother about you? Youd be only too glad, of

course. Perhaps he did not really think this when he met womeneven

probably he did not, for in general he thought very littlebut his

looks and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, and as if

wishing to show him that she did not even dare expect to interest him,

she turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated,

thanks to Princess Lises voice and little downy lip that lifted over

her white teeth. She met Prince Vasli with that playful manner often

employed by lively chatty people, and consisting in the assumption

that between the person they so address and themselves there are some

semi-private, long-established jokes and amusing reminiscences, though

no such reminiscences really existjust as none existed in this case.

Prince Vasli readily adopted her tone and the little princess also

drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew, into these amusing recollections of

things that had never occurred. Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared them

and even Princess Mary felt herself pleasantly made to share in these

merry reminiscences.



Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all to

ourselves, dear prince, said the little princess (of course, in

French) to Prince Vasli. Its not as at Annettes * receptions

where you always ran away you remember cette chre Annette!



    * Anna Pvlovna.



Ah, but you wont talk politics to me like Annette!



And our little tea table?



Oh, yes!



Why is it you were never at Annettes? the little princess asked

Anatole. Ah, I know, I know, she said with a sly glance, your

brother Hippolyte told me about your goings on. Oh! and she shook her

finger at him, I have even heard of your doings in Paris!



And didnt Hippolyte tell you? asked Prince Vasli, turning to

his son and seizing the little princess arm as if she would have run

away and he had just managed to catch her, didnt he tell you how

he himself was pining for the dear princess, and how she showed him the

door? Oh, she is a pearl among women, Princess, he added, turning to

Princess Mary.



When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part seized the

opportunity of joining in the general current of recollections.



She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long since Anatole

had left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatole answered the

Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with a smile, talked to her

about her native land. When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, Anatole

came to the conclusion that he would not find Bald Hills dull either.

Not at all bad! he thought, examining her, not at all bad, that

little companion! I hope she will bring her along with her when were

married, la petite est gentille. *



    * The little one is charming.



The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning and considering

what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyed him. What are

Prince Vasli and that son of his to me? Prince Vasli is a shallow

braggart and his son, no doubt, is a fine specimen, he grumbled to

himself. What angered him was that the coming of these visitors revived

in his mind an unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one about

which he always deceived himself. The question was whether he could ever

bring himself to part from his daughter and give her to a husband. The

prince never directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand

that he would have to answer it justly, and justice clashed not only

with his feelings but with the very possibility of life. Life without

Princess Mary, little as he seemed to value her, was unthinkable to

him. And why should she marry? he thought. To be unhappy for

certain. Theres Lise, married to Andrewa better husband one would

think could hardly be found nowadaysbut is she contented with her

lot? And who would marry Marie for love? Plain and awkward! Theyll

take her for her connections and wealth. Are there no women living

unmarried, and even the happier for it? So thought Prince Bolknski

while dressing, and yet the question he was always putting off demanded

an immediate answer. Prince Vasli had brought his son with the evident

intention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably ask

for an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad. Well,

Ive nothing against it, the prince said to himself, but he must

be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see.



That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see! he added

aloud.



He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancing rapidly

round the company. He noticed the change in the little princess

dress, Mademoiselle Bouriennes ribbon, Princess Marys unbecoming

coiffure, Mademoiselle Bouriennes and Anatoles smiles, and the

loneliness of his daughter amid the general conversation. Got herself

up like a fool! he thought, looking irritably at her. She is

shameless, and he ignores her!



He went straight up to Prince Vasli.



Well! How dye do? How dye do? Glad to see you!



Friendship laughs at distance, began Prince Vasli in his usual

rapid, self-confident, familiar tone. Here is my second son please

love and befriend him.



Prince Bolknski surveyed Anatole.



Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow! he said. Well, come and

kiss me, and he offered his cheek.



Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect

composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities his father had

told him to expect.



Prince Bolknski sat down in his usual place in the corner of the sofa

and, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasli, pointed to it and began

questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to listen

attentively to what Prince Vasli said, but kept glancing at Princess

Mary.



And so they are writing from Potsdam already? he said, repeating

Prince Vaslis last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to his

daughter.



Is it for visitors youve got yourself up like that, eh? said

he. Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new way for

the visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future you are

never to dare to change your way of dress without my consent.



It was my fault, mon pre, interceded the little princess, with a

blush.



You must do as you please, said Prince Bolknski, bowing to his

daughter-in-law, but she need not make a fool of herself, shes

plain enough as it is.



And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter, who was

reduced to tears.



On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very well, said

Prince Vasli.



Now you, young prince, whats your name? said Prince Bolknski,

turning to Anatole, come here, let us talk and get acquainted.



Now the fun begins, thought Anatole, sitting down with a smile

beside the old prince.



Well, my dear boy, I hear youve been educated abroad, not taught

to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell me,

my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards? asked the old man,

scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.



No, I have been transferred to the line, said Anatole, hardly able

to restrain his laughter.



Ah! Thats a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to serve the

Tsar and the country? It is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve.

Well, are you off to the front?



No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but I am attached...

what is it I am attached to, Papa? said Anatole, turning to his

father with a laugh.



A splendid soldier, splendid! What am I attached to! Ha, ha,

ha! laughed Prince Bolknski, and Anatole laughed still louder.

Suddenly Prince Bolknski frowned.



You may go, he said to Anatole.



Anatole returned smiling to the ladies.



And so youve had him educated abroad, Prince Vasli, havent

you? said the old prince to Prince Vasli.



I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the education there

is much better than ours.



Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is changed. The

lads a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with me now. He took

Prince Vaslis arm and led him to his study. As soon as they were

alone together, Prince Vasli announced his hopes and wishes to the old

prince.



Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I cant part from

her? said the old prince angrily. What an idea! Im ready for it

tomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want to know my son-in-law better. You

know my principleseverything aboveboard! I will ask her tomorrow in

your presence if she is willing, then he can stay on. He can stay and

Ill see. The old prince snorted. Let her marry, its all the

same to me! he screamed in the same piercing tone as when parting

from his son.



I will tell you frankly, said Prince Vasli in the tone of

a crafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning with so

keen-sighted a companion. You know, you see right through people.

Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad an excellent

son or kinsman.



All right, all right, well see!



As always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length of time

without male society, on Anatoles appearance all the three women of

Prince Bolknskis household felt that their life had not been real

till then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling, and observing immediately

increased tenfold, and their life, which seemed to have been passed in

darkness, was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, full of significance.



Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure. The

handsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband absorbed

all her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave, determined, manly, and

magnanimous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands of dreams of a future

family life continually rose in her imagination. She drove them away and

tried to conceal them.



But am I not too cold with him? thought the princess. I try

to be reserved because in the depth of my soul I feel too near to him

already, but then he cannot know what I think of him and may imagine

that I do not like him.



And Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial to her new

guest. Poor girl, shes devilish ugly! thought Anatole.



Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by Anatoles

arrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome young woman

without any definite position, without relations or even a country, did

not intend to devote her life to serving Prince Bolknski, to reading

aloud to him and being friends with Princess Mary. Mademoiselle

Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russian prince who, able to

appreciate at a glance her superiority to the plain, badly dressed,

ungainly Russian princesses, would fall in love with her and carry her

off and here at last was a Russian prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew

a story, heard from her aunt but finished in her own way, which she

liked to repeat to herself. It was the story of a girl who had been

seduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa pauvre mre) appeared, and

reproached her for yielding to a man without being married. Mademoiselle

Bourienne was often touched to tears as in imagination she told this

story to him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian prince, had

appeared. He would carry her away and then sa pauvre mre would appear

and he would marry her. So her future shaped itself in Mademoiselle

Bouriennes head at the very time she was talking to Anatole about

Paris. It was not calculation that guided her (she did not even for a

moment consider what she should do), but all this had long been familiar

to her, and now that Anatole had appeared it just grouped itself around

him and she wished and tried to please him as much as possible.



The little princess, like an old war horse that hears the trumpet,

unconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared for the

familiar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or any

struggle, but with nave and lighthearted gaiety.



Although in female society Anatole usually assumed the role of a man

tired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered by the

spectacle of his power over these three women. Besides that, he was

beginning to feel for the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne

that passionate animal feeling which was apt to master him with great

suddenness and prompt him to the coarsest and most reckless actions.



After tea, the company went into the sitting room and Princess Mary was

asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and in high spirits,

came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and beside Mademoiselle

Bourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with a painfully joyous emotion.

Her favorite sonata bore her into a most intimately poetic world and

the look she felt upon her made that world still more poetic. But

Anatoles expression, though his eyes were fixed on her, referred not

to her but to the movements of Mademoiselle Bouriennes little

foot, which he was then touching with his own under the clavichord.

Mademoiselle Bourienne was also looking at Princess Mary, and in her

lovely eyes there was a look of fearful joy and hope that was also new

to the princess.



How she loves me! thought Princess Mary. How happy I am now,

and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Husband?

Can it be possible? she thought, not daring to look at his face, but

still feeling his eyes gazing at her.



In the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire, Anatole

kissed Princess Marys hand. She did not know how she found the

courage, but she looked straight into his handsome face as it came near

to her shortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went up and

kissed Mademoiselle Bouriennes hand. (This was not etiquette, but

then he did everything so simply and with such assurance!) Mademoiselle

Bourienne flushed, and gave the princess a frightened look.



What delicacy! thought the princess. Is it possible that

Amlie (Mademoiselle Bourienne) thinks I could be jealous of her,

and not value her pure affection and devotion to me? She went up

to her and kissed her warmly. Anatole went up to kiss the little

princess hand.



No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that you are behaving

well I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till then! she said. And

smilingly raising a finger at him, she left the room.











CHAPTER V



They all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon as he

got into bed, all kept awake a long time that night.



Is he really to be my husband, this stranger who is so kindyes,

kind, that is the chief thing, thought Princess Mary and fear, which

she had seldom experienced, came upon her. She feared to look round, it

seemed to her that someone was there standing behind the screen in the

dark corner. And this someone was hethe deviland he was also this

man with the white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.



She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.



Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the conservatory for a long

time that evening, vainly expecting someone, now smiling at someone, now

working herself up to tears with the imaginary words of her pauvre mre

rebuking her for her fall.



The little princess grumbled to her maid that her bed was badly made.

She could not lie either on her face or on her side. Every position was

awkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed her now more than

ever because Anatoles presence had vividly recalled to her the time

when she was not like that and when everything was light and gay. She

sat in an armchair in her dressing jacket and nightcap and Katie, sleepy

and disheveled, beat and turned the heavy feather bed for the third

time, muttering to herself.



I told you it was all lumps and holes! the little princess

repeated. I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so its not my

fault! and her voice quivered like that of a child about to cry.



The old prince did not sleep either. Tkhon, half asleep, heard him

pacing angrily about and snorting. The old prince felt as though he

had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the more pointed

because it concerned not himself but another, his daughter, whom he

loved more than himself. He kept telling himself that he would consider

the whole matter and decide what was right and how he should act, but

instead of that he only excited himself more and more.



The first man that turns upshe forgets her father and everything

else, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags her tail and is unlike

herself! Glad to throw her father over! And she knew I should notice

it. Fr... fr... fr! And dont I see that that idiot had eyes only for

BourienneI shall have to get rid of her. And how is it she has not

pride enough to see it? If she has no pride for herself she might at

least have some for my sake! She must be shown that the blockhead thinks

nothing of her and looks only at Bourienne. No, she has no pride... but

Ill let her see....



The old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making a

mistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne,

Princess Marys self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not to

be parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with this

thought, he called Tkhon and began to undress.



What devil brought them here? thought he, while Tkhon was

putting the nightshirt over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest.

I never invited them. They came to disturb my lifeand there is not

much of it left.



Devil take em! he muttered, while his head was still covered by

the shirt.



Tkhon knew his masters habit of sometimes thinking aloud, and

therefore met with unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expression of

the face that emerged from the shirt.



Gone to bed? asked the prince.



Tkhon, like all good valets, instinctively knew the direction of his

masters thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to Prince

Vasli and his son.



They have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency.



No good... no good... said the prince rapidly, and thrusting his

feet into his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing

gown, he went to the couch on which he slept.



Though no words had passed between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne,

they quite understood one another as to the first part of their romance,

up to the appearance of the pauvre mre they understood that they had

much to say to one another in private and so they had been seeking an

opportunity since morning to meet one another alone. When Princess Mary

went to her fathers room at the usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne

and Anatole met in the conservatory.



Princess Mary went to the door of the study with special trepidation.

It seemed to her that not only did everybody know that her fate would be

decided that day, but that they also knew what she thought about it. She

read this in Tkhons face and in that of Prince Vaslis valet,

who made her a low bow when she met him in the corridor carrying hot

water.



The old prince was very affectionate and careful in his treatment of

his daughter that morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstaking

expression of her fathers. His face wore that expression when his

dry hands clenched with vexation at her not understanding a sum in

arithmetic, when rising from his chair he would walk away from her,

repeating in a low voice the same words several times over.



He came to the point at once, treating her ceremoniously.



I have had a proposition made me concerning you, he said with an

unnatural smile. I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasli has

not come and brought his pupil with him (for some reason Prince

Bolknski referred to Anatole as a pupil) for the sake of my

beautiful eyes. Last night a proposition was made me on your account

and, as you know my principles, I refer it to you.



How am I to understand you, mon pre? said the princess, growing

pale and then blushing.



How understand me! cried her father angrily. Prince Vasli

finds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a proposal to you

on his pupils behalf. Thats how its to be understood! How

understand it!... And I ask you!



I do not know what you think, Father, whispered the princess.



I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the question. Im not going to

get married. What about you? Thats what I want to know.



The princess saw that her father regarded the matter with disapproval,

but at that moment the thought occurred to her that her fate would be

decided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as not to see the gaze

under which she felt that she could not think, but would only be able to

submit from habit, and she said I wish only to do your will, but if

I had to express my own desire... She had no time to finish. The old

prince interrupted her.



Thats admirable! he shouted. He will take you with your

dowry and take Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. Shell be the

wife, while you...



The prince stopped. He saw the effect these words had produced on his

daughter. She lowered her head and was ready to burst into tears.



Now then, now then, Im only joking! he said. Remember this,

Princess, I hold to the principle that a maiden has a full right to

choose. I give you freedom. Only remember that your lifes happiness

depends on your decision. Never mind me!



But I do not know, Father!



Theres no need to talk! He receives his orders and will marry you

or anybody but you are free to choose.... Go to your room, think it

over, and come back in an hour and tell me in his presence yes or no.

I know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like, but you had better

think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no! he still shouted

when the princess, as if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the

study.



Her fate was decided and happily decided. But what her father had said

about Mademoiselle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to be sure, but

still it was terrible, and she could not help thinking of it. She was

going straight on through the conservatory, neither seeing nor hearing

anything, when suddenly the well-known whispering of Mademoiselle

Bourienne aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps away saw

Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something to her. With

a horrified expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked at Princess

Mary, but did not at once take his arm from the waist of Mademoiselle

Bourienne who had not yet seen her.



Whos that? Why? Wait a moment! Anatoles face seemed to say.

Princess Mary looked at them in silence. She could not understand it. At

last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatole bowed to

Princess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to join in a laugh at

this strange incident, and then shrugging his shoulders went to the door

that led to his own apartments.



An hour later, Tkhon came to call Princess Mary to the old prince

he added that Prince Vasli was also there. When Tkhon came to her

Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holding the weeping

Mademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her hair. The

princess beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiance were

looking with tender affection and pity at Mademoiselle Bouriennes

pretty face.



No, Princess, I have lost your affection forever! said

Mademoiselle Bourienne.



Why? I love you more than ever, said Princess Mary, and I will

try to do all I can for your happiness.



But you despise me. You who are so pure can never understand being so

carried away by passion. Oh, only my poor mother...



I quite understand, answered Princess Mary, with a sad smile.

Calm yourself, my dear. I will go to my father, she said, and went

out.



Prince Vasli, with one leg thrown high over the other and a snuffbox

in his hand, was sitting there with a smile of deep emotion on his face,

as if stirred to his hearts core and himself regretting and laughing

at his own sensibility, when Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took a

pinch of snuff.



Ah, my dear, my dear! he began, rising and taking her by both

hands. Then, sighing, he added My sons fate is in your hands.

Decide, my dear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have always loved as a

daughter!



He drew back and a real tear appeared in his eye.



Fr... fr... snorted Prince Bolknski. The prince is making a

proposition to you in his pupilsI mean, his sonsname. Do you

wish or not to be Prince Anatole Kurgins wife? Reply yes or no,

he shouted, and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion

also. Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion, added Prince Bolknski,

turning to Prince Vasli and answering his imploring look. Yes, or

no?



My desire is never to leave you, Father, never to separate my

life from yours. I dont wish to marry, she answered positively,

glancing at Prince Vasli and at her father with her beautiful eyes.



Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, humbug! cried Prince Bolknski,

frowning and taking his daughters hand he did not kiss her, but only

bending his forehead to hers just touched it, and pressed her hand so

that she winced and uttered a cry.



Prince Vasli rose.



My dear, I must tell you that this is a moment I shall never, never

forget. But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching

this heart, so kind and generous? Say perhaps... The future is so

long. Say perhaps.



Prince, what I have said is all there is in my heart. I thank you for

the honor, but I shall never be your sons wife.



Well, so thats finished, my dear fellow! I am very glad to have

seen you. Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess. Go! said

the old prince. Very, very glad to have seen you, repeated he,

embracing Prince Vasli.



My vocation is a different one, thought Princess Mary. My

vocation is to be happy with another kind of happiness, the happiness

of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I will arrange

poor Amlies happiness, she loves him so passionately, and so

passionately repents. I will do all I can to arrange the match between

them. If he is not rich I will give her the means I will ask my

father and Andrew. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is so

unfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And, oh God, how passionately

she must love him if she could so far forget herself! Perhaps I might

have done the same!... thought Princess Mary.











CHAPTER VI



It was long since the Rostvs had news of Nicholas. Not till midwinter

was the count at last handed a letter addressed in his sons

handwriting. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his study in alarm and

haste, trying to escape notice, closed the door, and began to read the

letter.



Anna Mikhylovna, who always knew everything that passed in the house,

on hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into the room and

found the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughing at the same

time.



Anna Mikhylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was still

living with the Rostvs.



My dear friend? said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry, prepared

to sympathize in any way.



The count sobbed yet more.



Niklenka... a letter... wa... a... s... wounded... my darling

boy... the countess... promoted to be an officer... thank God... How

tell the little countess!



Anna Mikhylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchief wiped

the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having dried her

own eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner and till

teatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with Gods

help, would inform her.



At dinner Anna Mikhylovna talked the whole time about the war news

and about Niklenka, twice asked when the last letter had been received

from him, though she knew that already, and remarked that they might

very likely be getting a letter from him that day. Each time that these

hints began to make the countess anxious and she glanced uneasily at

the count and at Anna Mikhylovna, the latter very adroitly turned

the conversation to insignificant matters. Natsha, who, of the whole

family, was the most gifted with a capacity to feel any shades of

intonation, look, and expression, pricked up her ears from the beginning

of the meal and was certain that there was some secret between her

father and Anna Mikhylovna, that it had something to do with her

brother, and that Anna Mikhylovna was preparing them for it. Bold as

she was, Natsha, who knew how sensitive her mother was to anything

relating to Niklenka, did not venture to ask any questions at dinner,

but she was too excited to eat anything and kept wriggling about on her

chair regardless of her governess remarks. After dinner, she rushed

headlong after Anna Mikhylovna and, dashing at her, flung herself on

her neck as soon as she overtook her in the sitting room.



Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is!



Nothing, my dear.



No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I wont give upI know you know

something.



Anna Mikhylovna shook her head.



You are a little slyboots, she said.



A letter from Niklenka! Im sure of it! exclaimed Natsha,

reading confirmation in Anna Mikhylovnas face.



But for Gods sake, be careful, you know how it may affect your

mamma.



I will, I will, only tell me! You wont? Then I will go and tell at

once.



Anna Mikhylovna, in a few words, told her the contents of the letter,

on condition that she should tell no one.



No, on my true word of honor, said Natsha, crossing herself,

I wont tell anyone! and she ran off at once to Snya.



Niklenka... wounded... a letter, she announced in gleeful

triumph.



Nicholas! was all Snya said, instantly turning white.



Natsha, seeing the impression the news of her brothers wound

produced on Snya, felt for the first time the sorrowful side of the

news.



She rushed to Snya, hugged her, and began to cry.



A little wound, but he has been made an officer he is well now, he

wrote himself, said she through her tears.



There now! Its true that all you women are crybabies, remarked

Ptya, pacing the room with large, resolute strides. Now Im very

glad, very glad indeed, that my brother has distinguished himself so.

You are all blubberers and understand nothing.



Natsha smiled through her tears.



You havent read the letter? asked Snya.



No, but she said that it was all over and that hes now an

officer.



Thank God! said Snya, crossing herself. But perhaps she

deceived you. Let us go to Mamma.



Ptya paced the room in silence for a time.



If Id been in Niklenkas place I would have killed even more

of those Frenchmen, he said. What nasty brutes they are! Id

have killed so many that thered have been a heap of them.



Hold your tongue, Ptya, what a goose you are!



Im not a goose, but they are who cry about trifles, said

Ptya.



Do you remember him? Natsha suddenly asked, after a moments

silence.



Snya smiled.



Do I remember Nicholas?



No, Snya, but do you remember so that you remember him perfectly,

remember everything? said Natsha, with an expressive gesture,

evidently wishing to give her words a very definite meaning. I

remember Niklenka too, I remember him well, she said. But I

dont remember Bors. I dont remember him a bit.



What! You dont remember Bors? asked Snya in surprise.



Its not that I dont rememberI know what he is like, but not

as I remember Niklenka. HimI just shut my eyes and remember,

but Bors... No! (She shut her eyes.) No! theres nothing at

all.



Oh, Natsha! said Snya, looking ecstatically and earnestly at

her friend as if she did not consider her worthy to hear what she meant

to say and as if she were saying it to someone else, with whom joking

was out of the question, I am in love with your brother once for all

and, whatever may happen to him or to me, shall never cease to love him

as long as I live.



Natsha looked at Snya with wondering and inquisitive eyes, and said

nothing. She felt that Snya was speaking the truth, that there was

such love as Snya was speaking of. But Natsha had not yet felt

anything like it. She believed it could be, but did not understand it.



Shall you write to him? she asked.



Snya became thoughtful. The question of how to write to Nicholas, and

whether she ought to write, tormented her. Now that he was already an

officer and a wounded hero, would it be right to remind him of herself

and, as it might seem, of the obligations to her he had taken on

himself?



I dont know. I think if he writes, I will write too, she said,

blushing.



And you wont feel ashamed to write to him?



Snya smiled.



No.



And I should be ashamed to write to Bors. Im not going to.



Why should you be ashamed?



Well, I dont know. Its awkward and would make me ashamed.



And I know why shed be ashamed, said Ptya, offended by

Natshas previous remark. Its because she was in love with

that fat one in spectacles (that was how Ptya described his

namesake, the new Count Bezkhov) and now shes in love with that

singer (he meant Natshas Italian singing master), thats

why shes ashamed!



Ptya, youre a stupid! said Natsha.



Not more stupid than you, madam, said the nine-year-old Ptya,

with the air of an old brigadier.



The countess had been prepared by Anna Mikhylovnas hints at dinner.

On retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, her eyes fixed on a

miniature portrait of her son on the lid of a snuffbox, while the tears

kept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikhylovna, with the letter, came on

tiptoe to the countess door and paused.



Dont come in, she said to the old count who was following her.

Come later. And she went in, closing the door behind her.



The count put his ear to the keyhole and listened.



At first he heard the sound of indifferent voices, then Anna

Mikhylovnas voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, then silence,

then both voices together with glad intonations, and then footsteps.

Anna Mikhylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proud expression

of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operation and admits the

public to appreciate his skill.



It is done! she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to the

countess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and

in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to her lips.



When she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him, embraced his

bald head, over which she again looked at the letter and the portrait,

and in order to press them again to her lips, she slightly pushed away

the bald head. Vra, Natsha, Snya, and Ptya now entered the room,

and the reading of the letter began. After a brief description of

the campaign and the two battles in which he had taken part, and his

promotion, Nicholas said that he kissed his fathers and mothers

hands asking for their blessing, and that he kissed Vra, Natsha, and

Ptya. Besides that, he sent greetings to Monsieur Schelling, Madame

Schoss, and his old nurse, and asked them to kiss for him dear

Snya, whom he loved and thought of just the same as ever. When she

heard this Snya blushed so that tears came into her eyes and, unable

to bear the looks turned upon her, ran away into the dancing hall,

whirled round it at full speed with her dress puffed out like a balloon,

and, flushed and smiling, plumped down on the floor. The countess was

crying.



Why are you crying, Mamma? asked Vra. From all he says one

should be glad and not cry.



This was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natsha looked

at her reproachfully. And who is it she takes after? thought the

countess.



Nicholas letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were

considered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for she

did not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses, and

Dmtri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread the letter

each time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in it fresh

proofs of Niklenkas virtues. How strange, how extraordinary, how

joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion of whose

tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that son about whom

she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count, that son who

had first learned to say pear and then granny, that this son

should now be away in a foreign land amid strange surroundings, a manly

warrior doing some kind of mans work of his own, without help or

guidance. The universal experience of ages, showing that children do

grow imperceptibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist for the

countess. Her sons growth toward manhood, at each of its stages,

had seemed as extraordinary to her as if there had never existed the

millions of human beings who grew up in the same way. As twenty

years before, it seemed impossible that the little creature who lived

somewhere under her heart would ever cry, suck her breast, and begin to

speak, so now she could not believe that that little creature could be

this strong, brave man, this model son and officer that, judging by this

letter, he now was.



What a style! How charmingly he describes! said she, reading the

descriptive part of the letter. And what a soul! Not a word about

himself.... Not a word! About some Densov or other, though he himself,

I dare say, is braver than any of them. He says nothing about his

sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! And how he has remembered

everybody! Not forgetting anyone. I always said when he was only so

highI always said....



For more than a week preparations were being made, rough drafts of

letters to Nicholas from all the household were written and copied out,

while under the supervision of the countess and the solicitude of the

count, money and all things necessary for the uniform and equipment

of the newly commissioned officer were collected. Anna Mikhylovna,

practical woman that she was, had even managed by favor with army

authorities to secure advantageous means of communication for herself

and her son. She had opportunities of sending her letters to the Grand

Duke Constantine Pvlovich, who commanded the Guards. The Rostvs

supposed that The Russian Guards, Abroad, was quite a definite address,

and that if a letter reached the Grand Duke in command of the Guards

there was no reason why it should not reach the Pvlograd regiment,

which was presumably somewhere in the same neighborhood. And so it was

decided to send the letters and money by the Grand Dukes courier to

Bors and Bors was to forward them to Nicholas. The letters were from

the old count, the countess, Ptya, Vra, Natsha, and Snya, and

finally there were six thousand rubles for his outfit and various other

things the old count sent to his son.











CHAPTER VII



On the twelfth of November, Kutzovs active army, in camp before

Olmtz, was preparing to be reviewed next day by the two Emperorsthe

Russian and the Austrian. The Guards, just arrived from Russia, spent

the night ten miles from Olmtz and next morning were to come straight

to the review, reaching the field at Olmtz by ten oclock.



That day Nicholas Rostv received a letter from Bors, telling him

that the Ismylov regiment was quartered for the night ten miles from

Olmtz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and money for

him. Rostv was particularly in need of money now that the troops,

after their active service, were stationed near Olmtz and the camp

swarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering

all sorts of tempting wares. The Pvlograds held feast after feast,

celebrating awards they had received for the campaign, and made

expeditions to Olmtz to visit a certain Caroline the Hungarian,

who had recently opened a restaurant there with girls as waitresses.

Rostv, who had just celebrated his promotion to a cornetcy and bought

Densovs horse, Bedouin, was in debt all round, to his comrades and

the sutlers. On receiving Bors letter he rode with a fellow officer

to Olmtz, dined there, drank a bottle of wine, and then set off alone

to the Guards camp to find his old playmate. Rostv had not yet had

time to get his uniform. He had on a shabby cadet jacket, decorated with

a soldiers cross, equally shabby cadets riding breeches lined with

worn leather, and an officers saber with a sword knot. The Don horse

he was riding was one he had bought from a Cossack during the campaign,

and he wore a crumpled hussar cap stuck jauntily back on one side of his

head. As he rode up to the camp he thought how he would impress Bors

and all his comrades of the Guards by his appearancethat of a

fighting hussar who had been under fire.



The Guards had made their whole march as if on a pleasure trip, parading

their cleanliness and discipline. They had come by easy stages, their

knapsacks conveyed on carts, and the Austrian authorities had provided

excellent dinners for the officers at every halting place. The regiments

had entered and left the town with their bands playing, and by the Grand

Dukes orders the men had marched all the way in step (a practice on

which the Guards prided themselves), the officers on foot and at their

proper posts. Bors had been quartered, and had marched all the

way, with Berg who was already in command of a company. Berg, who had

obtained his captaincy during the campaign, had gained the confidence of

his superiors by his promptitude and accuracy and had arranged his money

matters very satisfactorily. Bors, during the campaign, had made the

acquaintance of many persons who might prove useful to him, and by

a letter of recommendation he had brought from Pierre had become

acquainted with Prince Andrew Bolknski, through whom he hoped to

obtain a post on the commander in chiefs staff. Berg and Bors,

having rested after yesterdays march, were sitting, clean and neatly

dressed, at a round table in the clean quarters allotted to them,

playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe between his knees. Bors, in

the accurate way characteristic of him, was building a little pyramid of

chessmen with his delicate white fingers while awaiting Bergs move,

and watched his opponents face, evidently thinking about the game as

he always thought only of whatever he was engaged on.



Well, how are you going to get out of that? he remarked.



Well try to, replied Berg, touching a pawn and then removing

his hand.



At that moment the door opened.



Here he is at last! shouted Rostv. And Berg too! Oh, you

petisenfans, allay cushay dormir! he exclaimed, imitating his Russian

nurses French, at which he and Bors used to laugh long ago.



Dear me, how you have changed!



Bors rose to meet Rostv, but in doing so did not omit to steady and

replace some chessmen that were falling. He was about to embrace his

friend, but Nicholas avoided him. With that peculiar feeling of youth,

that dread of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in a manner

different from that of its elders which is often insincere, Nicholas

wished to do something special on meeting his friend. He wanted to pinch

him, push him, do anything but kiss hima thing everybody did. But

notwithstanding this, Bors embraced him in a quiet, friendly way and

kissed him three times.



They had not met for nearly half a year and, being at the age when young

men take their first steps on lifes road, each saw immense changes in

the other, quite a new reflection of the society in which they had taken

those first steps. Both had changed greatly since they last met and both

were in a hurry to show the changes that had taken place in them.



Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh as if youd been to a fete,

not like us sinners of the line, cried Rostv, with martial swagger

and with baritone notes in his voice, new to Bors, pointing to his own

mud-bespattered breeches. The German landlady, hearing Rostvs loud

voice, popped her head in at the door.



Eh, is she pretty? he asked with a wink.



Why do you shout so? Youll frighten them! said Bors. I did

not expect you today, he added. I only sent you the note yesterday

by Bolknskian adjutant of Kutzovs, whos a friend of mine.

I did not think he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you?

Been under fire already? asked Bors.



Without answering, Rostv shook the soldiers Cross of St. George

fastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm,

glanced at Berg with a smile.



As you see, he said.



Indeed? Yes, yes! said Bors, with a smile. And we too have

had a splendid march. You know, of course, that His Imperial Highness

rode with our regiment all the time, so that we had every comfort and

every advantage. What receptions we had in Poland! What dinners and

balls! I cant tell you. And the Tsarvich was very gracious to all

our officers.



And the two friends told each other of their doings, the one of his

hussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of the pleasures

and advantages of service under members of the Imperial family.



Oh, you Guards! said Rostv. I say, send for some wine.



Bors made a grimace.



If you really want it, said he.



He went to his bed, drew a purse from under the clean pillow, and sent

for wine.



Yes, and I have some money and a letter to give you, he added.



Rostv took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put both

arms on the table and began to read. After reading a few lines, he

glanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behind the

letter.



Well, theyve sent you a tidy sum, said Berg, eying the heavy

purse that sank into the sofa. As for us, Count, we get along on our

pay. I can tell you for myself...



I say, Berg, my dear fellow, said Rostv, when you get a

letter from home and meet one of your own people whom you want to talk

everything over with, and I happen to be there, Ill go at once, to

be out of your way! Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil! he

exclaimed, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder and looking

amiably into his face, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his

words, he added, Dont be hurt, my dear fellow you know I speak

from my heart as to an old acquaintance.



Oh, dont 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 Bors.



Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a spot or speck of dust,

stood before a looking glass and brushed the hair on his temples

upwards, in the way affected by the Emperor Alexander, and, having

assured himself from the way Rostv looked at it that his coat had been

noticed, left the room with a pleasant smile.



Oh dear, what a beast I am! muttered Rostv, as he read the

letter.



Why?



Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written and to have given them

such a fright! Oh, what a pig I am! he repeated, flushing suddenly.

Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine? All right lets have

some!



In the letter from his parents was enclosed a letter of recommendation

to Bagratin which the old countess at Anna Mikhylovnas advice had

obtained through an acquaintance and sent to her son, asking him to take

it to its destination and make use of it.



What nonsense! Much I need it! said Rostv, throwing the letter

under the table.



Why have you thrown that away? asked Bors.



It is some letter of recommendation... what the devil do I want it

for!



Why What the devil? said Bors, picking it up and reading

the address. This letter would be of great use to you.



I want nothing, and I wont be anyones adjutant.



Why not? inquired Bors.



Its a lackeys job!



You are still the same dreamer, I see, remarked Bors, shaking

his head.



And youre still the same diplomatist! But thats not the

point... Come, how are you? asked Rostv.



Well, as you see. So far everythings all right, but I confess I

should much like to be an adjutant and not remain at the front.



Why?



Because when once a man starts on military service, he should try to

make as successful a career of it as possible.



Oh, thats it! said Rostv, evidently thinking of something

else.



He looked intently and inquiringly into his friends eyes, evidently

trying in vain to find the answer to some question.



Old Gabriel brought in the wine.



Shouldnt we now send for Berg? asked Bors. He would drink

with you. I cant.



Well, send for him... and how do you get on with that German?

asked Rostv, with a contemptuous smile.



He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow, answered

Bors.



Again Rostv looked intently into Bors eyes and sighed. Berg

returned, and over the bottle of wine conversation between the three

officers became animated. The Guardsmen told Rostv of their march and

how they had been made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. They spoke

of the sayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke, and told

stories of his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual, kept silent

when the subject did not relate to himself, but in connection with the

stories of the Grand Dukes quick temper he related with gusto how in

Galicia he had managed to deal with the Grand Duke when the latter

made a tour of the regiments and was annoyed at the irregularity of

a movement. With a pleasant smile Berg related how the Grand Duke

had ridden up to him in a violent passion, shouting Arnauts!

(Arnauts was the Tsarvichs favorite expression when he was in

a rage) and called for the company commander.



Would you believe it, Count, I was not at all alarmed, because I knew

I was right. Without boasting, you know, I may say that I know the Army

Orders by heart and know the Regulations as well as I do the Lords

Prayer. So, Count, there never is any negligence in my company, and

so my conscience was at ease. I came forward.... (Berg stood up and

showed how he presented himself, with his hand to his cap, and really

it would have been difficult for a face to express greater respect and

self-complacency than his did.) Well, he stormed at me, as the saying

is, stormed and stormed and stormed! It was not a matter of life but

rather of death, as the saying is. Albanians! and devils!

and To Siberia! said Berg with a sagacious smile. I knew I

was in the right so I kept silent was not that best, Count?... Hey,

are you dumb? he shouted. Still I remained silent. And what do you

think, Count? The next day it was not even mentioned in the Orders of

the Day. Thats what keeping ones head means. Thats the way,

Count, said Berg, lighting his pipe and emitting rings of smoke.



Yes, that was fine, said Rostv, smiling.



But Bors noticed that he was preparing to make fun of Berg, and

skillfully changed the subject. He asked him to tell them how and where

he got his wound. This pleased Rostv and he began talking about it,

and as he went on became more and more animated. He told them of his

Schn Grabern affair, just as those who have taken part in a battle

generally do describe it, that is, as they would like it to have been,

as they have heard it described by others, and as sounds well, but not

at all as it really was. Rostv was a truthful young man and would on

no account have told a deliberate lie. He began his story meaning to

tell everything just as it happened, but imperceptibly, involuntarily,

and inevitably he lapsed into falsehood. If he had told the truth to his

hearerswho like himself had often heard stories of attacks and had

formed a definite idea of what an attack was and were expecting to hear

just such a storythey would either not have believed him or, still

worse, would have thought that Rostv was himself to blame since what

generally happens to the narrators of cavalry attacks had not happened

to him. He could not tell them simply that everyone went at a trot and

that he fell off his horse and sprained his arm and then ran as hard as

he could from a Frenchman into the wood. Besides, to tell everything as

it really happened, it would have been necessary to make an effort of

will to tell only what happened. It is very difficult to tell the truth,

and young people are rarely capable of it. His hearers expected a story

of how beside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like

a storm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how his

saber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on. And so he

told them all that.



In the middle of his story, just as he was saying You cannot imagine

what a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack, Prince

Andrew, whom Bors was expecting, entered the room. Prince Andrew, who

liked to help young men, was flattered by being asked for his assistance

and being well disposed toward Bors, who had managed to please him the

day before, he wished to do what the young man wanted. Having been sent

with papers from Kutzov to the Tsarvich, he looked in on Bors,

hoping to find him alone. When he came in and saw an hussar of the line

recounting his military exploits (Prince Andrew could not endure

that sort of man), he gave Bors a pleasant smile, frowned as with

half-closed eyes he looked at Rostv, bowed slightly and wearily, and

sat down languidly on the sofa he felt it unpleasant to have dropped

in on bad company. Rostv flushed up on noticing this, but he did not

care, this was a mere stranger. Glancing, however, at Bors, he saw

that he too seemed ashamed of the hussar of the line.



In spite of Prince Andrews disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of

the contempt with which Rostv, from his fighting army point of view,

regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer

was evidently one, Rostv felt confused, blushed, and became silent.

Bors inquired what news there might be on the staff, and what, without

indiscretion, one might ask about our plans.



We shall probably advance, replied Bolknski, evidently reluctant

to say more in the presence of a stranger.



Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great politeness, whether, as was

rumored, the allowance of forage money to captains of companies would be

doubled. To this Prince Andrew answered with a smile that he could

give no opinion on such an important government order, and Berg laughed

gaily.



As to your business, Prince Andrew continued, addressing Bors,

we will talk of it later (and he looked round at Rostv). Come

to me after the review and we will do what is possible.



And, having glanced round the room, Prince Andrew turned to Rostv,

whose state of unconquerable childish embarrassment now changing to

anger he did not condescend to notice, and said I think you were

talking of the Schn Grabern affair? Were you there?



I was there, said Rostv angrily, as if intending to insult the

aide-de-camp.



Bolknski noticed the hussars state of mind, and it amused him. With

a slightly contemptuous smile, he said Yes, there are many stories

now told about that affair!



Yes, stories! repeated Rostv loudly, looking with eyes suddenly

grown furious, now at Bors, now at Bolknski. Yes, many stories!

But our stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemys

fire! Our stories have some weight, not like the stories of those

fellows on the staff who get rewards without doing anything!



Of whom you imagine me to be one? said Prince Andrew, with a quiet

and particularly amiable smile.



A strange feeling of exasperation and yet of respect for this mans

self-possession mingled at that moment in Rostvs soul.



I am not talking about you, he said, I dont know you and,

frankly, I dont want to. I am speaking of the staff in general.



And I will tell you this, Prince Andrew interrupted in a tone of

quiet authority, you wish to insult me, and I am ready to agree with

you that it would be very easy to do so if you havent sufficient

self-respect, but admit that the time and place are very badly chosen.

In a day or two we shall all have to take part in a greater and more

serious duel, and besides, Drubetsky, who says he is an old friend

of yours, is not at all to blame that my face has the misfortune to

displease you. However, he added rising, you know my name and

where to find me, but dont forget that I do not regard either myself

or you as having been at all insulted, and as a man older than you, my

advice is to let the matter drop. Well then, on Friday after the review

I shall expect you, Drubetsky. Au revoir! exclaimed Prince Andrew,

and with a bow to them both he went out.



Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostv think of what he ought to

have said. And he was still more angry at having omitted to say it. He

ordered his horse at once and, coldly taking leave of Bors, rode

home. Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge that affected

adjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the question that worried

him all the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure he would have at

seeing the fright of that small and frail but proud man when covered by

his pistol, and then he felt with surprise that of all the men he knew

there was none he would so much like to have for a friend as that very

adjutant whom he so hated.











CHAPTER VIII



The day after Rostv had been to see Bors, a review was held of the

Austrian and Russian troops, both those freshly arrived from Russia and

those who had been campaigning under Kutzov. The two Emperors,

the Russian with his heir the Tsarvich, and the Austrian with the

Archduke, inspected the allied army of eighty thousand men.



From early morning the smart clean troops were on the move, forming up

on the field before the fortress. Now thousands of feet and bayonets

moved and halted at the officers command, turned with banners flying,

formed up at intervals, and wheeled round other similar masses of

infantry in different uniforms now was heard the rhythmic beat of

hoofs and the jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red, and green braided

uniforms, with smartly dressed bandsmen in front mounted on black, roan,

or gray horses then again, spreading out with the brazen clatter of the

polished shining cannon that quivered on the gun carriages and with

the smell of linstocks, came the artillery which crawled between the

infantry and cavalry and took up its appointed position. Not only the

generals in full parade uniforms, with their thin or thick waists drawn

in to the utmost, their red necks squeezed into their stiff collars, and

wearing scarves and all their decorations, not only the elegant, pomaded

officers, but every soldier with his freshly washed and shaven face and

his weapons clean and polished to the utmost, and every horse groomed

till its coat shone like satin and every hair of its wetted mane lay

smoothfelt that no small matter was happening, but an important and

solemn affair. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his own

insignificance, aware of being but a drop in that ocean of men, and

yet at the same time was conscious of his strength as a part of that

enormous whole.



From early morning strenuous activities and efforts had begun and by ten

oclock all had been brought into due order. The ranks were drawn

up on the vast field. The whole army was extended in three lines the

cavalry in front, behind it the artillery, and behind that again the

infantry.



A space like a street was left between each two lines of troops. The

three parts of that army were sharply distinguished Kutzovs

fighting army (with the Pvlograds on the right flank of the front)

those recently arrived from Russia, both Guards and regiments of the

line and the Austrian troops. But they all stood in the same lines,

under one command, and in a like order.



Like wind over leaves ran an excited whisper Theyre coming!

Theyre coming! Alarmed voices were heard, and a stir of final

preparation swept over all the troops.



From the direction of Olmtz in front of them, a group was seen

approaching. And at that moment, though the day was still, a light gust

of wind blowing over the army slightly stirred the streamers on the

lances and the unfolded standards fluttered against their staffs. It

looked as if by that slight motion the army itself was expressing its

joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice was heard shouting

Eyes front! Then, like the crowing of cocks at sunrise, this was

repeated by others from various sides and all became silent.



In the deathlike stillness only the tramp of horses was heard. This

was the Emperors suites. The Emperors rode up to the flank, and the

trumpets of the first cavalry regiment played the general march. It

seemed as though not the trumpeters were playing, but as if the army

itself, rejoicing at the Emperors approach, had naturally burst into

music. Amid these sounds, only the youthful kindly voice of the Emperor

Alexander was clearly heard. He gave the words of greeting, and the

first regiment roared Hurrah! so deafeningly, continuously, and

joyfully that the men themselves were awed by their multitude and the

immensity of the power they constituted.



Rostv, standing in the front lines of Kutzovs army which the Tsar

approached first, experienced the same feeling as every other man in

that army a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a proud consciousness of

might, and a passionate attraction to him who was the cause of this

triumph.



He felt that at a single word from that man all this vast mass (and he

himself an insignificant atom in it) would go through fire and water,

commit crime, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, and so he could

not but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminence of that word.



Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! thundered from all sides, one regiment

after another greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, and then

Hurrah!... Then the general march, and again Hurrah! Hurrah!

growing ever stronger and fuller and merging into a deafening roar.



Till the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its silence and immobility

seemed like a lifeless body, but as soon as he came up it became alive,

its thunder joining the roar of the whole line along which he had

already passed. Through the terrible and deafening roar of those voices,

amid the square masses of troops standing motionless as if turned to

stone, hundreds of riders composing the suites moved carelessly but

symmetrically and above all freely, and in front of them two menthe

Emperors. Upon them the undivided, tensely passionate attention of that

whole mass of men was concentrated.



The handsome young Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the Horse

Guards, wearing a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, with his

pleasant face and resonant though not loud voice, attracted everyones

attention.



Rostv was not far from the trumpeters, and with his keen sight had

recognized the Tsar and watched his approach. When he was within twenty

paces, and Nicholas could clearly distinguish every detail of his

handsome, happy young face, he experienced a feeling of tenderness

and ecstasy such as he had never before known. Every trait and every

movement of the Tsars seemed to him enchanting.



Stopping in front of the Pvlograds, the Tsar said something in French

to the Austrian Emperor and smiled.



Seeing that smile, Rostv involuntarily smiled himself and felt a still

stronger flow of love for his sovereign. He longed to show that love in

some way and knowing that this was impossible was ready to cry. The Tsar

called the colonel of the regiment and said a few words to him.



Oh God, what would happen to me if the Emperor spoke to me?

thought Rostv. I should die of happiness!



The Tsar addressed the officers also I thank you all, gentlemen, I

thank you with my whole heart. To Rostv every word sounded like a

voice from heaven. How gladly would he have died at once for his Tsar!



You have earned the St. Georges standards and will be worthy of

them.



Oh, to die, to die for him, thought Rostv.



The Tsar said something more which Rostv did not hear, and the

soldiers, straining their lungs, shouted Hurrah!



Rostv too, bending over his saddle, shouted Hurrah! with all his

might, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout, if

only to express his rapture fully.



The Tsar stopped a few minutes in front of the hussars as if undecided.



How can the Emperor be undecided? thought Rostv, but then even

this indecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, like everything

else the Tsar did.



That hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsars foot, in the narrow

pointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of the bobtailed bay

mare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered up the reins, and he

moved off accompanied by an irregularly swaying sea of aides-de-camp.

Farther and farther he rode away, stopping at other regiments, till at

last only his white plumes were visible to Rostv from amid the suites

that surrounded the Emperors.



Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostv noticed Bolknski, sitting

his horse indolently and carelessly. Rostv recalled their quarrel of

yesterday and the question presented itself whether he ought or ought

not to challenge Bolknski. Of course not! he now thought. Is

it worth thinking or speaking of it at such a moment? At a time of such

love, such rapture, and such self-sacrifice, what do any of our quarrels

and affronts matter? I love and forgive everybody now.



When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troops began

a ceremonial march past him, and Rostv on Bedouin, recently purchased

from Densov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadronthat is,

alone and in full view of the Emperor.



Before he reached him, Rostv, who was a splendid horseman, spurred

Bedouin twice and successfully put him to the showy trot in which the

animal went when excited. Bending his foaming muzzle to his chest, his

tail extended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of the Emperors eye

upon him, passed splendidly, lifting his feet with a high and graceful

action, as if flying through the air without touching the ground.



Rostv himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling

himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but

blissful face like a vewy devil, as Densov expressed it.



Fine fellows, the Pvlograds! remarked the Emperor.



My God, how happy I should be if he ordered me to leap into the fire

this instant! thought Rostv.



When the review was over, the newly arrived officers, and also

Kutzovs, collected in groups and began to talk about the awards,

about the Austrians and their uniforms, about their lines, about

Bonaparte, and how badly the latter would fare now, especially if the

Essen corps arrived and Prussia took our side.



But the talk in every group was chiefly about the Emperor Alexander. His

every word and movement was described with ecstasy.



They all had but one wish to advance as soon as possible against the

enemy under the Emperors command. Commanded by the Emperor himself

they could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might so thought

Rostv and most of the officers after the review.



All were then more confident of victory than the winning of two battles

would have made them.











CHAPTER IX



The day after the review, Bors, in his best uniform and with his

comrade Bergs best wishes for success, rode to Olmtz to see

Bolknski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain for himself

the best post he couldpreferably that of adjutant to some important

personage, a position in the army which seemed to him most attractive.

It is all very well for Rostv, whose father sends him ten thousand

rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to cringe to anybody and not

be anyones lackey, but I who have nothing but my brains have to

make a career and must not miss opportunities, but must avail myself of

them! he reflected.



He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmtz that day, but the appearance of

the town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps were stationed

and the two Emperors were living with their suites, households, and

courts only strengthened his desire to belong to that higher world.



He knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsmans uniform, all these

exalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriages

with their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and military

men, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of the

Guards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, be

aware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief,

Kutzov, where he inquired for Bolknski, all the adjutants and even

the orderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that a

great many officers like him were always coming there and that everybody

was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, or rather because of

it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went to Olmtz and,

entering the house occupied by Kutzov, asked for Bolknski. Prince

Andrew was in and Bors was shown into a large hall probably formerly

used for dancing, but in which five beds now stood, and furniture of

various kinds a table, chairs, and a clavichord. One adjutant, nearest

the door, was sitting at the table in a Persian dressing gown, writing.

Another, the red, stout Nesvtski, lay on a bed with his arms under his

head, laughing with an officer who had sat down beside him. A third was

playing a Viennese waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on

the clavichord, sang the tune. Bolknski was not there. None of these

gentlemen changed his position on seeing Bors. The one who was writing

and whom Bors addressed turned round crossly and told him Bolknski

was on duty and that he should go through the door on the left into the

reception room if he wished to see him. Bors thanked him and went to

the reception room, where he found some ten officers and generals.



When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously (with

that peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says, If

it were not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment), was

listening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood very

erect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldiers obsequious expression on his

purple face, reporting something.



Very well, then, be so good as to wait, said Prince Andrew to the

general, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation he affected

when he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Bors, Prince

Andrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after him imploring

him to hear something more, nodded and turned to him with a cheerful

smile.



At that moment Bors clearly realized what he had before surmised, that

in the army, besides the subordination and discipline prescribed in the

military code, which he and the others knew in the regiment, there was

another, more important, subordination, which made this tight-laced,

purple-faced general wait respectfully while Captain Prince Andrew, for

his own pleasure, chose to chat with Lieutenant Drubetsky. More than

ever was Bors resolved to serve in future not according to the written

code, but under this unwritten law. He felt now that merely by having

been recommended to Prince Andrew he had already risen above the general

who at the front had the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of the

Guards. Prince Andrew came up to him and took his hand.



I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussing about

with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey the dispositions.

When Germans start being accurate, theres no end to it!



Bors smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding to

as something generally known. But it was the first time he had heard

Weyrothers name, or even the term dispositions.



Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I have

been thinking about you.



Yes, I was thinkingfor some reason Bors could not help

blushingof asking the commander in chief. He has had a letter from

Prince Kurgin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fear the Guards

wont be in action, he added as if in apology.



All right, all right. Well talk it over, replied Prince Andrew.

Only let me report this gentlemans business, and I shall be at

your disposal.



While Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general, that

gentlemanevidently not sharing Bors conception of the advantages

of the unwritten code of subordinationlooked so fixedly at the

presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what he had to

say to the adjutant that Bors felt uncomfortable. He turned away and

waited impatiently for Prince Andrews return from the commander in

chiefs room.



You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,

said Prince Andrew when they had gone into the large room where the

clavichord was. Its no use your going to the commander in chief.

He would say a lot of pleasant things, ask you to dinner (That

would not be bad as regards the unwritten code, thought Bors),

but nothing more would come of it. There will soon be a battalion of

us aides-de-camp and adjutants! But this is what well do I have

a good friend, an adjutant general and an excellent fellow, Prince

Dolgorkov and though you may not know it, the fact is that now

Kutzov with his staff and all of us count for nothing. Everything is

now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgorkov I have to

go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him about you. We shall

see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a place for you

somewhere nearer the sun.



Prince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide a young

man and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaining help

of this kind for another, which from pride he would never accept for

himself, he kept in touch with the circle which confers success and

which attracted him. He very readily took up Bors cause and went

with him to Dolgorkov.



It was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmtz

occupied by the Emperors and their retinues.



That same day a council of war had been held in which all the members of

the Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At that council, contrary

to the views of the old generals Kutzov and Prince Schwartzenberg, it

had been decided to advance immediately and give battle to Bonaparte.

The council of war was just over when Prince Andrew accompanied

by Bors arrived at the palace to find Dolgorkov. Everyone at

headquarters was still under the spell of the days council, at which

the party of the young had triumphed. The voices of those who counseled

delay and advised waiting for something else before advancing had been

so completely silenced and their arguments confuted by such conclusive

evidence of the advantages of attacking that what had been discussed

at the councilthe coming battle and the victory that would certainly

result from itno longer seemed to be in the future but in the past.

All the advantages were on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly

superior to Napoleons, were concentrated in one place, the troops

inspired by the Emperors presence were eager for action. The

strategic position where the operations would take place was familiar in

all its details to the Austrian General Weyrother a lucky accident had

ordained that the Austrian army should maneuver the previous year on the

very fields where the French had now to be fought the adjacent

locality was known and shown in every detail on the maps, and Bonaparte,

evidently weakened, was undertaking nothing.



Dolgorkov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had just

returned from the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proud

of the victory that had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced his

protg, but Prince Dolgorkov politely and firmly pressing his hand

said nothing to Bors and, evidently unable to suppress the thoughts

which were uppermost in his mind at that moment, addressed Prince Andrew

in French.



Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant that

the one that will result from it will be as victorious! However, dear

fellow, he said abruptly and eagerly, I must confess to having

been unjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother. What

exactitude, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, what

foresight for every eventuality, every possibility even to the smallest

detail! No, my dear fellow, no conditions better than our present ones

could have been devised. This combination of Austrian precision with

Russian valorwhat more could be wished for?



So the attack is definitely resolved on? asked Bolknski.



And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonaparte has

decidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was received from him

today for the Emperor. Dolgorkov smiled significantly.



Is that so? And what did he say? inquired Bolknski.



What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gain time.

I tell you he is in our hands, thats certain! But what was most

amusing, he continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, was that

we could not think how to address the reply! If not as Consul

and of course not as Emperor, it seemed to me it should be to

General Bonaparte.



But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling him General

Bonaparte, there is a difference, remarked Bolknski.



Thats just it, interrupted Dolgorkov quickly, laughing.

You know Bilbinhes a very clever fellow. He suggested

addressing him as Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.



Dolgorkov laughed merrily.



Only that? said Bolknski.



All the same, it was Bilbin who found a suitable form for the

address. He is a wise and clever fellow.



What was it?



To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernement

franais, said Dolgorkov, with grave satisfaction. Good,

wasnt it?



Yes, but he will dislike it extremely, said Bolknski.



Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, hes dined with himthe

present Emperormore than once in Paris, and tells me he never met a

more cunning or subtle diplomatistyou know, a combination of French

adroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the tale about him and

Count Markv? Count Markv was the only man who knew how to handle

him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It is delightful!



And the talkative Dolgorkov, turning now to Bors, now to Prince

Andrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markv, our ambassador,

purposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood looking

at Markv, probably expecting Markv to pick it up for him, and how

Markv immediately dropped his own beside it and picked it up without

touching Bonapartes.



Delightful! said Bolknski. But I have come to you, Prince,

as a petitioner on behalf of this young man. You see... but

before Prince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summon

Dolgorkov to the Emperor.



Oh, what a nuisance, said Dolgorkov, getting up hurriedly and

pressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Bors. You know I should

be very glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear young

man. Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression of

good-natured, sincere, and animated levity. But you see... another

time!



Bors was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers

as he felt himself to be at that moment. He was conscious that here

he was in contact with the springs that set in motion the enormous

movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny,

obedient, and insignificant atom. They followed Prince Dolgorkov out

into the corridor and metcoming out of the door of the Emperors

room by which Dolgorkov had entereda short man in civilian clothes

with a clever face and sharply projecting jaw which, without spoiling

his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity and shiftiness of expression.

This short man nodded to Dolgorkov as to an intimate friend and stared

at Prince Andrew with cool intensity, walking straight toward him and

evidently expecting him to bow or to step out of his way. Prince Andrew

did neither a look of animosity appeared on his face and the other

turned away and went down the side of the corridor.



Who was that? asked Bors.



He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of

menthe Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartorski.... It

is such men as he who decide the fate of nations, added Bolknski

with a sigh he could not suppress, as they passed out of the palace.



Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battle of

Austerlitz, Bors was unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dolgorkov

again and remained for a while with the Ismylov regiment.











CHAPTER X



At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Densovs squadron, in

which Nicholas Rostv served and which was in Prince Bagratins

detachment, moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing

into action as arranged, and after going behind other columns for

about two thirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad. Rostv saw the

Cossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars and infantry

battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and then Generals

Bagratin and Dolgorkov ride past with their adjutants. All the fear

before action which he had experienced as previously, all the inner

struggle to conquer that fear, all his dreams of distinguishing himself

as a true hussar in this battle, had been wasted. Their squadron

remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostv spent that day in a dull and

wretched mood. At nine in the morning, he heard firing in front and

shouts of hurrah, and saw wounded being brought back (there were not

many of them), and at last he saw how a whole detachment of French

cavalry was brought in, convoyed by a stnya of Cossacks. Evidently the

affair was over and, though not big, had been a successful engagement.

The men and officers returning spoke of a brilliant victory, of the

occupation of the town of Wischau and the capture of a whole French

squadron. The day was bright and sunny after a sharp night frost, and

the cheerful glitter of that autumn day was in keeping with the news of

victory which was conveyed, not only by the tales of those who had taken

part in it, but also by the joyful expression on the faces of soldiers,

officers, generals, and adjutants, as they passed Rostv going or

coming. And Nicholas, who had vainly suffered all the dread that

precedes a battle and had spent that happy day in inactivity, was all

the more depressed.



Come here, Wostv. Lets dwink to dwown our gwief! shouted

Densov, who had settled down by the roadside with a flask and some

food.



The officers gathered round Densovs canteen, eating and talking.



There! They are bringing another! cried one of the officers,

indicating a captive French dragoon who was being brought in on foot by

two Cossacks.



One of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse he had

taken from the prisoner.



Sell us that horse! Densov called out to the Cossacks.



If you like, your honor!



The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and their prisoner.

The French dragoon was a young Alsatian who spoke French with a German

accent. He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and when

he heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers,

addressing first one, then another. He said he would not have been

taken, it was not his fault but the corporals who had sent him to

seize some horsecloths, though he had told him the Russians were there.

And at every word he added But dont hurt my little horse! and

stroked the animal. It was plain that he did not quite grasp where he

was. Now he excused himself for having been taken prisoner and now,

imagining himself before his own officers, insisted on his soldierly

discipline and zeal in the service. He brought with him into our

rearguard all the freshness of atmosphere of the French army, which was

so alien to us.



The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostv, being the

richest of the officers now that he had received his money, bought it.



But dont hurt my little horse! said the Alsatian good-naturedly

to Rostv when the animal was handed over to the hussar.



Rostv smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.



Alley! Alley! said the Cossack, touching the prisoners arm to

make him go on.



The Emperor! The Emperor! was suddenly heard among the hussars.



All began to run and bustle, and Rostv saw coming up the road behind

him several riders with white plumes in their hats. In a moment everyone

was in his place, waiting.



Rostv did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.

Instantly his regret at not having been in action and his dejected mood

amid people of whom he was weary had gone, instantly every thought of

himself had vanished. He was filled with happiness at his nearness to

the Emperor. He felt that this nearness by itself made up to him for the

day he had lost. He was happy as a lover when the longed-for moment of

meeting arrives. Not daring to look round and without looking round, he

was ecstatically conscious of his approach. He felt it not only from the

sound of the hoofs of the approaching cavalcade, but because as he drew

near everything grew brighter, more joyful, more significant, and more

festive around him. Nearer and nearer to Rostv came that sun shedding

beams of mild and majestic light around, and already he felt himself

enveloped in those beams, he heard his voice, that kindly, calm,

and majestic voice that was yet so simple! And as if in accord with

Rostvs feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heard

the Emperors voice.



The Pvlograd hussars? he inquired.



The reserves, sire! replied a voice, a very human one compared to

that which had said The Pvlograd hussars?



The Emperor drew level with Rostv and halted. Alexanders face was

even more beautiful than it had been three days before at the review. It

shone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth, that it suggested

the liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it was the face

of the majestic Emperor. Casually, while surveying the squadron, the

Emperors eyes met Rostvs and rested on them for not more than

two seconds. Whether or no the Emperor understood what was going on in

Rostvs soul (it seemed to Rostv that he understood everything),

at any rate his light-blue eyes gazed for about two seconds into

Rostvs face. A gentle, mild light poured from them. Then all at

once he raised his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horse with his left

foot, and galloped on.



The younger Emperor could not restrain his wish to be present at the

battle and, in spite of the remonstrances of his courtiers, at twelve

oclock left the third column with which he had been and galloped

toward the vanguard. Before he came up with the hussars, several

adjutants met him with news of the successful result of the action.



This battle, which consisted in the capture of a French squadron, was

represented as a brilliant victory over the French, and so the

Emperor and the whole army, especially while the smoke hung over

the battlefield, believed that the French had been defeated and were

retreating against their will. A few minutes after the Emperor had

passed, the Pvlograd division was ordered to advance. In Wischau

itself, a petty German town, Rostv saw the Emperor again. In the

market place, where there had been some rather heavy firing before the

Emperors arrival, lay several killed and wounded soldiers whom there

had not been time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by his suite

of officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare, a

different one from that which he had ridden at the review, and bending

to one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyes and looked

at a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncovered head. The

wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that his proximity

to the Emperor shocked Rostv. Rostv saw how the Emperors rather

round shoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had run down them, how his

left foot began convulsively tapping the horses side with the spur,

and how the well-trained horse looked round unconcerned and did not

stir. An adjutant, dismounting, lifted the soldier under the arms to

place him on a stretcher that had been brought. The soldier groaned.



Gently, gently! Cant you do it more gently? said the Emperor

apparently suffering more than the dying soldier, and he rode away.



Rostv saw tears filling the Emperors eyes and heard him, as he was

riding away, say to Czartorski What a terrible thing war is what

a terrible thing! Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!



The troops of the vanguard were stationed before Wischau, within sight

of the enemys lines, which all day long had yielded ground to us

at the least firing. The Emperors gratitude was announced to the

vanguard, rewards were promised, and the men received a double ration of

vodka. The campfires crackled and the soldiers songs resounded

even more merrily than on the previous night. Densov celebrated his

promotion to the rank of major, and Rostv, who had already drunk

enough, at the end of the feast proposed the Emperors health. Not

our Sovereign, the Emperor, as they say at official dinners,

said he, but the health of our Sovereign, that good, enchanting, and

great man! Let us drink to his health and to the certain defeat of the

French!



If we fought before, he said, not letting the French pass, as

at Schn Grabern, what shall we not do now when he is at the front? We

will all die for him gladly! Is it not so, gentlemen? Perhaps I am not

saying it right, I have drunk a good dealbut that is how I feel, and

so do you too! To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!



Hurrah! rang the enthusiastic voices of the officers.



And the old cavalry captain, Krsten, shouted enthusiastically and no

less sincerely than the twenty-year-old Rostv.



When the officers had emptied and smashed their glasses, Krsten filled

others and, in shirt sleeves and breeches, went glass in hand to the

soldiers bonfires and with his long gray mustache, his white chest

showing under his open shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in the light

of the campfire, waving his uplifted arm.



Lads! heres to our Sovereign, the Emperor, and victory over

our enemies! Hurrah! he exclaimed in his dashing, old, hussars

baritone.



The hussars crowded round and responded heartily with loud shouts.



Late that night, when all had separated, Densov with his short hand

patted his favorite, Rostv, on the shoulder.



As theres no one to fall in love with on campaign, hes fallen

in love with the Tsar, he said.



Densov, dont make fun of it! cried Rostv. It is such a

lofty, beautiful feeling, such a...



I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share and appwove...



No, you dont understand!



And Rostv got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of

what happiness it would be to dienot in saving the Emperors life

(he did not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his

eyes. He really was in love with the Tsar and the glory of the Russian

arms and the hope of future triumph. And he was not the only man to

experience that feeling during those memorable days preceding the battle

of Austerlitz nine tenths of the men in the Russian army were then in

love, though less ecstatically, with their Tsar and the glory of the

Russian arms.











CHAPTER XI



The next day the Emperor stopped at Wischau, and Villier, his physician,

was repeatedly summoned to see him. At headquarters and among the troops

near by the news spread that the Emperor was unwell. He ate nothing and

had slept badly that night, those around him reported. The cause of this

indisposition was the strong impression made on his sensitive mind by

the sight of the killed and wounded.



At daybreak on the seventeenth, a French officer who had come with

a flag of truce, demanding an audience with the Russian Emperor, was

brought into Wischau from our outposts. This officer was Savary. The

Emperor had only just fallen asleep and so Savary had to wait. At midday

he was admitted to the Emperor, and an hour later he rode off with

Prince Dolgorkov to the advanced post of the French army.



It was rumored that Savary had been sent to propose to Alexander

a meeting with Napoleon. To the joy and pride of the whole army, a

personal interview was refused, and instead of the Sovereign, Prince

Dolgorkov, the victor at Wischau, was sent with Savary to negotiate

with Napoleon if, contrary to expectations, these negotiations were

actuated by a real desire for peace.



Toward evening Dolgorkov came back, went straight to the Tsar, and

remained alone with him for a long time.



On the eighteenth and nineteenth of November, the army advanced two

days march and the enemys outposts after a brief interchange

of shots retreated. In the highest army circles from midday on the

nineteenth, a great, excitedly bustling activity began which lasted till

the morning of the twentieth, when the memorable battle of Austerlitz

was fought.



Till midday on the nineteenth, the activitythe eager talk, running to

and fro, and dispatching of adjutantswas confined to the Emperors

headquarters. But on the afternoon of that day, this activity reached

Kutzovs headquarters and the staffs of the commanders of columns.

By evening, the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the

army, and in the night from the nineteenth to the twentieth, the whole

eighty thousand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of

voices, and the army swayed and started in one enormous mass six miles

long.



The concentrated activity which had begun at the Emperors

headquarters in the morning and had started the whole movement that

followed was like the first movement of the main wheel of a large tower

clock. One wheel slowly moved, another was set in motion, and a third,

and wheels began to revolve faster and faster, levers and cogwheels to

work, chimes to play, figures to pop out, and the hands to advance with

regular motion as a result of all that activity.



Just as in the mechanism of a clock, so in the mechanism of the military

machine, an impulse once given leads to the final result and just as

indifferently quiescent till the moment when motion is transmitted

to them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulse has not yet

reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one another and

the revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their movement, but a

neighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as though it were prepared

to remain so for a hundred years but the moment comes when the lever

catches it and obeying the impulse that wheel begins to creak and joins

in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.



Just as in a clock, the result of the complicated motion of innumerable

wheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regular movement of the

hands which show the time, so the result of all the complicated human

activities of 160,000 Russians and Frenchall their passions, desires,

remorse, humiliations, sufferings, outbursts of pride, fear, and

enthusiasmwas only the loss of the battle of Austerlitz, the

so-called battle of the three Emperorsthat is to say, a slow movement

of the hand on the dial of human history.



Prince Andrew was on duty that day and in constant attendance on the

commander in chief.



At six in the evening, Kutzov went to the Emperors headquarters

and after staying but a short time with the Tsar went to see the grand

marshal of the court, Count Tolsty.



Bolknski took the opportunity to go in to get some details of the

coming action from Dolgorkov. He felt that Kutzov was upset

and dissatisfied about something and that at headquarters they were

dissatisfied with him, and also that at the Emperors headquarters

everyone adopted toward him the tone of men who know something others do

not know he therefore wished to speak to Dolgorkov.



Well, how dyou do, my dear fellow? said Dolgorkov, who was

sitting at tea with Bilbin. The fete is for tomorrow. How is your

old fellow? Out of sorts?



I wont say he is out of sorts, but I fancy he would like to be

heard.



But they heard him at the council of war and will hear him when he

talks sense, but to temporize and wait for something now when Bonaparte

fears nothing so much as a general battle is impossible.



Yes, you have seen him? said Prince Andrew. Well, what is

Bonaparte like? How did he impress you?



Yes, I saw him, and am convinced that he fears nothing so much as

a general engagement, repeated Dolgorkov, evidently prizing this

general conclusion which he had arrived at from his interview with

Napoleon. If he werent afraid of a battle why did he ask for that

interview? Why negotiate, and above all why retreat, when to retreat is

so contrary to his method of conducting war? Believe me, he is afraid,

afraid of a general battle. His hour has come! Mark my words!



But tell me, what is he like, eh? said Prince Andrew again.



He is a man in a gray overcoat, very anxious that I should call

him Your Majesty, but who, to his chagrin, got no title from

me! Thats the sort of man he is, and nothing more, replied

Dolgorkov, looking round at Bilbin with a smile.



Despite my great respect for old Kutzov, he continued, we

should be a nice set of fellows if we were to wait about and so give him

a chance to escape, or to trick us, now that we certainly have him in

our hands! No, we mustnt forget Suvrov and his rulenot to put

yourself in a position to be attacked, but yourself to attack. Believe

me in war the energy of young men often shows the way better than all

the experience of old Cunctators.



But in what position are we going to attack him? I have been at the

outposts today and it is impossible to say where his chief forces are

situated, said Prince Andrew.



He wished to explain to Dolgorkov a plan of attack he had himself

formed.



Oh, that is all the same, Dolgorkov said quickly, and getting up

he spread a map on the table. All eventualities have been foreseen.

If he is standing before Brnn...



And Prince Dolgorkov rapidly but indistinctly explained Weyrothers

plan of a flanking movement.



Prince Andrew began to reply and to state his own plan, which might

have been as good as Weyrothers, but for the disadvantage that

Weyrothers had already been approved. As soon as Prince Andrew began

to demonstrate the defects of the latter and the merits of his own plan,

Prince Dolgorkov ceased to listen to him and gazed absent-mindedly not

at the map, but at Prince Andrews face.



There will be a council of war at Kutzovs tonight, though you

can say all this there, remarked Dolgorkov.



I will do so, said Prince Andrew, moving away from the map.



Whatever are you bothering about, gentlemen? said Bilbin, who,

till then, had listened with an amused smile to their conversation and

now was evidently ready with a joke. Whether tomorrow brings

victory or defeat, the glory of our Russian arms is secure. Except your

Kutzov, there is not a single Russian in command of a column! The

commanders are Herr General Wimpfen, le Comte de Langeron, le Prince de

Lichtenstein, le Prince, de Hohenlohe, and finally Prishprish, and so on

like all those Polish names.



Be quiet, backbiter! said Dolgorkov. It is not true there

are now two Russians, Milordovich, and Dokhtrov, and there would be

a third, Count Arakchev, if his nerves were not too weak.



However, I think General Kutzov has come out, said Prince

Andrew. I wish you good luck and success, gentlemen! he added and

went out after shaking hands with Dolgorkov and Bilbin.



On the way home, Prince Andrew could not refrain from asking Kutzov,

who was sitting silently beside him, what he thought of tomorrows

battle.



Kutzov looked sternly at his adjutant and, after a pause, replied

I think the battle will be lost, and so I told Count Tolsty and

asked him to tell the Emperor. What do you think he replied? But, my

dear general, I am engaged with rice and cutlets, look after military

matters yourself! Yes... That was the answer I got!











CHAPTER XII



Shortly after nine oclock that evening, Weyrother drove with his

plans to Kutzovs quarters where the council of war was to be

held. All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander in

chiefs and with the exception of Prince Bagratin, who declined to

come, were all there at the appointed time.



Weyrother, who was in full control of the proposed battle, by his

eagerness and briskness presented a marked contrast to the dissatisfied

and drowsy Kutzov, who reluctantly played the part of chairman and

president of the council of war. Weyrother evidently felt himself to be

at the head of a movement that had already become unrestrainable. He was

like a horse running downhill harnessed to a heavy cart. Whether he was

pulling it or being pushed by it he did not know, but rushed along at

headlong speed with no time to consider what this movement might lead

to. Weyrother had been twice that evening to the enemys picket

line to reconnoiter personally, and twice to the Emperors, Russian and

Austrian, to report and explain, and to his headquarters where he had

dictated the dispositions in German, and now, much exhausted, he arrived

at Kutzovs.



He was evidently so busy that he even forgot to be polite to the

commander in chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinctly,

without looking at the man he was addressing, and did not reply to

questions put to him. He was bespattered with mud and had a pitiful,

weary, and distracted air, though at the same time he was haughty and

self-confident.



Kutzov was occupying a noblemans castle of modest dimensions near

Ostralitz. In the large drawing room which had become the commander

in chiefs office were gathered Kutzov himself, Weyrother, and the

members of the council of war. They were drinking tea, and only awaited

Prince Bagratin to begin the council. At last Bagratins orderly

came with the news that the prince could not attend. Prince Andrew came

in to inform the commander in chief of this and, availing himself

of permission previously given him by Kutzov to be present at the

council, he remained in the room.



Since Prince Bagratin is not coming, we may begin, said

Weyrother, hurriedly rising from his seat and going up to the table on

which an enormous map of the environs of Brnn was spread out.



Kutzov, with his uniform unbuttoned so that his fat neck bulged over

his collar as if escaping, was sitting almost asleep in a low chair,

with his podgy old hands resting symmetrically on its arms. At the sound

of Weyrothers voice, he opened his one eye with an effort.



Yes, yes, if you please! It is already late, said he, and nodding

his head he let it droop and again closed his eye.



If at first the members of the council thought that Kutzov was

pretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the reading that

followed proved that the commander in chief at that moment was absorbed

by a far more serious matter than a desire to show his contempt for

the dispositions or anything elsehe was engaged in satisfying the

irresistible human need for sleep. He really was asleep. Weyrother, with

the gesture of a man too busy to lose a moment, glanced at Kutzov and,

having convinced himself that he was asleep, took up a paper and in

a loud, monotonous voice began to read out the dispositions for the

impending battle, under a heading which he also read out



Dispositions for an attack on the enemy position behind Kobelnitz and

Sokolnitz, November 30, 1805.



The dispositions were very complicated and difficult. They began as

follows



As the enemys left wing rests on wooded hills and his right

extends along Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds that are there,

while we, on the other hand, with our left wing by far outflank his

right, it is advantageous to attack the enemys latter wing especially

if we occupy the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, whereby we

can both fall on his flank and pursue him over the plain between

Schlappanitz and the Thuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles of

Schlappanitz and Bellowitz which cover the enemys front. For this

object it is necessary that... The first column marches... The second

column marches... The third column marches... and so on, read

Weyrother.



The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the difficult dispositions.

The tall, fair-haired General Buxhwden stood, leaning his back against

the wall, his eyes fixed on a burning candle, and seemed not to listen

or even to wish to be thought to listen. Exactly opposite Weyrother,

with his glistening wide-open eyes fixed upon him and his mustache

twisted upwards, sat the ruddy Milordovich in a military pose, his

elbows turned outwards, his hands on his knees, and his shoulders

raised. He remained stubbornly silent, gazing at Weyrothers face,

and only turned away his eyes when the Austrian chief of staff finished

reading. Then Milordovich looked round significantly at the other

generals. But one could not tell from that significant look whether he

agreed or disagreed and was satisfied or not with the arrangements. Next

to Weyrother sat Count Langeron who, with a subtle smile that never left

his typically southern French face during the whole time of the reading,

gazed at his delicate fingers which rapidly twirled by its corners

a gold snuffbox on which was a portrait. In the middle of one of the

longest sentences, he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised

his head, and with inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his

thin lips interrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. But the

Austrian general, continuing to read, frowned angrily and jerked his

elbows, as if to say You can tell me your views later, but now be so

good as to look at the map and listen. Langeron lifted his eyes with

an expression of perplexity, turned round to Milordovich as if seeking

an explanation, but meeting the latters impressive but meaningless

gaze drooped his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his snuffbox.



A geography lesson! he muttered as if to himself, but loud enough

to be heard.



Przebyszwski, with respectful but dignified politeness, held his

hand to his ear toward Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed in

attention. Dohktrov, a little man, sat opposite Weyrother, with

an assiduous and modest mien, and stooping over the outspread map

conscientiously studied the dispositions and the unfamiliar locality. He

asked Weyrother several times to repeat words he had not clearly heard

and the difficult names of villages. Weyrother complied and Dohktrov

noted them down.



When the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeron again

brought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrother or at

anyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carry out

such a plan in which the enemys position was assumed to be known,

whereas it was perhaps not known, since the enemy was in movement.

Langerons objections were valid but it was obvious that their chief

aim was to show General Weyrotherwho had read his dispositions with

as much self-confidence as if he were addressing school childrenthat

he had to do, not with fools, but with men who could teach him something

in military matters.



When the monotonous sound of Weyrothers voice ceased, Kutzov opened

his eye as a miller wakes up when the soporific drone of the mill wheel

is interrupted. He listened to what Langeron said, as if remarking,

So you are still at that silly business! quickly closed his eye

again, and let his head sink still lower.



Langeron, trying as virulently as possible to sting Weyrothers vanity

as author of the military plan, argued that Bonaparte might easily

attack instead of being attacked, and so render the whole of this

plan perfectly worthless. Weyrother met all objections with a firm and

contemptuous smile, evidently prepared beforehand to meet all objections

be they what they might.



If he could attack us, he would have done so today, said he.



So you think he is powerless? said Langeron.



He has forty thousand men at most, replied Weyrother, with the

smile of a doctor to whom an old wife wishes to explain the treatment of

a case.



In that case he is inviting his doom by awaiting our attack, said

Langeron, with a subtly ironical smile, again glancing round for support

to Milordovich who was near him.



But Milordovich was at that moment evidently thinking of anything

rather than of what the generals were disputing about.



Ma foi! said he, tomorrow we shall see all that on the

battlefield.



Weyrother again gave that smile which seemed to say that to him it was

strange and ridiculous to meet objections from Russian generals and to

have to prove to them what he had not merely convinced himself of, but

had also convinced the sovereign Emperors of.



The enemy has quenched his fires and a continual noise is heard from

his camp, said he. What does that mean? Either he is retreating,

which is the only thing we need fear, or he is changing his position.

(He smiled ironically.) But even if he also took up a position in

the Thuerassa, he merely saves us a great deal of trouble and all our

arrangements to the minutest detail remain the same.



How is that?... began Prince Andrew, who had for long been waiting

an opportunity to express his doubts.



Kutzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and looked round at the

generals.



Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrowor rather for today, for

it is past midnightcannot now be altered, said he. You have

heard them, and we shall all do our duty. But before a battle, there is

nothing more important... he paused, than to have a good sleep.



He moved as if to rise. The generals bowed and retired. It was past

midnight. Prince Andrew went out.



The council of war, at which Prince Andrew had not been able to

express his opinion as he had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasy

impression. Whether Dolgorkov and Weyrother, or Kutzov, Langeron,

and the others who did not approve of the plan of attack, were

righthe did not know. But was it really not possible for Kutzov

to state his views plainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on

account of court and personal considerations tens of thousands of lives,

and my life, my life, he thought, must be risked?



Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow, he

thought. And suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series of most

distant, most intimate, memories rose in his imagination he remembered

his last parting from his father and his wife he remembered the days

when he first loved her. He thought of her pregnancy and felt sorry for

her and for himself, and in a nervously emotional and softened mood he

went out of the hut in which he was billeted with Nesvtski and began

to walk up and down before it.



The night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamed

mysteriously. Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow! he thought. Tomorrow

everything may be over for me! All these memories will be no more, none

of them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, even certainly,

I have a presentiment that for the first time I shall have to show all

I can do. And his fancy pictured the battle, its loss, the

concentration of fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the

commanders. And then that happy moment, that Toulon for which he had

so long waited, presents itself to him at last. He firmly and clearly

expresses his opinion to Kutzov, to Weyrother, and to the Emperors.

All are struck by the justness of his views, but no one undertakes to

carry them out, so he takes a regiment, a divisionstipulates that no

one is to interfere with his arrangementsleads his division to

the decisive point, and gains the victory alone. But death and

suffering? suggested another voice. Prince Andrew, however, did not

answer that voice and went on dreaming of his triumphs. The dispositions

for the next battle are planned by him alone. Nominally he is only an

adjutant on Kutzovs staff, but he does everything alone. The next

battle is won by him alone. Kutzov is removed and he is appointed...

Well and then? asked the other voice. If before that you are

not ten times wounded, killed, or betrayed, well... what then?...

Well then, Prince Andrew answered himself, I dont know

what will happen and dont want to know, and cant, but if I want

thiswant glory, want to be known to men, want to be loved by them, it

is not my fault that I want it and want nothing but that and live only

for that. Yes, for that alone! I shall never tell anyone, but, oh God!

what am I to do if I love nothing but fame and mens esteem? Death,

wounds, the loss of familyI fear nothing. And precious and dear

as many persons are to mefather, sister, wifethose dearest to

meyet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them all at

once for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men I

dont know and never shall know, for the love of these men here, he

thought, as he listened to voices in Kutzovs courtyard. The voices

were those of the orderlies who were packing up one voice, probably a

coachmans, was teasing Kutzovs old cook whom Prince Andrew knew,

and who was called Tit. He was saying, Tit, I say, Tit!



Well? returned the old man.



Go, Tit, thresh a bit! said the wag.



Oh, go to the devil! called out a voice, drowned by the laughter

of the orderlies and servants.



All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, I

value this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me in this

mist!











CHAPTER XIII



That same night, Rostv was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front

of Bagratins detachment. His hussars were placed along the line

in couples and he himself rode along the line trying to master the

sleepiness that kept coming over him. An enormous space, with our

armys campfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behind him

in front of him was misty darkness. Rostv could see nothing, peer as

he would into that foggy distance now something gleamed gray, now there

was something black, now little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy

ought to be, now he fancied it was only something in his own eyes. His

eyes kept closing, and in his fancy appearednow the Emperor, now

Densov, and now Moscow memoriesand he again hurriedly opened his

eyes and saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was

riding, and sometimes, when he came within six paces of them, the

black figures of hussars, but in the distance was still the same misty

darkness. Why not?... It might easily happen, thought Rostv,

that the Emperor will meet me and give me an order as he would to any

other officer hell say Go and find out whats there. There

are many stories of his getting to know an officer in just such a chance

way and attaching him to himself! What if he gave me a place near him?

Oh, how I would guard him, how I would tell him the truth, how I would

unmask his deceivers! And in order to realize vividly his love

devotion to the sovereign, Rostv pictured to himself an enemy or a

deceitful German, whom he would not only kill with pleasure but whom

he would slap in the face before the Emperor. Suddenly a distant shout

aroused him. He started and opened his eyes.



Where am I? Oh yes, in the skirmishing line... pass and

watchwordshaft, Olmtz. What a nuisance that our squadron will be in

reserve tomorrow, he thought. Ill ask leave to go to the front,

this may be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. It wont be long

now before I am off duty. Ill take another turn and when I get back

Ill go to the general and ask him. He readjusted himself in the

saddle and touched up his horse to ride once more round his hussars. It

seemed to him that it was getting lighter. To the left he saw a sloping

descent lit up, and facing it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a

wall. On this knoll there was a white patch that Rostv could not at

all make out was it a glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some

unmelted snow, or some white houses? He even thought something moved on

that white spot. I expect its snow... that spot... a spotune

tache, he thought. There now... its not a tache... Natsha...

sister, black eyes... Na... tasha... (Wont she be surprised when

I tell her how Ive seen the Emperor?) Natsha... take my

sabretache...Keep to the right, your honor, there are bushes

here, came the voice of an hussar, past whom Rostv was riding in

the act of falling asleep. Rostv lifted his head that had sunk almost

to his horses mane and pulled up beside the hussar. He was succumbing

to irresistible, youthful, childish drowsiness. But what was I

thinking? I mustnt forget. How shall I speak to the Emperor? No,

thats not itthats tomorrow. Oh yes! Natsha... sabretache...

saber them... Whom? The hussars... Ah, the hussars with mustaches. Along

the Tverskya Street rode the hussar with mustaches... I thought about

him too, just opposite Gryevs house... Old Gryev.... Oh, but

Densovs a fine fellow. But thats all nonsense. The chief thing

is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me and wished to say

something, but dared not.... No, it was I who dared not. But thats

nonsense, the chief thing is not to forget the important thing I

was thinking of. Yes, Na-tsha, sabretache, oh, yes, yes! Thats

right! And his head once more sank to his horses neck. All at once

it seemed to him that he was being fired at. What? What? What?... Cut

them down! What?... said Rostv, waking up. At the moment he opened

his eyes he heard in front of him, where the enemy was, the long-drawn

shouts of thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar

near him pricked their ears at these shouts. Over there, where the

shouting came from, a fire flared up and went out again, then another,

and all along the French line on the hill fires flared up and the

shouting grew louder and louder. Rostv could hear the sound of French

words but could not distinguish them. The din of many voices was too

great all he could hear was ahahah! and rrrr!



Whats that? What do you make of it? said Rostv to the hussar

beside him. That must be the enemys camp!



The hussar did not reply.



Why, dont you hear it? Rostv asked again, after waiting for a

reply.



Who can tell, your honor? replied the hussar reluctantly.



From the direction, it must be the enemy, repeated Rostv.



It may be he or it may be nothing, muttered the hussar. Its

dark... Steady! he cried to his fidgeting horse.



Rostvs horse was also getting restive it pawed the frozen ground,

pricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights. The shouting

grew still louder and merged into a general roar that only an army

of several thousand men could produce. The lights spread farther and

farther, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostv no longer

wanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the enemy army had a

stimulating effect on him. Vive lEmpereur! lEmpereur! he now

heard distinctly.



They cant be far off, probably just beyond the stream, he said

to the hussar beside him.



The hussar only sighed without replying and coughed angrily. The sound

of horses hoofs approaching at a trot along the line of hussars was

heard, and out of the foggy darkness the figure of a sergeant of hussars

suddenly appeared, looming huge as an elephant.



Your honor, the generals! said the sergeant, riding up to Rostv.



Rostv, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rode with

the sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along the line.

One was on a white horse. Prince Bagratin and Prince Dolgorkov with

their adjutants had come to witness the curious phenomenon of the

lights and shouts in the enemys camp. Rostv rode up to Bagratin,

reported to him, and then joined the adjutants listening to what the

generals were saying.



Believe me, said Prince Dolgorkov, addressing Bagratin, it

is nothing but a trick! He has retreated and ordered the rearguard to

kindle fires and make a noise to deceive us.



Hardly, said Bagratin. I saw them this evening on that

knoll if they had retreated they would have withdrawn from that too....

Officer! said Bagratin to Rostv, are the enemys skirmishers

still there?



They were there this evening, but now I dont know, your

excellency. Shall I go with some of my hussars to see? replied

Rostv.



Bagratin stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostvs face

in the mist.



Well, go and see, he said, after a pause.



Yes, sir.



Rostv spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fdchenko and two other

hussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in the direction

from which the shouting came. He felt both frightened and pleased to be

riding alone with three hussars into that mysterious and dangerous misty

distance where no one had been before him. Bagratin called to him from

the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostv pretended not to hear

him and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes

for trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes.

Having descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or

the enemys fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly

and distinctly. In the valley he saw before him something like a river,

but when he reached it he found it was a road. Having come out onto

the road he reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or

cross it and ride over the black field up the hillside. To keep to the

road which gleamed white in the mist would have been safer because it

would be easier to see people coming along it. Follow me! said he,

crossed the road, and began riding up the hill at a gallop toward the

point where the French pickets had been standing that evening.



Your honor, there he is! cried one of the hussars behind him. And

before Rostv had time to make out what the black thing was that had

suddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash, followed by a report,

and a bullet whizzing high up in the mist with a plaintive sound passed

out of hearing. Another musket missed fire but flashed in the pan.

Rostv turned his horse and galloped back. Four more reports followed

at intervals, and the bullets passed somewhere in the fog singing in

different tones. Rostv reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen,

like his own, at the firing, and went back at a footpace. Well, some

more! Some more! a merry voice was saying in his soul. But no more

shots came.



Only when approaching Bagratin did Rostv let his horse gallop again,

and with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.



Dolgorkov was still insisting that the French had retreated and had

only lit fires to deceive us.



What does that prove? he was saying as Rostv rode up. They

might retreat and leave the pickets.



Its plain that they have not all gone yet, Prince, said

Bagratin. Wait till tomorrow morning, well find out everything

tomorrow.



The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just where it was

in the evening, reported Rostv, stooping forward with his hand at

the salute and unable to repress the smile of delight induced by his

ride and especially by the sound of the bullets.



Very good, very good, said Bagratin. Thank you, officer.



Your excellency, said Rostv, may I ask a favor?



What is it?



Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. May I ask to be attached

to the first squadron?



Whats your name?



Count Rostv.



Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance on me.



Count Ily Rostvs son? asked Dolgorkov.



But Rostv did not reply.



Then I may reckon on it, your excellency?



I will give the order.



Tomorrow very likely I may be sent with some message to the

Emperor, thought Rostv.



Thank God!



The fires and shouting in the enemys army were occasioned by the fact

that while Napoleons proclamation was being read to the troops the

Emperor himself rode round his bivouacs. The soldiers, on seeing him,

lit wisps of straw and ran after him, shouting, Vive lEmpereur!

Napoleons proclamation was as follows



Soldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge the

Austrian army of Ulm. They are the same battalions you broke at

Hollabrnn and have pursued ever since to this place. The position we

occupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go round me on

the right they will expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I will myself direct

your battalions. I will keep out of fire if you with your habitual

valor carry disorder and confusion into the enemys ranks, but should

victory be in doubt, even for a moment, you will see your Emperor

exposing himself to the first blows of the enemy, for there must be no

doubt of victory, especially on this day when what is at stake is the

honor of the French infantry, so necessary to the honor of our nation.



Do not break your ranks on the plea of removing the wounded! Let every

man be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat these hirelings

of England, inspired by such hatred of our nation! This victory will

conclude our campaign and we can return to winter quarters, where fresh

French troops who are being raised in France will join us, and the peace

I shall conclude will be worthy of my people, of you, and of myself.



NAPOLEON









CHAPTER XIV



At five in the morning it was still quite dark. The troops of the

center, the reserves, and Bagratins right flank had not yet moved,

but on the left flank the columns of infantry, cavalry, and artillery,

which were to be the first to descend the heights to attack the French

right flank and drive it into the Bohemian mountains according to plan,

were already up and astir. The smoke of the campfires, into which they

were throwing everything superfluous, made the eyes smart. It was cold

and dark. The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and breakfasting, the

soldiers, munching biscuit and beating a tattoo with their feet to

warm themselves, gathering round the fires throwing into the flames the

remains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, and everything that they

did not want or could not carry away with them. Austrian column guides

were moving in and out among the Russian troops and served as heralds

of the advance. As soon as an Austrian officer showed himself near

a commanding officers quarters, the regiment began to move the

soldiers ran from the fires, thrust their pipes into their boots, their

bags into the carts, got their muskets ready, and formed rank. The

officers buttoned up their coats, buckled on their swords and pouches,

and moved along the ranks shouting. The train drivers and orderlies

harnessed and packed the wagons and tied on the loads. The adjutants and

battalion and regimental commanders mounted, crossed themselves, gave

final instructions, orders, and commissions to the baggage men

who remained behind, and the monotonous tramp of thousands of feet

resounded. The column moved forward without knowing where and unable,

from the masses around them, the smoke and the increasing fog, to see

either the place they were leaving or that to which they were going.



A soldier on the march is hemmed in and borne along by his regiment as

much as a sailor is by his ship. However far he has walked, whatever

strange, unknown, and dangerous places he reaches, just as a sailor is

always surrounded by the same decks, masts, and rigging of his ship, so

the soldier always has around him the same comrades, the same ranks, the

same sergeant major Ivn Mtrich, the same company dog Jack, and the

same commanders. The sailor rarely cares to know the latitude in which

his ship is sailing, but on the day of battleheaven knows how and

whencea stern note of which all are conscious sounds in the moral

atmosphere of an army, announcing the approach of something decisive

and solemn, and awakening in the men an unusual curiosity. On the day of

battle the soldiers excitedly try to get beyond the interests of their

regiment, they listen intently, look about, and eagerly ask concerning

what is going on around them.



The fog had grown so dense that though it was growing light they could

not see ten paces ahead. Bushes looked like gigantic trees and level

ground like cliffs and slopes. Anywhere, on any side, one might

encounter an enemy invisible ten paces off. But the columns advanced

for a long time, always in the same fog, descending and ascending hills,

avoiding gardens and enclosures, going over new and unknown ground, and

nowhere encountering the enemy. On the contrary, the soldiers became

aware that in front, behind, and on all sides, other Russian columns

were moving in the same direction. Every soldier felt glad to know that

to the unknown place where he was going, many more of our men were going

too.



There now, the Krskies have also gone past, was being said in

the ranks.



Its wonderful what a lot of our troops have gathered, lads! Last

night I looked at the campfires and there was no end of them. A regular

Moscow!



Though none of the column commanders rode up to the ranks or talked to

the men (the commanders, as we saw at the council of war, were out of

humor and dissatisfied with the affair, and so did not exert themselves

to cheer the men but merely carried out the orders), yet the troops

marched gaily, as they always do when going into action, especially to

an attack. But when they had marched for about an hour in the dense fog,

the greater part of the men had to halt and an unpleasant consciousness

of some dislocation and blunder spread through the ranks. How such

a consciousness is communicated is very difficult to define, but it

certainly is communicated very surely, and flows rapidly, imperceptibly,

and irrepressibly, as water does in a creek. Had the Russian army been

alone without any allies, it might perhaps have been a long time before

this consciousness of mismanagement became a general conviction, but as

it was, the disorder was readily and naturally attributed to the stupid

Germans, and everyone was convinced that a dangerous muddle had been

occasioned by the sausage eaters.



Why have we stopped? Is the way blocked? Or have we already come up

against the French?



No, one cant hear them. Theyd be firing if we had.



They were in a hurry enough to start us, and now here we stand in

the middle of a field without rhyme or reason. Its all those damned

Germans muddling! What stupid devils!



Yes, Id send them on in front, but no fear, theyre crowding up

behind. And now here we stand hungry.



I say, shall we soon be clear? They say the cavalry are blocking the

way, said an officer.



Ah, those damned Germans! They dont know their own country!

said another.



What division are you? shouted an adjutant, riding up.



The Eighteenth.



Then why are you here? You should have gone on long ago, now you

wont get there till evening.



What stupid orders! They dont themselves know what they are

doing! said the officer and rode off.



Then a general rode past shouting something angrily, not in Russian.



Tafa-lafa! But what hes jabbering no one can make out, said a

soldier, mimicking the general who had ridden away. Id shoot them,

the scoundrels!



We were ordered to be at the place before nine, but we havent got

halfway. Fine orders! was being repeated on different sides.



And the feeling of energy with which the troops had started began to

turn into vexation and anger at the stupid arrangements and at the

Germans.



The cause of the confusion was that while the Austrian cavalry was

moving toward our left flank, the higher command found that our center

was too far separated from our right flank and the cavalry were all

ordered to turn back to the right. Several thousand cavalry crossed in

front of the infantry, who had to wait.



At the front an altercation occurred between an Austrian guide and a

Russian general. The general shouted a demand that the cavalry should be

halted, the Austrian argued that not he, but the higher command, was to

blame. The troops meanwhile stood growing listless and dispirited. After

an hours delay they at last moved on, descending the hill. The fog

that was dispersing on the hill lay still more densely below, where they

were descending. In front in the fog a shot was heard and then another,

at first irregularly at varying intervalstrata...tatand then more

and more regularly and rapidly, and the action at the Goldbach Stream

began.



Not expecting to come on the enemy down by the stream, and having

stumbled on him in the fog, hearing no encouraging word from their

commanders, and with a consciousness of being too late spreading through

the ranks, and above all being unable to see anything in front or around

them in the thick fog, the Russians exchanged shots with the enemy

lazily and advanced and again halted, receiving no timely orders from

the officers or adjutants who wandered about in the fog in those unknown

surroundings unable to find their own regiments. In this way the action

began for the first, second, and third columns, which had gone down into

the valley. The fourth column, with which Kutzov was, stood on the

Pratzen Heights.



Below, where the fight was beginning, there was still thick fog on the

higher ground it was clearing, but nothing could be seen of what was

going on in front. Whether all the enemy forces were, as we supposed,

six miles away, or whether they were near by in that sea of mist, no one

knew till after eight oclock.



It was nine oclock in the morning. The fog lay unbroken like a sea

down below, but higher up at the village of Schlappanitz where Napoleon

stood with his marshals around him, it was quite light. Above him was

a clear blue sky, and the suns vast orb quivered like a huge hollow,

crimson float on the surface of that milky sea of mist. The whole French

army, and even Napoleon himself with his staff, were not on the far side

of the streams and hollows of Sokolnitz and Schlappanitz beyond which we

intended to take up our position and begin the action, but were on this

side, so close to our own forces that Napoleon with the naked eye could

distinguish a mounted man from one on foot. Napoleon, in the blue cloak

which he had worn on his Italian campaign, sat on his small gray Arab

horse a little in front of his marshals. He gazed silently at the hills

which seemed to rise out of the sea of mist and on which the Russian

troops were moving in the distance, and he listened to the sounds of

firing in the valley. Not a single muscle of his facewhich in those

days was still thinmoved. His gleaming eyes were fixed intently on

one spot. His predictions were being justified. Part of the Russian

force had already descended into the valley toward the ponds and lakes

and part were leaving these Pratzen Heights which he intended to attack

and regarded as the key to the position. He saw over the mist that in

a hollow between two hills near the village of Pratzen, the Russian

columns, their bayonets glittering, were moving continuously in one

direction toward the valley and disappearing one after another into

the mist. From information he had received the evening before, from the

sound of wheels and footsteps heard by the outposts during the night,

by the disorderly movement of the Russian columns, and from all

indications, he saw clearly that the allies believed him to be far away

in front of them, and that the columns moving near Pratzen constituted

the center of the Russian army, and that that center was already

sufficiently weakened to be successfully attacked. But still he did not

begin the engagement.



Today was a great day for himthe anniversary of his coronation.

Before dawn he had slept for a few hours, and refreshed, vigorous, and

in good spirits, he mounted his horse and rode out into the field

in that happy mood in which everything seems possible and everything

succeeds. He sat motionless, looking at the heights visible above

the mist, and his cold face wore that special look of confident,

self-complacent happiness that one sees on the face of a boy happily

in love. The marshals stood behind him not venturing to distract his

attention. He looked now at the Pratzen Heights, now at the sun floating

up out of the mist.



When the sun had entirely emerged from the fog, and fields and mist were

aglow with dazzling lightas if he had only awaited this to begin the

actionhe drew the glove from his shapely white hand, made a sign

with it to the marshals, and ordered the action to begin. The marshals,

accompanied by adjutants, galloped off in different directions, and

a few minutes later the chief forces of the French army moved rapidly

toward those Pratzen Heights which were being more and more denuded by

Russian troops moving down the valley to their left.











CHAPTER XV



At eight oclock Kutzov rode to Pratzen at the head of the fourth

column, Milordovichs, the one that was to take the place of

Przebyszwskis and Langerons columns which had already gone down

into the valley. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment and gave

them the order to march, thereby indicating that he intended to lead

that column himself. When he had reached the village of Pratzen he

halted. Prince Andrew was behind, among the immense number forming the

commander in chiefs suite. He was in a state of suppressed excitement

and irritation, though controlledly calm as a man is at the approach of

a long-awaited moment. He was firmly convinced that this was the day of

his Toulon, or his bridge of Arcola. How it would come about he did not

know, but he felt sure it would do so. The locality and the position of

our troops were known to him as far as they could be known to anyone

in our army. His own strategic plan, which obviously could not now

be carried out, was forgotten. Now, entering into Weyrothers plan,

Prince Andrew considered possible contingencies and formed new projects

such as might call for his rapidity of perception and decision.



To the left down below in the mist, the musketry fire of unseen forces

could be heard. It was there Prince Andrew thought the fight would

concentrate. There we shall encounter difficulties, and there,

thought he, I shall be sent with a brigade or division, and there,

standard in hand, I shall go forward and break whatever is in front of

me.



He could not look calmly at the standards of the passing battalions.

Seeing them he kept thinking, That may be the very standard with

which I shall lead the army.



In the morning all that was left of the night mist on the heights was

a hoar frost now turning to dew, but in the valleys it still lay like a

milk-white sea. Nothing was visible in the valley to the left into which

our troops had descended and from whence came the sounds of firing.

Above the heights was the dark clear sky, and to the right the vast orb

of the sun. In front, far off on the farther shore of that sea of mist,

some wooded hills were discernible, and it was there the enemy probably

was, for something could be descried. On the right the Guards were

entering the misty region with a sound of hoofs and wheels and now and

then a gleam of bayonets to the left beyond the village similar masses

of cavalry came up and disappeared in the sea of mist. In front and

behind moved infantry. The commander in chief was standing at the end of

the village letting the troops pass by him. That morning Kutzov seemed

worn and irritable. The infantry passing before him came to a halt

without any command being given, apparently obstructed by something in

front.



Do order them to form into battalion columns and go round the

village! he said angrily to a general who had ridden up. Dont

you understand, your excellency, my dear sir, that you must not

defile through narrow village streets when we are marching against the

enemy?



I intended to re-form them beyond the village, your excellency,

answered the general.



Kutzov laughed bitterly.



Youll make a fine thing of it, deploying in sight of the enemy!

Very fine!



The enemy is still far away, your excellency. According to the

dispositions...



The dispositions! exclaimed Kutzov bitterly. Who told you

that?... Kindly do as you are ordered.



Yes, sir.



My dear fellow, Nesvtski whispered to Prince Andrew, the old

man is as surly as a dog.



An Austrian officer in a white uniform with green plumes in his hat

galloped up to Kutzov and asked in the Emperors name had the fourth

column advanced into action.



Kutzov turned round without answering and his eye happened to fall

upon Prince Andrew, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutzovs

malevolent and caustic expression softened, as if admitting that what

was being done was not his adjutants fault, and still not answering

the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolknski.



Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the third division has passed the

village. Tell it to stop and await my orders.



Hardly had Prince Andrew started than he stopped him.



And ask whether sharpshooters have been posted, he added. What

are they doing? What are they doing? he murmured to himself, still

not replying to the Austrian.



Prince Andrew galloped off to execute the order.



Overtaking the battalions that continued to advance, he stopped

the third division and convinced himself that there really were no

sharpshooters in front of our columns. The colonel at the head of the

regiment was much surprised at the commander in chiefs order to throw

out skirmishers. He had felt perfectly sure that there were other troops

in front of him and that the enemy must be at least six miles away.

There was really nothing to be seen in front except a barren descent

hidden by dense mist. Having given orders in the commander in chiefs

name to rectify this omission, Prince Andrew galloped back. Kutzov

still in the same place, his stout body resting heavily in the saddle

with the lassitude of age, sat yawning wearily with closed eyes. The

troops were no longer moving, but stood with the butts of their muskets

on the ground.



All right, all right! he said to Prince Andrew, and turned to a

general who, watch in hand, was saying it was time they started as all

the left-flank columns had already descended.



Plenty of time, your excellency, muttered Kutzov in the midst of

a yawn. Plenty of time, he repeated.



Just then at a distance behind Kutzov was heard the sound of regiments

saluting, and this sound rapidly came nearer along the whole extended

line of the advancing Russian columns. Evidently the person they were

greeting was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the regiment in front

of which Kutzov was standing began to shout, he rode a little to one

side and looked round with a frown. Along the road from Pratzen galloped

what looked like a squadron of horsemen in various uniforms. Two of them

rode side by side in front, at full gallop. One in a black uniform with

white plumes in his hat rode a bobtailed chestnut horse, the other who

was in a white uniform rode a black one. These were the two Emperors

followed by their suites. Kutzov, affecting the manners of an old

soldier at the front, gave the command Attention! and rode up

to the Emperors with a salute. His whole appearance and manner were

suddenly transformed. He put on the air of a subordinate who obeys

without reasoning. With an affectation of respect which evidently struck

Alexander unpleasantly, he rode up and saluted.



This unpleasant impression merely flitted over the young and happy face

of the Emperor like a cloud of haze across a clear sky and vanished.

After his illness he looked rather thinner that day than on the field

of Olmtz where Bolknski had seen him for the first time abroad, but

there was still the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness

in his fine gray eyes, and on his delicate lips the same capacity for

varying expression and the same prevalent appearance of goodhearted

innocent youth.



At the Olmtz review he had seemed more majestic here he seemed

brighter and more energetic. He was slightly flushed after galloping two

miles, and reining in his horse he sighed restfully and looked round

at the faces of his suite, young and animated as his own. Czartorski,

Novosltsev, Prince Volknsky, Strgonov, and the others, all richly

dressed gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh, only slightly

heated horses, exchanging remarks and smiling, had stopped behind the

Emperor. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long faced young man, sat very

erect on his handsome black horse, looking about him in a leisurely and

preoccupied manner. He beckoned to one of his white adjutants and asked

some questionMost likely he is asking at what oclock they

started, thought Prince Andrew, watching his old acquaintance with

a smile he could not repress as he recalled his reception at Brnn.

In the Emperors suite were the picked young orderly officers of the

Guard and line regiments, Russian and Austrian. Among them were grooms

leading the Tsars beautiful relay horses covered with embroidered

cloths.



As when a window is opened a whiff of fresh air from the fields enters

a stuffy room, so a whiff of youthfulness, energy, and confidence of

success reached Kutzovs cheerless staff with the galloping advent

of all these brilliant young men.



Why arent you beginning, Michael Ilarinovich? said the

Emperor Alexander hurriedly to Kutzov, glancing courteously at the

same time at the Emperor Francis.



I am waiting, Your Majesty, answered Kutzov, bending forward

respectfully.



The Emperor, frowning slightly, bent his ear forward as if he had not

quite heard.



Waiting, Your Majesty, repeated Kutzov. (Prince Andrew noted

that Kutzovs upper lip twitched unnaturally as he said the

word waiting.) Not all the columns have formed up yet, Your

Majesty.



The Tsar heard but obviously did not like the reply he shrugged his

rather round shoulders and glanced at Novosltsev who was near him, as

if complaining of Kutzov.



You know, Michael Ilarinovich, we are not on the Empress Field

where a parade does not begin till all the troops are assembled, said

the Tsar with another glance at the Emperor Francis, as if inviting

him if not to join in at least to listen to what he was saying. But the

Emperor Francis continued to look about him and did not listen.



That is just why I do not begin, sire, said Kutzov in a

resounding voice, apparently to preclude the possibility of not being

heard, and again something in his face twitchedThat is just why

I do not begin, sire, because we are not on parade and not on the

Empress Field, said he clearly and distinctly.



In the Emperors suite all exchanged rapid looks that expressed

dissatisfaction and reproach. Old though he may be, he should not, he

certainly should not, speak like that, their glances seemed to say.



The Tsar looked intently and observantly into Kutzovs eye

waiting to hear whether he would say anything more. But Kutzov, with

respectfully bowed head, seemed also to be waiting. The silence lasted

for about a minute.



However, if you command it, Your Majesty, said Kutzov, lifting

his head and again assuming his former tone of a dull, unreasoning, but

submissive general.



He touched his horse and having called Milordovich, the commander of

the column, gave him the order to advance.



The troops again began to move, and two battalions of the Nvgorod and

one of the psheron regiment went forward past the Emperor.



As this psheron battalion marched by, the red-faced Milordovich,

without his greatcoat, with his Orders on his breast and an enormous

tuft of plumes in his cocked hat worn on one side with its corners front

and back, galloped strenuously forward, and with a dashing salute reined

in his horse before the Emperor.



God be with you, general! said the Emperor.



Ma foi, sire, nous ferons ce qui sera dans notre possibilit,

sire, * he answered gaily, raising nevertheless ironic smiles among

the gentlemen of the Tsars suite by his poor French.



     * Indeed, Sire, we shall do everything it is possible to

     do, Sire.





Milordovich wheeled his horse sharply and stationed himself a little

behind the Emperor. The psheron men, excited by the Tsars presence,

passed in step before the Emperors and their suites at a bold, brisk

pace.



Lads! shouted Milordovich in a loud, self-confident, and cheery

voice, obviously so elated by the sound of firing, by the prospect of

battle, and by the sight of the gallant psherons, his comrades in

Suvrovs time, now passing so gallantly before the Emperors, that he

forgot the sovereigns presence. Lads, its not the first village

youve had to take, cried he.



Glad to do our best! shouted the soldiers.



The Emperors horse started at the sudden cry. This horse that had

carried the sovereign at reviews in Russia bore him also here on the

field of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows of his left foot and

pricking its ears at the sound of shots just as it had done on the

Empress Field, not understanding the significance of the firing, nor

of the nearness of the Emperor Francis black cob, nor of all that was

being said, thought, and felt that day by its rider.



The Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made a

remark to him, pointing to the gallant psherons.











CHAPTER XVI



Kutzov accompanied by his adjutants rode at a walking pace behind the

carabineers.



When he had gone less than half a mile in the rear of the column he

stopped at a solitary, deserted house that had probably once been an

inn, where two roads parted. Both of them led downhill and troops were

marching along both.



The fog had begun to clear and enemy troops were already dimly visible

about a mile and a half off on the opposite heights. Down below, on

the left, the firing became more distinct. Kutzov had stopped and was

speaking to an Austrian general. Prince Andrew, who was a little behind

looking at them, turned to an adjutant to ask him for a field glass.



Look, look! said this adjutant, looking not at the troops in the

distance, but down the hill before him. Its the French!



The two generals and the adjutant took hold of the field glass, trying

to snatch it from one another. The expression on all their faces

suddenly changed to one of horror. The French were supposed to be a

mile and a half away, but had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared just in

front of us.



Its the enemy?... No!... Yes, see it is!... for certain.... But

how is that? said different voices.



With the naked eye Prince Andrew saw below them to the right, not more

than five hundred paces from where Kutzov was standing, a dense French

column coming up to meet the psherons.



Here it is! The decisive moment has arrived. My turn has come,

thought Prince Andrew, and striking his horse he rode up to Kutzov.



The psherons must be stopped, your excellency, cried he. But at

that very instant a cloud of smoke spread all round, firing was heard

quite close at hand, and a voice of nave terror barely two steps from

Prince Andrew shouted, Brothers! Alls lost! And at this as if

at a command, everyone began to run.



Confused and ever-increasing crowds were running back to where five

minutes before the troops had passed the Emperors. Not only would it

have been difficult to stop that crowd, it was even impossible not to

be carried back with it oneself. Bolknski only tried not to lose

touch with it, and looked around bewildered and unable to grasp what was

happening in front of him. Nesvtski with an angry face, red and unlike

himself, was shouting to Kutzov that if he did not ride away at once

he would certainly be taken prisoner. Kutzov remained in the same

place and without answering drew out a handkerchief. Blood was flowing

from his cheek. Prince Andrew forced his way to him.



You are wounded? he asked, hardly able to master the trembling of

his lower jaw.



The wound is not here, it is there! said Kutzov, pressing the

handkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing to the fleeing soldiers.

Stop them! he shouted, and at the same moment, probably realizing

that it was impossible to stop them, spurred his horse and rode to the

right.



A fresh wave of the flying mob caught him and bore him back with it.



The troops were running in such a dense mass that once surrounded by

them it was difficult to get out again. One was shouting, Get on!

Why are you hindering us? Another in the same place turned round and

fired in the air a third was striking the horse Kutzov himself rode.

Having by a great effort got away to the left from that flood of men,

Kutzov, with his suite diminished by more than half, rode toward a

sound of artillery fire near by. Having forced his way out of the crowd

of fugitives, Prince Andrew, trying to keep near Kutzov, saw on the

slope of the hill amid the smoke a Russian battery that was still firing

and Frenchmen running toward it. Higher up stood some Russian infantry,

neither moving forward to protect the battery nor backward with the

fleeing crowd. A mounted general separated himself from the infantry and

approached Kutzov. Of Kutzovs suite only four remained. They were

all pale and exchanged looks in silence.



Stop those wretches! gasped Kutzov to the regimental commander,

pointing to the flying soldiers but at that instant, as if to punish

him for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regiment and across

Kutzovs suite like a flock of little birds.



The French had attacked the battery and, seeing Kutzov, were firing

at him. After this volley the regimental commander clutched at his leg

several soldiers fell, and a second lieutenant who was holding the

flag let it fall from his hands. It swayed and fell, but caught on the

muskets of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers started firing without

orders.



Oh! Oh! Oh! groaned Kutzov despairingly and looked around....

Bolknski! he whispered, his voice trembling from a consciousness

of the feebleness of age, Bolknski! he whispered, pointing to

the disordered battalion and at the enemy, whats that?



But before he had finished speaking, Prince Andrew, feeling tears of

shame and anger choking him, had already leapt from his horse and run to

the standard.



Forward, lads! he shouted in a voice piercing as a childs.



Here it is! thought he, seizing the staff of the standard and

hearing with pleasure the whistle of bullets evidently aimed at him.

Several soldiers fell.



Hurrah! shouted Prince Andrew, and, scarcely able to hold up

the heavy standard, he ran forward with full confidence that the whole

battalion would follow him.



And really he only ran a few steps alone. One soldier moved and then

another and soon the whole battalion ran forward shouting Hurrah!

and overtook him. A sergeant of the battalion ran up and took the flag

that was swaying from its weight in Prince Andrews hands, but he

was immediately killed. Prince Andrew again seized the standard and,

dragging it by the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front he saw our

artillerymen, some of whom were fighting, while others, having abandoned

their guns, were running toward him. He also saw French infantry

soldiers who were seizing the artillery horses and turning the guns

round. Prince Andrew and the battalion were already within twenty paces

of the cannon. He heard the whistle of bullets above him unceasingly and

to right and left of him soldiers continually groaned and dropped. But

he did not look at them he looked only at what was going on in front

of himat the battery. He now saw clearly the figure of a red-haired

gunner with his shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop while

a French soldier tugged at the other. He could distinctly see the

distraught yet angry expression on the faces of these two men, who

evidently did not realize what they were doing.



What are they about? thought Prince Andrew as he gazed at them.

Why doesnt the red-haired gunner run away as he is unarmed?

Why doesnt the Frenchman stab him? He will not get away before the

Frenchman remembers his bayonet and stabs him....



And really another French soldier, trailing his musket, ran up to

the struggling men, and the fate of the red-haired gunner, who had

triumphantly secured the mop and still did not realize what awaited him,

was about to be decided. But Prince Andrew did not see how it ended. It

seemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit him on the head

with the full swing of a bludgeon. It hurt a little, but the worst of

it was that the pain distracted him and prevented his seeing what he had

been looking at.



Whats this? Am I falling? My legs are giving way, thought he,

and fell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle

of the Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the red-haired gunner

had been killed or not and whether the cannon had been captured or

saved. But he saw nothing. Above him there was now nothing but the

skythe lofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, with gray

clouds gliding slowly across it. How quiet, peaceful, and solemn not

at all as I ran, thought Prince Andrewnot as we ran, shouting

and fighting, not at all as the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened

and angry faces struggled for the mop how differently do those clouds

glide across that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that

lofty sky before? And how happy I am to have found it at last! Yes! All

is vanity, all falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing,

nothing, but that. But even it does not exist, there is nothing but

quiet and peace. Thank God!...











CHAPTER XVII



On our right flank commanded by Bagratin, at nine oclock the battle

had not yet begun. Not wishing to agree to Dolgorkovs demand to

commence the action, and wishing to avert responsibility from himself,

Prince Bagratin proposed to Dolgorkov to send to inquire of the

commander in chief. Bagratin knew that as the distance between the two

flanks was more than six miles, even if the messenger were not killed

(which he very likely would be), and found the commander in chief

(which would be very difficult), he would not be able to get back before

evening.



Bagratin cast his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes round his suite,

and the boyish face Rostv, breathless with excitement and hope, was

the first to catch his eye. He sent him.



And if I should meet His Majesty before I meet the commander in

chief, your excellency? said Rostv, with his hand to his cap.



You can give the message to His Majesty, said Dolgorkov,

hurriedly interrupting Bagratin.



On being relieved from picket duty Rostv had managed to get a few

hours sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute,

with elasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, and generally in

that state of mind which makes everything seem possible, pleasant, and

easy.



All his wishes were being fulfilled that morning there was to be a

general engagement in which he was taking part, more than that, he was

orderly to the bravest general, and still more, he was going with a

message to Kutzov, perhaps even to the sovereign himself. The morning

was bright, he had a good horse under him, and his heart was full of

joy and happiness. On receiving the order he gave his horse the rein

and galloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of

Bagratins troops, which had not yet advanced into action but were

standing motionless then he came to the region occupied by Uvrovs

cavalry and here he noticed a stir and signs of preparation for battle

having passed Uvrovs cavalry he clearly heard the sound of cannon

and musketry ahead of him. The firing grew louder and louder.



In the fresh morning air were now heard, not two or three musket shots

at irregular intervals as before, followed by one or two cannon shots,

but a roll of volleys of musketry from the slopes of the hill before

Pratzen, interrupted by such frequent reports of cannon that sometimes

several of them were not separated from one another but merged into a

general roar.



He could see puffs of musketry smoke that seemed to chase one another

down the hillsides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling, spreading,

and mingling with one another. He could also, by the gleam of bayonets

visible through the smoke, make out moving masses of infantry and narrow

lines of artillery with green caissons.



Rostv stopped his horse for a moment on a hillock to see what was

going on, but strain his attention as he would he could not understand

or make out anything of what was happening there in the smoke men of

some sort were moving about, in front and behind moved lines of troops

but why, whither, and who they were, it was impossible to make out.

These sights and sounds had no depressing or intimidating effect on him

on the contrary, they stimulated his energy and determination.



Go on! Go on! Give it them! he mentally exclaimed at these sounds,

and again proceeded to gallop along the line, penetrating farther and

farther into the region where the army was already in action.



How it will be there I dont know, but all will be well! thought

Rostv.



After passing some Austrian troops he noticed that the next part of the

line (the Guards) was already in action.



So much the better! I shall see it close, he thought.



He was riding almost along the front line. A handful of men came

galloping toward him. They were our Uhlans who with disordered

ranks were returning from the attack. Rostv got out of their way,

involuntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on.



That is no business of mine, he thought. He had not ridden many

hundred yards after that before he saw to his left, across the whole

width of the field, an enormous mass of cavalry in brilliant white

uniforms, mounted on black horses, trotting straight toward him and

across his path. Rostv put his horse to full gallop to get out of the

way of these men, and he would have got clear had they continued at the

same speed, but they kept increasing their pace, so that some of the

horses were already galloping. Rostv heard the thud of their hoofs

and the jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, their figures, and

even their faces, more and more distinctly. They were our Horse Guards,

advancing to attack the French cavalry that was coming to meet them.



The Horse Guards were galloping, but still holding in their horses.

Rostv could already see their faces and heard the command

Charge! shouted by an officer who was urging his thoroughbred to

full speed. Rostv, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attack on

the French, galloped along the front as hard as his horse could go, but

still was not in time to avoid them.



The last of the Horse Guards, a huge pockmarked fellow, frowned angrily

on seeing Rostv before him, with whom he would inevitably collide.

This Guardsman would certainly have bowled Rostv and his Bedouin over

(Rostv felt himself quite tiny and weak compared to these gigantic men

and horses) had it not occurred to Rostv to flourish his whip before

the eyes of the Guardsmans horse. The heavy black horse, sixteen

hands high, shied, throwing back its ears but the pockmarked Guardsman

drove his huge spurs in violently, and the horse, flourishing its tail

and extending its neck, galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the Horse

Guards passed Rostv before he heard them shout, Hurrah! and

looking back saw that their foremost ranks were mixed up with some

foreign cavalry with red epaulets, probably French. He could see nothing

more, for immediately afterwards cannon began firing from somewhere and

smoke enveloped everything.



At that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him, disappeared in

the smoke, Rostv hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go where

he was sent. This was the brilliant charge of the Horse Guards that

amazed the French themselves. Rostv was horrified to hear later that

of all that mass of huge and handsome men, of all those brilliant,

rich youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped past him on their

thousand-ruble horses, only eighteen were left after the charge.



Why should I envy them? My chance is not lost, and maybe I shall see

the Emperor immediately! thought Rostv and galloped on.



When he came level with the Foot Guards he noticed that about them and

around them cannon balls were flying, of which he was aware not so

much because he heard their sound as because he saw uneasiness on

the soldiers faces and unnatural warlike solemnity on those of the

officers.



Passing behind one of the lines of a regiment of Foot Guards he heard a

voice calling him by name.



Rostv!



What? he answered, not recognizing Bors.



I say, weve been in the front line! Our regiment attacked! said

Bors with the happy smile seen on the faces of young men who have been

under fire for the first time.



Rostv stopped.



Have you? he said. Well, how did it go?



We drove them back! said Bors with animation, growing talkative.

Can you imagine it? and he began describing how the Guards, having

taken up their position and seeing troops before them, thought they were

Austrians, and all at once discovered from the cannon balls discharged

by those troops that they were themselves in the front line and had

unexpectedly to go into action. Rostv without hearing Bors to the

end spurred his horse.



Where are you off to? asked Bors.



With a message to His Majesty.



There he is! said Bors, thinking Rostv had said His

Highness, and pointing to the Grand Duke who with his high shoulders

and frowning brows stood a hundred paces away from them in his helmet

and Horse Guards jacket, shouting something to a pale, white

uniformed Austrian officer.



But thats the Grand Duke, and I want the commander in chief or the

Emperor, said Rostv, and was about to spur his horse.



Count! Count! shouted Berg who ran up from the other side as eager

as Bors. Count! I am wounded in my right hand (and he showed his

bleeding hand with a handkerchief tied round it) and I remained at

the front. I held my sword in my left hand, Count. All our familythe

von Bergshave been knights!



He said something more, but Rostv did not wait to hear it and rode

away.



Having passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostv, to avoid

again getting in front of the first line as he had done when the Horse

Guards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far round the place

where the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard. Suddenly he

heard musket fire quite close in front of him and behind our troops,

where he could never have expected the enemy to be.



What can it be? he thought. The enemy in the rear of our army?

Impossible! And suddenly he was seized by a panic of fear for himself

and for the issue of the whole battle. But be that what it may,

he reflected, there is no riding round it now. I must look for the

commander in chief here, and if all is lost it is for me to perish with

the rest.



The foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostv was more and

more confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind the village of

Pratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds.



What does it mean? What is it? Whom are they firing at? Who is

firing? Rostv kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian

soldiers running in confused crowds across his path.



The devil knows! Theyve killed everybody! Its all up now!

he was told in Russian, German, and Czech by the crowd of fugitives who

understood what was happening as little as he did.



Kill the Germans! shouted one.



May the devil take themthe traitors!



Zum Henker diese Russen! * muttered a German.



    * Hang these Russians!





Several wounded men passed along the road, and words of abuse, screams,

and groans mingled in a general hubbub, then the firing died down.

Rostv learned later that Russian and Austrian soldiers had been firing

at one another.



My God! What does it all mean? thought he. And here, where at

any moment the Emperor may see them.... But no, these must be only a

handful of scoundrels. It will soon be over, it cant be that, it

cant be! Only to get past them quicker, quicker!



The idea of defeat and flight could not enter Rostvs head. Though

he saw French cannon and French troops on the Pratzen Heights just where

he had been ordered to look for the commander in chief, he could not,

did not wish to, believe that.











CHAPTER XVIII



Rostv had been ordered to look for Kutzov and the Emperor near the

village of Pratzen. But neither they nor a single commanding officer

were there, only disorganized crowds of troops of various kinds. He

urged on his already weary horse to get quickly past these crowds, but

the farther he went the more disorganized they were. The highroad on

which he had come out was thronged with calches, carriages of all

sorts, and Russian and Austrian soldiers of all arms, some wounded and

some not. This whole mass droned and jostled in confusion under the

dismal influence of cannon balls flying from the French batteries

stationed on the Pratzen Heights.



Where is the Emperor? Where is Kutzov? Rostv kept asking

everyone he could stop, but got no answer from anyone.



At last seizing a soldier by his collar he forced him to answer.



Eh, brother! Theyve all bolted long ago! said the soldier,

laughing for some reason and shaking himself free.



Having left that soldier who was evidently drunk, Rostv stopped the

horse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began to

question him. The man announced that the Tsar had been driven in a

carriage at full speed about an hour before along that very road and

that he was dangerously wounded.



It cant be! said Rostv. It must have been someone else.



I saw him myself, replied the man with a self-confident smile of

derision. I ought to know the Emperor by now, after the times Ive

seen him in Petersburg. I saw him just as I see you.... There he sat in

the carriage as pale as anything. How they made the four black horses

fly! Gracious me, they did rattle past! Its time I knew the Imperial

horses and Ily Ivnych. I dont think Ily drives anyone except

the Tsar!



Rostv let go of the horse and was about to ride on, when a wounded

officer passing by addressed him



Who is it you want? he asked. The commander in chief? He was

killed by a cannon ballstruck in the breast before our regiment.



Not killedwounded! another officer corrected him.



Who? Kutzov? asked Rostv.



Not Kutzov, but whats his namewell, never mind... there are

not many left alive. Go that way, to that village, all the commanders

are there, said the officer, pointing to the village of Hosjeradek,

and he walked on.



Rostv rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now

going. The Emperor was wounded, the battle lost. It was impossible to

doubt it now. Rostv rode in the direction pointed out to him, in which

he saw turrets and a church. What need to hurry? What was he now to say

to the Tsar or to Kutzov, even if they were alive and unwounded?



Take this road, your honor, that way you will be killed at once! a

soldier shouted to him. Theyd kill you there!



Oh, what are you talking about? said another. Where is he to

go? That way is nearer.



Rostv considered, and then went in the direction where they said he

would be killed.



Its all the same now. If the Emperor is wounded, am I to try to

save myself? he thought. He rode on to the region where the greatest

number of men had perished in fleeing from Pratzen. The French had not

yet occupied that region, and the Russiansthe uninjured and slightly

woundedhad left it long ago. All about the field, like heaps of

manure on well-kept plowland, lay from ten to fifteen dead and wounded

to each couple of acres. The wounded crept together in twos and threes

and one could hear their distressing screams and groans, sometimes

feignedor so it seemed to Rostv. He put his horse to a trot to

avoid seeing all these suffering men, and he felt afraidafraid not

for his life, but for the courage he needed and which he knew would not

stand the sight of these unfortunates.



The French, who had ceased firing at this field strewn with dead and

wounded where there was no one left to fire at, on seeing an adjutant

riding over it trained a gun on him and fired several shots. The

sensation of those terrible whistling sounds and of the corpses around

him merged in Rostvs mind into a single feeling of terror and pity

for himself. He remembered his mothers last letter. What would she

feel, thought he, if she saw me here now on this field with the

cannon aimed at me?



In the village of Hosjeradek there were Russian troops retiring from

the field of battle, who though still in some confusion were less

disordered. The French cannon did not reach there and the musketry fire

sounded far away. Here everyone clearly saw and said that the battle

was lost. No one whom Rostv asked could tell him where the Emperor

or Kutzov was. Some said the report that the Emperor was wounded was

correct, others that it was not, and explained the false rumor that had

spread by the fact that the Emperors carriage had really galloped

from the field of battle with the pale and terrified Ober-Hofmarschal

Count Tolsty, who had ridden out to the battlefield with others in

the Emperors suite. One officer told Rostv that he had seen someone

from headquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostv

rode, not hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience. When

he had ridden about two miles and had passed the last of the Russian

troops, he saw, near a kitchen garden with a ditch round it, two men

on horseback facing the ditch. One with a white plume in his hat seemed

familiar to Rostv the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which

Rostv fancied he had seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his

horse with his spurs, and giving it the rein leaped lightly over. Only

a little earth crumbled from the bank under the horses hind hoofs.

Turning the horse sharply, he again jumped the ditch, and deferentially

addressed the horseman with the white plumes, evidently suggesting

that he should do the same. The rider, whose figure seemed familiar

to Rostv and involuntarily riveted his attention, made a gesture of

refusal with his head and hand and by that gesture Rostv instantly

recognized his lamented and adored monarch.



But it cant be he, alone in the midst of this empty field!

thought Rostv. At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostv

saw the beloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory. The

Emperor was pale, his cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but the charm,

the mildness of his features, was all the greater. Rostv was happy

in the assurance that the rumors about the Emperor being wounded were

false. He was happy to be seeing him. He knew that he might and even

ought to go straight to him and give the message Dolgorkov had ordered

him to deliver.



But as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, and dares not utter the

thoughts he has dreamed of for nights, but looks around for help or a

chance of delay and flight when the longed-for moment comes and he is

alone with her, so Rostv, now that he had attained what he had longed

for more than anything else in the world, did not know how to approach

the Emperor, and a thousand reasons occurred to him why it would be

inconvenient, unseemly, and impossible to do so.



What! It is as if I were glad of a chance to take advantage of

his being alone and despondent! A strange face may seem unpleasant or

painful to him at this moment of sorrow besides, what can I say to him

now, when my heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the mere sight

of him? Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to the Emperor

that he had composed in his imagination could he now recall. Those

speeches were intended for quite other conditions, they were for the

most part to be spoken at a moment of victory and triumph, generally

when he was dying of wounds and the sovereign had thanked him for heroic

deeds, and while dying he expressed the love his actions had proved.



Besides how can I ask the Emperor for his instructions for the right

flank now that it is nearly four oclock and the battle is lost?

No, certainly I must not approach him, I must not intrude on his

reflections. Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkind

look or bad opinion from him, Rostv decided and sorrowfully and

with a heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back at the

Tsar, who still remained in the same attitude of indecision.



While Rostv was thus arguing with himself and riding sadly away,

Captain von Toll chanced to ride to the same spot, and seeing the

Emperor at once rode up to him, offered his services, and assisted him

to cross the ditch on foot. The Emperor, wishing to rest and feeling

unwell, sat down under an apple tree and von Toll remained beside him.

Rostv from a distance saw with envy and remorse how von Toll spoke

long and warmly to the Emperor and how the Emperor, evidently weeping,

covered his eyes with his hand and pressed von Tolls hand.



And I might have been in his place! thought Rostv, and hardly

restraining his tears of pity for the Emperor, he rode on in utter

despair, not knowing where to or why he was now riding.



His despair was all the greater from feeling that his own weakness was

the cause of his grief.



He might... not only might but should, have gone up to the sovereign. It

was a unique chance to show his devotion to the Emperor and he had not

made use of it.... What have I done? thought he. And he turned

round and galloped back to the place where he had seen the Emperor, but

there was no one beyond the ditch now. Only some carts and carriages

were passing by. From one of the drivers he learned that Kutzovs

staff were not far off, in the village the vehicles were going to.

Rostv followed them. In front of him walked Kutzovs groom leading

horses in horsecloths. Then came a cart, and behind that walked an old,

bandy-legged domestic serf in a peaked cap and sheepskin coat.



Tit! I say, Tit! said the groom.



What? answered the old man absent-mindedly.



Go, Tit! Thresh a bit!



Oh, you fool! said the old man, spitting angrily. Some time passed

in silence, and then the same joke was repeated.





Before five in the evening the battle had been lost at all points. More

than a hundred cannon were already in the hands of the French.



Przebyszwski and his corps had laid down their arms. Other columns

after losing half their men were retreating in disorderly confused

masses.



The remains of Langerons and Dokhtrovs mingled forces were

crowding around the dams and banks of the ponds near the village of

Augesd.



After five oclock it was only at the Augesd Dam that a hot cannonade

(delivered by the French alone) was still to be heard from numerous

batteries ranged on the slopes of the Pratzen Heights, directed at our

retreating forces.



In the rearguard, Dokhtrov and others rallying some battalions kept up

a musketry fire at the French cavalry that was pursuing our troops. It

was growing dusk. On the narrow Augesd Dam where for so many years the

old miller had been accustomed to sit in his tasseled cap peacefully

angling, while his grandson, with shirt sleeves rolled up, handled the

floundering silvery fish in the watering can, on that dam over which for

so many years Moravians in shaggy caps and blue jackets had peacefully

driven their two-horse carts loaded with wheat and had returned dusty

with flour whitening their cartson that narrow dam amid the wagons

and the cannon, under the horses hoofs and between the wagon wheels,

men disfigured by fear of death now crowded together, crushing one

another, dying, stepping over the dying and killing one another, only to

move on a few steps and be killed themselves in the same way.



Every ten seconds a cannon ball flew compressing the air around, or

a shell burst in the midst of that dense throng, killing some and

splashing with blood those near them.



Dlokhovnow an officerwounded in the arm, and on foot, with

the regimental commander on horseback and some ten men of his company,

represented all that was left of that whole regiment. Impelled by the

crowd, they had got wedged in at the approach to the dam and, jammed in

on all sides, had stopped because a horse in front had fallen under a

cannon and the crowd were dragging it out. A cannon ball killed someone

behind them, another fell in front and splashed Dlokhov with blood.

The crowd, pushing forward desperately, squeezed together, moved a few

steps, and again stopped.



Move on a hundred yards and we are certainly saved, remain here

another two minutes and it is certain death, thought each one.



Dlokhov who was in the midst of the crowd forced his way to the edge

of the dam, throwing two soldiers off their feet, and ran onto the

slippery ice that covered the millpool.



Turn this way! he shouted, jumping over the ice which creaked

under him turn this way! he shouted to those with the gun. It

bears!...



The ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, and it was plain that it

would give way not only under a cannon or a crowd, but very soon even

under his weight alone. The men looked at him and pressed to the

bank, hesitating to step onto the ice. The general on horseback at the

entrance to the dam raised his hand and opened his mouth to address

Dlokhov. Suddenly a cannon ball hissed so low above the crowd that

everyone ducked. It flopped into something moist, and the general fell

from his horse in a pool of blood. Nobody gave him a look or thought of

raising him.



Get onto the ice, over the ice! Go on! Turn! Dont you hear? Go

on! innumerable voices suddenly shouted after the ball had struck

the general, the men themselves not knowing what, or why, they were

shouting.



One of the hindmost guns that was going onto the dam turned off onto the

ice. Crowds of soldiers from the dam began running onto the frozen pond.

The ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped

into the water. He tried to right himself but fell in up to his waist.

The nearest soldiers shrank back, the gun driver stopped his horse, but

from behind still came the shouts Onto the ice, why do you stop? Go

on! Go on! And cries of horror were heard in the crowd. The soldiers

near the gun waved their arms and beat the horses to make them turn and

move on. The horses moved off the bank. The ice, that had held under

those on foot, collapsed in a great mass, and some forty men who were on

it dashed, some forward and some back, drowning one another.



Still the cannon balls continued regularly to whistle and flop onto the

ice and into the water and oftenest of all among the crowd that covered

the dam, the pond, and the bank.











CHAPTER XIX



On the Pratzen Heights, where he had fallen with the flagstaff in his

hand, lay Prince Andrew Bolknski bleeding profusely and unconsciously

uttering a gentle, piteous, and childlike moan.



Toward evening he ceased moaning and became quite still. He did not know

how long his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he again felt that he was

alive and suffering from a burning, lacerating pain in his head.



Where is it, that lofty sky that I did not know till now, but saw

today? was his first thought. And I did not know this suffering

either, he thought. Yes, I did not know anything, anything at all

till now. But where am I?



He listened and heard the sound of approaching horses, and voices

speaking French. He opened his eyes. Above him again was the same lofty

sky with clouds that had risen and were floating still higher, and

between them gleamed blue infinity. He did not turn his head and did not

see those who, judging by the sound of hoofs and voices, had ridden up

and stopped near him.



It was Napoleon accompanied by two aides-de-camp. Bonaparte riding

over the battlefield had given final orders to strengthen the batteries

firing at the Augesd Dam and was looking at the killed and wounded left

on the field.



Fine men! remarked Napoleon, looking at a dead Russian grenadier,

who, with his face buried in the ground and a blackened nape, lay on his

stomach with an already stiffened arm flung wide.



The ammunition for the guns in position is exhausted, Your

Majesty, said an adjutant who had come from the batteries that were

firing at Augesd.



Have some brought from the reserve, said Napoleon, and having gone

on a few steps he stopped before Prince Andrew, who lay on his back with

the flagstaff that had been dropped beside him. (The flag had already

been taken by the French as a trophy.)



Thats a fine death! said Napoleon as he gazed at Bolknski.



Prince Andrew understood that this was said of him and that it was

Napoleon who said it. He heard the speaker addressed as Sire. But he

heard the words as he might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Not only

did they not interest him, but he took no notice of them and at once

forgot them. His head was burning, he felt himself bleeding to death,

and he saw above him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky. He knew it

was Napoleonhis herobut at that moment Napoleon seemed to him

such a small, insignificant creature compared with what was passing now

between himself and that lofty infinite sky with the clouds flying over

it. At that moment it meant nothing to him who might be standing over

him, or what was said of him he was only glad that people were standing

near him and only wished that they would help him and bring him back to

life, which seemed to him so beautiful now that he had today learned to

understand it so differently. He collected all his strength, to stir and

utter a sound. He feebly moved his leg and uttered a weak, sickly groan

which aroused his own pity.



Ah! He is alive, said Napoleon. Lift this young man up and

carry him to the dressing station.



Having said this, Napoleon rode on to meet Marshal Lannes, who, hat in

hand, rode up smiling to the Emperor to congratulate him on the victory.



Prince Andrew remembered nothing more he lost consciousness from the

terrible pain of being lifted onto the stretcher, the jolting while

being moved, and the probing of his wound at the dressing station.

He did not regain consciousness till late in the day, when with other

wounded and captured Russian officers he was carried to the hospital.

During this transfer he felt a little stronger and was able to look

about him and even speak.



The first words he heard on coming to his senses were those of a French

convoy officer, who said rapidly We must halt here the Emperor

will pass here immediately it will please him to see these gentlemen

prisoners.



There are so many prisoners today, nearly the whole Russian army,

that he is probably tired of them, said another officer.



All the same! They say this one is the commander of all the Emperor

Alexanders Guards, said the first one, indicating a Russian

officer in the white uniform of the Horse Guards.



Bolknski recognized Prince Repnn whom he had met in Petersburg

society. Beside him stood a lad of nineteen, also a wounded officer of

the Horse Guards.



Bonaparte, having come up at a gallop, stopped his horse.



Which is the senior? he asked, on seeing the prisoners.



They named the colonel, Prince Repnn.



You are the commander of the Emperor Alexanders regiment of Horse

Guards? asked Napoleon.



I commanded a squadron, replied Repnn.



Your regiment fulfilled its duty honorably, said Napoleon.



The praise of a great commander is a soldiers highest reward,

said Repnn.



I bestow it with pleasure, said Napoleon. And who is that young

man beside you?



Prince Repnn named Lieutenant Sukhtlen.



After looking at him Napoleon smiled.



Hes very young to come to meddle with us.



Youth is no hindrance to courage, muttered Sukhtlen in a failing

voice.



A splendid reply! said Napoleon. Young man, you will go far!



Prince Andrew, who had also been brought forward before the Emperors

eyes to complete the show of prisoners, could not fail to attract his

attention. Napoleon apparently remembered seeing him on the battlefield

and, addressing him, again used the epithet young man that was

connected in his memory with Prince Andrew.



Well, and you, young man, said he. How do you feel, mon

brave?



Though five minutes before, Prince Andrew had been able to say a few

words to the soldiers who were carrying him, now with his eyes fixed

straight on Napoleon, he was silent.... So insignificant at that moment

seemed to him all the interests that engrossed Napoleon, so mean did his

hero himself with his paltry vanity and joy in victory appear,

compared to the lofty, equitable, and kindly sky which he had seen and

understood, that he could not answer him.



Everything seemed so futile and insignificant in comparison with the

stern and solemn train of thought that weakness from loss of blood,

suffering, and the nearness of death aroused in him. Looking into

Napoleons eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance of

greatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, and

the still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no one

alive could understand or explain.



The Emperor without waiting for an answer turned away and said to one of

the officers as he went Have these gentlemen attended to and taken

to my bivouac let my doctor, Larrey, examine their wounds. Au revoir,

Prince Repnn! and he spurred his horse and galloped away.



His face shone with self-satisfaction and pleasure.



The soldiers who had carried Prince Andrew had noticed and taken the

little gold icon Princess Mary had hung round her brothers neck, but

seeing the favor the Emperor showed the prisoners, they now hastened to

return the holy image.



Prince Andrew did not see how and by whom it was replaced, but the

little icon with its thin gold chain suddenly appeared upon his chest

outside his uniform.



It would be good, thought Prince Andrew, glancing at the icon his

sister had hung round his neck with such emotion and reverence, it

would be good if everything were as clear and simple as it seems to

Mary. How good it would be to know where to seek for help in this life,

and what to expect after it beyond the grave! How happy and calm I

should be if I could now say Lord, have mercy on me!... But to

whom should I say that? Either to a Power indefinable, incomprehensible,

which I not only cannot address but which I cannot even express in

wordsthe Great All or Nothing- said he to himself, or to

that God who has been sewn into this amulet by Mary! There is nothing

certain, nothing at all except the unimportance of everything I

understand, and the greatness of something incomprehensible but

all-important.



The stretchers moved on. At every jolt he again felt unendurable pain

his feverishness increased and he grew delirious. Visions of his father,

wife, sister, and future son, and the tenderness he had felt the night

before the battle, the figure of the insignificant little Napoleon, and

above all this the lofty sky, formed the chief subjects of his delirious

fancies.



The quiet home life and peaceful happiness of Bald Hills presented

itself to him. He was already enjoying that happiness when that

little Napoleon had suddenly appeared with his unsympathizing look of

shortsighted delight at the misery of others, and doubts and torments

had followed, and only the heavens promised peace. Toward morning

all these dreams melted and merged into the chaos and darkness of

unconciousness and oblivion which in the opinion of Napoleons doctor,

Larrey, was much more likely to end in death than in convalescence.



He is a nervous, bilious subject, said Larrey, and will not

recover.



And Prince Andrew, with others fatally wounded, was left to the care of

the inhabitants of the district.











BOOK FOUR 1806











CHAPTER I



Early in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostv returned home on leave. Densov

was going home to Vornezh and Rostv persuaded him to travel with him

as far as Moscow and to stay with him there. Meeting a comrade at

the last post station but one before Moscow, Densov had drunk three

bottles of wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the

snow-covered road, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay

at the bottom of the sleigh beside Rostv, who grew more and more

impatient the nearer they got to Moscow.



How much longer? How much longer? Oh, these insufferable streets,

shops, bakers signboards, street lamps, and sleighs! thought

Rostv, when their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and

they had entered Moscow.



Densov! Were here! Hes asleep, he added, leaning forward

with his whole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speed

of the sleigh.



Densov gave no answer.



Theres the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhr,

has his stand, and theres Zakhr himself and still the same horse!

And heres the little shop where we used to buy gingerbread! Cant

you hurry up? Now then!



Which house is it? asked the driver.



Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Dont you see?

Thats our house, said Rostv. Of course, its our house!

Densov, Densov! Were almost there!



Densov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer.



Dmtri, said Rostv to his valet on the box, those lights are

in our house, arent they?



Yes, sir, and theres a light in your fathers study.



Then theyve not gone to bed yet? What do you think? Mind now,

dont forget to put out my new coat, added Rostv, fingering his

new mustache. Now then, get on, he shouted to the driver. Do

wake up, Vska! he went on, turning to Densov, whose head

was again nodding. Come, get on! You shall have three rubles for

vodkaget on! Rostv shouted, when the sleigh was only three

houses from his door. It seemed to him the horses were not moving at

all. At last the sleigh bore to the right, drew up at an entrance, and

Rostv saw overhead the old familiar cornice with a bit of plaster

broken off, the porch, and the post by the side of the pavement. He

sprang out before the sleigh stopped, and ran into the hall. The house

stood cold and silent, as if quite regardless of who had come to it.

There was no one in the hall. Oh God! Is everyone all right?

he thought, stopping for a moment with a sinking heart, and then

immediately starting to run along the hall and up the warped steps of

the familiar staircase. The well-known old door handle, which always

angered the countess when it was not properly cleaned, turned as loosely

as ever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the anteroom.



Old Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokfy, the footman, who was

so strong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, sat

plaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He looked up at the opening

door and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenly changed to one

of delighted amazement.



Gracious heavens! The young count! he cried, recognizing his

young master. Can it be? My treasure! and Prokfy, trembling with

excitement, rushed toward the drawing room door, probably in order to

announce him, but, changing his mind, came back and stooped to kiss the

young mans shoulder.



All well? asked Rostv, drawing away his arm.



Yes, God be thanked! Yes! Theyve just finished supper. Let me have

a look at you, your excellency.



Is everything quite all right?



The Lord be thanked, yes!



Rostv, who had completely forgotten Densov, not wishing anyone to

forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the

large dark ballroom. All was the same there were the same old card

tables and the same chandelier with a cover over it but someone had

already seen the young master, and, before he had reached the drawing

room, something flew out from a side door like a tornado and began

hugging and kissing him. Another and yet another creature of the same

kind sprang from a second door and a third more hugging, more kissing,

more outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguish which was

Papa, which Natsha, and which Ptya. Everyone shouted, talked, and

kissed him at the same time. Only his mother was not there, he noticed

that.



And I did not know... Nicholas... My darling!...



Here he is... our own... Klya, * dear fellow... How he has

changed!... Where are the candles?... Tea!...



    * Nicholas.



And me, kiss me!



Dearest... and me!



Snya, Natsha, Ptya, Anna Mikhylovna, Vra, and the old count

were all hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into the

room, exclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing.



Ptya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, And me too!



Natsha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face

with kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and

pranced up and down in one place like a goat and shrieked piercingly.



All around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and all around

were lips seeking a kiss.



Snya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, radiant with bliss,

looked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which she

longed. Snya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, especially at

this moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, not taking

her eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gave her a

grateful look, but was still expectant and looking for someone. The old

countess had not yet come. But now steps were heard at the door, steps

so rapid that they could hardly be his mothers.



Yet it was she, dressed in a new gown which he did not know, made since

he had left. All the others let him go, and he ran to her. When they

met, she fell on his breast, sobbing. She could not lift her face, but

only pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussars jacket. Densov,

who had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood there and wiped

his eyes at the sight.



Vasli Densov, your sons friend, he said, introducing

himself to the count, who was looking inquiringly at him.



You are most welcome! I know, I know, said the count, kissing and

embracing Densov. Nicholas wrote us... Natsha, Vra, look! Here

is Densov!



The same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure of Densov.



Darling Densov! screamed Natsha, beside herself with rapture,

springing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. This

escapade made everybody feel confused. Densov blushed too, but smiled

and, taking Natshas hand, kissed it.



Densov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostvs all

gathered round Nicholas in the sitting room.



The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every

moment, sat beside him the rest, crowding round him, watched every

movement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring

eyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the places nearest

to him and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea,

handkerchief, and pipe.



Rostv was very happy in the love they showed him but the first

moment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemed

insufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more.



Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelers slept

till ten oclock.



In the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers,

satchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly

cleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. The servants

were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and their

well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco.



Hallo, Gwskamy pipe! came Vasli Densovs husky voice.

Wostv, get up!



Rostv, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his

disheveled head from the hot pillow.



Why, is it late?



Late! Its nearly ten oclock, answered Natshas voice.

A rustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter of

girls voices came from the adjoining room. The door was opened a

crack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair,

and merry faces. It was Natsha, Snya, and Ptya, who had come to

see whether they were getting up.



Nicholas! Get up! Natshas voice was again heard at the door.



Directly!



Meanwhile, Ptya, having found and seized the sabers in the outer room,

with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elder brother, and

forgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to see men undressed,

opened the bedroom door.



Is this your saber? he shouted.



The girls sprang aside. Densov hid his hairy legs under the blanket,

looking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door, having let

Ptya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came from behind it.



Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown! said Natshas voice.



Is this your saber? asked Ptya. Or is it yours? he said,

addressing the black-mustached Densov with servile deference.



Rostv hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown,

and went out. Natsha had put on one spurred boot and was just getting

her foot into the other. Snya, when he came in, was twirling round and

was about to expand her dresses into a balloon and sit down. They were

dressed alike, in new pale-blue frocks, and were both fresh, rosy, and

bright. Snya ran away, but Natsha, taking her brothers arm, led

him into the sitting room, where they began talking. They hardly gave

one another time to ask questions and give replies concerning a thousand

little matters which could not interest anyone but themselves. Natsha

laughed at every word he said or that she said herself, not because what

they were saying was amusing, but because she felt happy and was unable

to control her joy which expressed itself by laughter.



Oh, how nice, how splendid! she said to everything.



Rostv felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, that

childlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since he left

home now for the first time after eighteen months again brightened his

soul and his face.



No, but listen, she said, now you are quite a man, arent

you? Im awfully glad youre my brother. She touched his

mustache. I want to know what you men are like. Are you the same as

we? No?



Why did Snya run away? asked Rostv.



Ah, yes! Thats a whole long story! How are you going to speak to

herthou or you?



As may happen, said Rostv.



No, call her you, please! Ill tell you all about it some other

time. No, Ill tell you now. You know Snyas my dearest friend.

Such a friend that I burned my arm for her sake. Look here!



She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on her long,

slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part that is covered

even by a ball dress.



I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler in the

fire and pressed it there!



Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used

to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natshas wildly bright

eyes, Rostv re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no

meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life

and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem

to him senseless, he understood and was not surprised at it.



Well, and is that all? he asked.



We are such friends, such friends! All that ruler business was just

nonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, does it

for life, but I dont understand that, I forget quickly.



Well, what then?



Well, she loves me and you like that.



Natsha suddenly flushed.



Why, you remember before you went away?... Well, she says you are to

forget all that.... She says I shall love him always, but let him be

free. Isnt that lovely and noble! Yes, very noble? Isnt it?

asked Natsha, so seriously and excitedly that it was evident that what

she was now saying she had talked of before, with tears.



Rostv became thoughtful.



I never go back on my word, he said. Besides, Snya is so

charming that only a fool would renounce such happiness.



No, no! cried Natsha, she and I have already talked it over.

We knew youd say so. But it wont do, because you see, if you say

thatif you consider yourself bound by your promiseit will seem as

if she had not meant it seriously. It makes it as if you were marrying

her because you must, and that wouldnt do at all.



Rostv saw that it had been well considered by them. Snya had already

struck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, when he had caught

a glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. She was a charming girl

of sixteen, evidently passionately in love with him (he did not doubt

that for an instant). Why should he not love her now, and even marry

her, Rostv thought, but just now there were so many other pleasures

and interests before him! Yes, they have taken a wise decision, he

thought, I must remain free.



Well then, thats excellent, said he. Well talk it over

later on. Oh, how glad I am to have you!



Well, and are you still true to Bors? he continued.



Oh, what nonsense! cried Natsha, laughing. I dont think

about him or anyone else, and I dont want anything of the kind.



Dear me! Then what are you up to now?



Now? repeated Natsha, and a happy smile lit up her face. Have

you seen Duport?



No.



Not seen Duportthe famous dancer? Well then, you wont

understand. Thats what Im up to.



Curving her arms, Natsha held out her skirts as dancers do, ran back

a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharply

together, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes.



See, Im standing! See! she said, but could not maintain herself

on her toes any longer. So thats what Im up to! Ill never

marry anyone, but will be a dancer. Only dont tell anyone.



Rostv laughed so loud and merrily that Densov, in his bedroom, felt

envious and Natsha could not help joining in.



No, but dont you think its nice? she kept repeating.



Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry Bors?



Natsha flared up. I dont want to marry anyone. And Ill tell

him so when I see him!



Dear me! said Rostv.



But thats all rubbish, Natsha chattered on. And is

Densov nice? she asked.



Yes, indeed!



Oh, well then, good-by go and dress. Is he very terrible,

Densov?



Why terrible? asked Nicholas. No, Vska is a splendid

fellow.



You call him Vska? Thats funny! And is he very nice?



Very.



Well then, be quick. Well all have breakfast together.



And Natsha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a ballet

dancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. When

Rostv met Snya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know

how to behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment of

meeting, they had kissed each other, but today they felt it could not

be done he felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters, was

looking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behave

with her. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou but as

youSnya. But their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tender

kisses. Her looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, by

Natshas intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then

thanked him for his love. His looks thanked her for offering him his

freedom and told her that one way or another he would never cease to

love her, for that would be impossible.



How strange it is, said Vra, selecting a moment when all were

silent, that Snya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meet

like strangers.



Vras remark was correct, as her remarks always were, but, like

most of her observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable, not

only Snya, Nicholas, and Natsha, but even the old countess,

whodreading this love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making

a brilliant matchblushed like a girl.



Densov, to Rostvs surprise, appeared in the drawing room with

pomaded hair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart as

he made himself when going into battle, and he was more amiable to the

ladies and gentlemen than Rostv had ever expected to see him.











CHAPTER II



On his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostv was welcomed

by his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling

Niklenka by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young

man by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good

dancer, and one of the best matches in the city.



The Rostvs knew everybody in Moscow. The old count had money enough

that year, as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas,

acquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding breeches of the

latest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of the

latest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs,

passed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himself

to the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to be

at home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. His

despair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing money from

Gavrl to pay a sleigh driver, his kissing Snya on the slyhe now

recalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind.

Now he was a lieutenant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, and

wearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to soldiers for bravery in

action, and in the company of well-known, elderly, and respected racing

men was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew a lady on one

of the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He led the mazurka

at the Arkhrovs ball, talked about the war with Field Marshal

Kmenski, visited the English Club, and was on intimate terms with a

colonel of forty to whom Densov had introduced him.



His passion for the Emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. But still, as

he did not see him and had no opportunity of seeing him, he often spoke

about him and about his love for him, letting it be understood that he

had not told all and that there was something in his feelings for the

Emperor not everyone could understand, and with his whole soul he shared

the adoration then common in Moscow for the Emperor, who was spoken of

as the angel incarnate.



During Rostvs short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army, he

did not draw closer to Snya, but rather drifted away from her. She was

very pretty and sweet, and evidently deeply in love with him, but he was

at the period of youth when there seems so much to do that there is no

time for that sort of thing and a young man fears to bind himself and

prizes his freedom which he needs for so many other things. When he

thought of Snya, during this stay in Moscow, he said to himself,

Ah, there will be, and there are, many more such girls somewhere whom

I do not yet know. There will be time enough to think about love when I

want to, but now I have no time. Besides, it seemed to him that the

society of women was rather derogatory to his manhood. He went to balls

and into ladies society with an affectation of doing so against his

will. The races, the English Club, sprees with Densov, and visits to

a certain housethat was another matter and quite the thing for a

dashing young hussar!



At the beginning of March, old Count Ily Rostv was very busy

arranging a dinner in honor of Prince Bagratin at the English Club.



The count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, giving

orders to the club steward and to the famous Feoktst, the clubs

head cook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and

fish for this dinner. The count had been a member and on the committee

of the club from the day it was founded. To him the club entrusted the

arrangement of the festival in honor of Bagratin, for few men knew

so well how to arrange a feast on an open-handed, hospitable scale,

and still fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out of

their own resources what might be needed for the success of the fete.

The club cook and the steward listened to the counts orders with

pleased faces, for they knew that under no other management could they

so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinner costing

several thousand rubles.



Well then, mind and have cocks comb in the turtle soup, you

know!



Shall we have three cold dishes then? asked the cook.



The count considered.



We cant have lessyes, three... the mayonnaise, thats one,

said he, bending down a finger.



Then am I to order those large sterlets? asked the steward.



Yes, it cant be helped if they wont take less. Ah, dear me! I

was forgetting. We must have another entre. Ah, goodness gracious!

he clutched at his head. Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmtri!

Eh, Dmtri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate, he said to the factotum

who appeared at his call. Hurry off and tell Maksm, the gardener,

to set the serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses must

be brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundred pots

here on Friday.



Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his little

countess to have a rest, but remembering something else of

importance, he returned again, called back the cook and the club

steward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and the

clinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young count, handsome,

rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently rested and made sleeker by

his easy life in Moscow, entered the room.



Ah, my boy, my heads in a whirl! said the old man with a smile,

as if he felt a little confused before his son. Now, if you would

only help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my own orchestra,

but shouldnt we get the gypsy singers as well? You military men like

that sort of thing.



Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagratin worried himself less before

the battle of Schn Grabern than you do now, said his son with a

smile.



The old count pretended to be angry.



Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!



And the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and respectful

expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at the father and

son.



What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktst? said

he. Laughing at us old fellows!



Thats so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good

dinner, but providing it and serving it all up, thats not their

business!



Thats it, thats it! exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing

his son by both hands, he cried, Now Ive got you, so take the

sleigh and pair at once, and go to Bezkhovs, and tell him Count

Ily has sent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples. We

cant get them from anyone else. Hes not there himself, so youll

have to go in and ask the princesses and from there go on to the

Rasgulyythe coachman Iptka knowsand look up the gypsy

Ilyshka, the one who danced at Count Orlvs, you remember, in a

white Cossack coat, and bring him along to me.



And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him? asked Nicholas,

laughing. Dear, dear!...



At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with the businesslike,

preoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which never left her face, Anna

Mikhylovna entered the hall. Though she came upon the count in his

dressing gown every day, he invariably became confused and begged her to

excuse his costume.



No matter at all, my dear count, she said, meekly closing her

eyes. But Ill go to Bezkhovs myself. Pierre has arrived, and

now we shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him

in any case. He has forwarded me a letter from Bors. Thank God, Bors

is now on the staff.



The count was delighted at Anna Mikhylovnas taking upon herself one

of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.



Tell Bezkhov to come. Ill put his name down. Is his wife with

him? he asked.



Anna Mikhylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness was depicted

on her face.



Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate, she said. If what

we hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thing

when we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soul

as young Bezkhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try to give

him what consolation I can.



Wh-what is the matter? asked both the young and old Rostv.



Anna Mikhylovna sighed deeply.



Dlokhov, Mary Ivnovnas son, she said in a mysterious

whisper, has compromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him

up, invited him to his house in Petersburg, and now... she has come here

and that daredevil after her! said Anna Mikhylovna, wishing to show

her sympathy for Pierre, but by involuntary intonations and a half smile

betraying her sympathy for the daredevil, as she called Dlokhov.

They say Pierre is quite broken by his misfortune.



Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the clubit will all blow

over. It will be a tremendous banquet.



Next day, the third of March, soon after one oclock, two hundred and

fifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaiting the

guest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagratin, to

dinner.



On the first arrival of the news of the battle of Austerlitz, Moscow had

been bewildered. At that time, the Russians were so used to victories

that on receiving news of the defeat some would simply not believe it,

while others sought some extraordinary explanation of so strange an

event. In the English Club, where all who were distinguished, important,

and well informed foregathered when the news began to arrive in

December, nothing was said about the war and the last battle, as

though all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who set the tone

in conversationCount Rostopchn, Prince Yri Dolgorkov, Valev,

Count Markv, and Prince Vyzemskidid not show themselves at the

club, but met in private houses in intimate circles, and the

Moscovites who took their opinions from othersIly Rostv among

themremained for a while without any definite opinion on the subject

of the war and without leaders. The Moscovites felt that something was

wrong and that to discuss the bad news was difficult, and so it was best

to be silent. But after a while, just as a jury comes out of its room,

the bigwigs who guided the clubs opinion reappeared, and everybody

began speaking clearly and definitely. Reasons were found for the

incredible, unheard-of, and impossible event of a Russian defeat,

everything became clear, and in all corners of Moscow the same things

began to be said. These reasons were the treachery of the Austrians, a

defective commissariat, the treachery of the Pole Przebyszwski and of

the Frenchman Langeron, Kutzovs incapacity, and (it was whispered)

the youth and inexperience of the sovereign, who had trusted worthless

and insignificant people. But the army, the Russian army, everyone

declared, was extraordinary and had achieved miracles of valor. The

soldiers, officers, and generals were heroes. But the hero of heroes was

Prince Bagratin, distinguished by his Schn Grabern affair and by

the retreat from Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column

unbroken and had all day beaten back an enemy force twice as numerous

as his own. What also conduced to Bagratins being selected as

Moscows hero was the fact that he had no connections in the city

and was a stranger there. In his person, honor was shown to a simple

fighting Russian soldier without connections and intrigues, and to one

who was associated by memories of the Italian campaign with the name of

Suvrov. Moreover, paying such honor to Bagratin was the best way of

expressing disapproval and dislike of Kutzov.



Had there been no Bagratin, it would have been necessary to

invent him, said the wit Shinshn, parodying the words of Voltaire.

Kutzov no one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers,

calling him a court weathercock and an old satyr.



All Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorkovs saying If you go on

modeling and modeling you must get smeared with clay, suggesting

consolation for our defeat by the memory of former victories and the

words of Rostopchn, that French soldiers have to be incited to battle

by highfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments to show them

that it is more dangerous to run away than to advance, but that Russian

soldiers only need to be restrained and held back! On all sides, new and

fresh anecdotes were heard of individual examples of heroism shown by

our officers and men at Austerlitz. One had saved a standard, another

had killed five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five cannon singlehanded.

Berg was mentioned, by those who did not know him, as having, when

wounded in the right hand, taken his sword in the left, and gone

forward. Of Bolknski, nothing was said, and only those who knew him

intimately regretted that he had died so young, leaving a pregnant wife

with his eccentric father.











CHAPTER III



On that third of March, all the rooms in the English Club were filled

with a hum of conversation, like the hum of bees swarming in springtime.

The members and guests of the club wandered hither and thither, sat,

stood, met, and separated, some in uniform and some in evening dress,

and a few here and there with powdered hair and in Russian kaftns.

Powdered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes and smart stockings,

stood at every door anxiously noting visitors every movement in order

to offer their services. Most of those present were elderly, respected

men with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures

and voices. This class of guests and members sat in certain habitual

places and met in certain habitual groups. A minority of those present

were casual guestschiefly young men, among whom were Densov,

Rostv, and Dlokhovwho was now again an officer in the Semnov

regiment. The faces of these young people, especially those who were

military men, bore that expression of condescending respect for their

elders which seems to say to the older generation, We are prepared to

respect and honor you, but all the same remember that the future belongs

to us.



Nesvtski was there as an old member of the club. Pierre, who at his

wifes command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles,

went about the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull. Here,

as elsewhere, he was surrounded by an atmosphere of subservience to

his wealth, and being in the habit of lording it over these people, he

treated them with absent-minded contempt.



By his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by his wealth

and connections he belonged to the groups of old and honored guests, and

so he went from one group to another. Some of the most important old men

were the center of groups which even strangers approached respectfully

to hear the voices of well-known men. The largest circles formed round

Count Rostopchn, Valev, and Narshkin. Rostopchn was describing

how the Russians had been overwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to

force their way through them with bayonets.



Valev was confidentially telling that Uvrov had been sent from

Petersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz.



In the third circle, Narshkin was speaking of the meeting of the

Austrian Council of War at which Suvrov crowed like a cock in reply to

the nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshn, standing close

by, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutzov had evidently failed to

learn from Suvrov even so simple a thing as the art of crowing like a

cock, but the elder members glanced severely at the wit, making him

feel that in that place and on that day, it was improper to speak so of

Kutzov.



Count Ily Rostv, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his soft

boots between the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting the

important and unimportant, all of whom he knew, as if they were all

equals, while his eyes occasionally sought out his fine well-set-up

young son, resting on him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostv

stood at a window with Dlokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately

made and highly valued. The old count came up to them and pressed

Dlokhovs hand.



Please come and visit us... you know my brave boy... been together

out there... both playing the hero... Ah, Vasli Igntovich...

How dye do, old fellow? he said, turning to an old man who was

passing, but before he had finished his greeting there was a general

stir, and a footman who had run in announced, with a frightened face

Hes arrived!



Bells rang, the stewards rushed forward, andlike rye shaken together

in a shovelthe guests who had been scattered about in different rooms

came together and crowded in the large drawing room by the door of the

ballroom.



Bagratin appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat or sword,

which, in accord with the club custom, he had given up to the hall

porter. He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loaded whip

over his shoulder, as when Rostv had seen him on the eve of the battle

of Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign

Orders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast. Evidently just

before coming to the dinner he had had his hair and whiskers trimmed,

which changed his appearance for the worse. There was something navely

festive in his air, which, in conjunction with his firm and virile

features, gave him a rather comical expression. Bekleshv and Theodore

Uvrov, who had arrived with him, paused at the doorway to allow him,

as the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagratin was embarrassed, not

wishing to avail himself of their courtesy, and this caused some delay

at the doors, but after all he did at last enter first. He walked shyly

and awkwardly over the parquet floor of the reception room, not knowing

what to do with his hands he was more accustomed to walk over a plowed

field under fire, as he had done at the head of the Kursk regiment at

Schn Grabernand he would have found that easier. The committeemen

met him at the first door and, expressing their delight at seeing such a

highly honored guest, took possession of him as it were, without waiting

for his reply, surrounded him, and led him to the drawing room. It was

at first impossible to enter the drawing room door for the crowd of

members and guests jostling one another and trying to get a good look

at Bagratin over each others shoulders, as if he were some rare

animal. Count Ily Rostv, laughing and repeating the words, Make

way, dear boy! Make way, make way! pushed through the crowd more

energetically than anyone, led the guests into the drawing room, and

seated them on the center sofa. The bigwigs, the most respected members

of the club, beset the new arrivals. Count Ily, again thrusting his

way through the crowd, went out of the drawing room and reappeared a

minute later with another committeeman, carrying a large silver salver

which he presented to Prince Bagratin. On the salver lay some verses

composed and printed in the heros honor. Bagratin, on seeing the

salver, glanced around in dismay, as though seeking help. But all eyes

demanded that he should submit. Feeling himself in their power, he

resolutely took the salver with both hands and looked sternly and

reproachfully at the count who had presented it to him. Someone

obligingly took the dish from Bagratin (or he would, it seemed, have

held it till evening and have gone in to dinner with it) and drew his

attention to the verses.



Well, I will read them, then! Bagratin seemed to say, and,

fixing his weary eyes on the paper, began to read them with a fixed and

serious expression. But the author himself took the verses and began

reading them aloud. Bagratin bowed his head and listened



   Bring glory then to Alexanders 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!

   Een fortunate Napoleon

   Knows by experience, now, Bagratin,

   And dare not Herculean Russians trouble...



But before he had finished reading, a stentorian major-domo announced

that dinner was ready! The door opened, and from the dining room came

the resounding strains of the polonaise



   Conquests joyful thunder waken,

   Triumph, valiant Russians, now!...



and Count Rostv, glancing angrily at the author who went on reading

his verses, bowed to Bagratin. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner

was more important than verses, and Bagratin, again preceding all the

rest, went in to dinner. He was seated in the place of honor between

two AlexandersBekleshv and Narshkinwhich was a significant

allusion to the name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons took their

seats in the dining room, according to their rank and importance the

more important nearer to the honored guest, as naturally as water flows

deepest where the land lies lowest.



Just before dinner, Count Ily Rostv presented his son to Bagratin,

who recognized him and said a few words to him, disjointed and awkward,

as were all the words he spoke that day, and Count Ily looked joyfully

and proudly around while Bagratin spoke to his son.



Nicholas Rostv, with Densov and his new acquaintance, Dlokhov, sat

almost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre, beside Prince

Nesvtski. Count Ily Rostv with the other members of the committee

sat facing Bagratin and, as the very personification of Moscow

hospitality, did the honors to the prince.



His efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, both the Lenten and the

other fare, was splendid, yet he could not feel quite at ease till the

end of the meal. He winked at the butler, whispered directions to the

footmen, and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety. Everything

was excellent. With the second course, a gigantic sterlet (at sight of

which Ily Rostv blushed with self-conscious pleasure), the footmen

began popping corks and filling the champagne glasses. After the fish,

which made a certain sensation, the count exchanged glances with

the other committeemen. There will be many toasts, its time to

begin, he whispered, and taking up his glass, he rose. All were

silent, waiting for what he would say.



To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor! he cried, and at the

same moment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy and enthusiasm.

The band immediately struck up Conquests joyful thunder

waken... All rose and cried Hurrah! Bagratin also rose and

shouted Hurrah! in exactly the same voice in which he had shouted

it on the field at Schn Grabern. Young Rostvs ecstatic voice

could be heard above the three hundred others. He nearly wept. To the

health of our Sovereign, the Emperor! he roared, Hurrah! and

emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to the floor. Many followed

his example, and the loud shouting continued for a long time. When the

voices subsided, the footmen cleared away the broken glass and everybody

sat down again, smiling at the noise they had made and exchanging

remarks. The old count rose once more, glanced at a note lying beside

his plate, and proposed a toast, To the health of the hero of our

last campaign, Prince Peter Ivnovich Bagratin! and again his blue

eyes grew moist. Hurrah! cried the three hundred voices again,

but instead of the band a choir began singing a cantata composed by Paul

Ivnovich Kutzov



   Russians! Oer all barriers on!

   Courage conquest guarantees

   Have we not Bagratin?

   He brings foemen to their knees,... etc.



As soon as the singing was over, another and another toast was proposed

and Count Ily Rostv became more and more moved, more glass was

smashed, and the shouting grew louder. They drank to Bekleshv,

Narshkin, Uvrov, Dolgorkov, Aprksin, Valev, to the committee,

to all the club members and to all the club guests, and finally to

Count Ily Rostv separately, as the organizer of the banquet. At that

toast, the count took out his handkerchief and, covering his face, wept

outright.











CHAPTER IV



Pierre sat opposite Dlokhov and Nicholas Rostv. As usual, he ate and

drank much, and eagerly. But those who knew him intimately noticed that

some great change had come over him that day. He was silent all through

dinner and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, with fixed eyes and

a look of complete absent-mindedness, kept rubbing the bridge of his

nose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed to see and hear

nothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed by some

depressing and unsolved problem.



The unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hints given by the

princess, his cousin, at Moscow, concerning Dlokhovs intimacy with

his wife, and by an anonymous letter he had received that morning, which

in the mean jocular way common to anonymous letters said that he saw

badly through his spectacles, but that his wifes connection with

Dlokhov was a secret to no one but himself. Pierre absolutely

disbelieved both the princess hints and the letter, but he feared

now to look at Dlokhov, who was sitting opposite him. Every time

he chanced to meet Dlokhovs handsome insolent eyes, Pierre felt

something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and turned quickly

away. Involuntarily recalling his wifes past and her relations with

Dlokhov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might be

true, or might at least seem to be true had it not referred to his wife.

He involuntarily remembered how Dlokhov, who had fully recovered his

former position after the campaign, had returned to Petersburg and come

to him. Availing himself of his friendly relations with Pierre as a boon

companion, Dlokhov had come straight to his house, and Pierre had put

him up and lent him money. Pierre recalled how Hlne had smilingly

expressed disapproval of Dlokhovs living at their house, and how

cynically Dlokhov had praised his wifes beauty to him and from that

time till they came to Moscow had not left them for a day.



Yes, he is very handsome, thought Pierre, and I know him. It

would be particularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridicule

me, just because I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriended him,

and helped him. I know and understand what a spice that would add to the

pleasure of deceiving me, if it really were true. Yes, if it were true,

but I do not believe it. I have no right to, and cant, believe it.

He remembered the expression Dlokhovs face assumed in his moments

of cruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear and dropping them

into the water, or when he challenged a man to a duel without any

reason, or shot a post-boys horse with a pistol. That expression

was often on Dlokhovs face when looking at him. Yes, he is a

bully, thought Pierre, to kill a man means nothing to him. It must

seem to him that everyone is afraid of him, and that must please him.

He must think that I, too, am afraid of himand in fact I am afraid of

him, he thought, and again he felt something terrible and monstrous

rising in his soul. Dlokhov, Densov, and Rostv were now sitting

opposite Pierre and seemed very gay. Rostv was talking merrily to his

two friends, one of whom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious

duelist and rake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at

Pierre, whose preoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very

noticeable one at the dinner. Rostv looked inimically at Pierre,

first because Pierre appeared to his hussar eyes as a rich civilian, the

husband of a beauty, and in a wordan old woman and secondly because

Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized

Rostv and had not responded to his greeting. When the Emperors

health was drunk, Pierre, lost in thought, did not rise or lift his

glass.



What are you about? shouted Rostv, looking at him in an ecstasy

of exasperation. Dont you hear its His Majesty the Emperors

health?



Pierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his glass, and, waiting till

all were seated again, turned with his kindly smile to Rostv.



Why, I didnt recognize you! he said. But Rostv was otherwise

engaged he was shouting Hurrah!



Why dont you renew the acquaintance? said Dlokhov to Rostv.



Confound him, hes a fool! said Rostv.



One should make up to the husbands of pretty women, said Densov.



Pierre did not catch what they were saying, but knew they were talking

about him. He reddened and turned away.



Well, now to the health of handsome women! said Dlokhov, and

with a serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of

his mouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre.



Heres to the health of lovely women, Peterkinand their

lovers! he added.



Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without looking at

Dlokhov or answering him. The footman, who was distributing leaflets

with Kutzovs cantata, laid one before Pierre as one of the

principal guests. He was just going to take it when Dlokhov, leaning

across, snatched it from his hand and began reading it. Pierre looked

at Dlokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible and monstrous

that had tormented him all dinnertime rose and took possession of him.

He leaned his whole massive body across the table.



How dare you take it? he shouted.



Hearing that cry and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvtski and the

neighbor on his right quickly turned in alarm to Bezkhov.



Dont! Dont! What are you about? whispered their frightened

voices.



Dlokhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, and that

smile of his which seemed to say, Ah! This is what I like!



You shant have it! he said distinctly.



Pale, with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy.



You...! you... scoundrel! I challenge you! he ejaculated, and,

pushing back his chair, he rose from the table.



At the very instant he did this and uttered those words, Pierre felt

that the question of his wifes guilt which had been tormenting him

the whole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative.

He hated her and was forever sundered from her. Despite Densovs

request that he would take no part in the matter, Rostv agreed to be

Dlokhovs second, and after dinner he discussed the arrangements for

the duel with Nesvtski, Bezkhovs second. Pierre went home, but

Rostv with Dlokhov and Densov stayed on at the club till late,

listening to the gypsies and other singers.



Well then, till tomorrow at Soklniki, said Dlokhov, as he took

leave of Rostv in the club porch.



And do you feel quite calm? Rostv asked.



Dlokhov paused.



Well, you see, Ill tell you the whole secret of dueling in two

words. If you are going to fight a duel, and you make a will and write

affectionate letters to your parents, and if you think you may be

killed, you are a fool and are lost for certain. But go with the firm

intention of killing your man as quickly and surely as possible, and

then all will be right, as our bear huntsman at Kostrom used to tell

me. Everyone fears a bear, he says, but when you see one your

fears all gone, and your only thought is not to let him get away!

And thats how it is with me.  demain, mon cher. *



    * Till tomorrow, my dear fellow.



Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvtski drove to the

Soklniki forest and found Dlokhov, Densov, and Rostv already

there. Pierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerations which

had no connection with the matter in hand. His haggard face was yellow.

He had evidently not slept that night. He looked about distractedly and

screwed up his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. He was entirely absorbed

by two considerations his wifes guilt, of which after his sleepless

night he had not the slightest doubt, and the guiltlessness of

Dlokhov, who had no reason to preserve the honor of a man who was

nothing to him.... I should perhaps have done the same thing in his

place, thought Pierre. Its even certain that I should have done

the same, then why this duel, this murder? Either I shall kill him, or

he will hit me in the head, or elbow, or knee. Cant I go away from

here, run away, bury myself somewhere? passed through his mind. But

just at moments when such thoughts occurred to him, he would ask in a

particularly calm and absent-minded way, which inspired the respect of

the onlookers, Will it be long? Are things ready?



When all was ready, the sabers stuck in the snow to mark the barriers,

and the pistols loaded, Nesvtski went up to Pierre.



I should not be doing my duty, Count, he said in timid tones,

and should not justify your confidence and the honor you have done

me in choosing me for your second, if at this grave, this very

grave, moment I did not tell you the whole truth. I think there is no

sufficient ground for this affair, or for blood to be shed over it....

You were not right, not quite in the right, you were impetuous...



Oh yes, it is horribly stupid, said Pierre.



Then allow me to express your regrets, and I am sure your opponent

will accept them, said Nesvtski (who like the others concerned in

the affair, and like everyone in similar cases, did not yet believe that

the affair had come to an actual duel). You know, Count, it is much

more honorable to admit ones mistake than to let matters become

irreparable. There was no insult on either side. Allow me to

convey....



No! What is there to talk about? said Pierre. Its all the

same.... Is everything ready? he added. Only tell me where to go

and where to shoot, he said with an unnaturally gentle smile.



He took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working of the

trigger, as he had not before held a pistol in his handa fact that he

did not wish to confess.



Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot, said he.



No apologies, none whatever, said Dlokhov to Densov (who on

his side had been attempting a reconciliation), and he also went up to

the appointed place.



The spot chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road,

where the sleighs had been left, in a small clearing in the pine forest

covered with melting snow, the frost having begun to break up during the

last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces apart at the farther

edge of the clearing. The seconds, measuring the paces, left tracks in

the deep wet snow between the place where they had been standing and

Nesvtskis and Dlokhovs sabers, which were stuck into the

ground ten paces apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing and misty at

forty paces distance nothing could be seen. For three minutes all had

been ready, but they still delayed and all were silent.











CHAPTER V



Well begin! said Dlokhov.



All right, said Pierre, still smiling in the same way. A feeling

of dread was in the air. It was evident that the affair so lightly begun

could no longer be averted but was taking its course independently of

mens will.



Densov first went to the barrier and announced As the

advesawies have wefused a weconciliation, please pwoceed. Take your

pistols, and at the word thwee begin to advance.



O-ne! T-wo! Thwee! he shouted angrily and stepped aside.



The combatants advanced along the trodden tracks, nearer and nearer to

one another, beginning to see one another through the mist. They had the

right to fire when they liked as they approached the barrier. Dlokhov

walked slowly without raising his pistol, looking intently with his

bright, sparkling blue eyes into his antagonists face. His mouth wore

its usual semblance of a smile.



So I can fire when I like! said Pierre, and at the word

three, he went quickly forward, missing the trodden path and

stepping into the deep snow. He held the pistol in his right hand at

arms length, apparently afraid of shooting himself with it. His left

hand he held carefully back, because he wished to support his right

hand with it and knew he must not do so. Having advanced six paces and

strayed off the track into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet,

then quickly glanced at Dlokhov and, bending his finger as he had been

shown, fired. Not at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre shuddered

at the sound and then, smiling at his own sensations, stood still. The

smoke, rendered denser by the mist, prevented him from seeing anything

for an instant, but there was no second report as he had expected. He

only heard Dlokhovs hurried steps, and his figure came in view

through the smoke. He was pressing one hand to his left side, while

the other clutched his drooping pistol. His face was pale. Rostv ran

toward him and said something.



No-o-o! muttered Dlokhov through his teeth, no, its not

over. And after stumbling a few staggering steps right up to the

saber, he sank on the snow beside it. His left hand was bloody he wiped

it on his coat and supported himself with it. His frowning face was

pallid and quivered.



Plea... began Dlokhov, but could not at first pronounce the

word.



Please, he uttered with an effort.



Pierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began running toward Dlokhov and

was about to cross the space between the barriers, when Dlokhov cried



To your barrier! and Pierre, grasping what was meant, stopped by

his saber. Only ten paces divided them. Dlokhov lowered his head to

the snow, greedily bit at it, again raised his head, adjusted himself,

drew in his legs and sat up, seeking a firm center of gravity. He sucked

and swallowed the cold snow, his lips quivered but his eyes, still

smiling, glittered with effort and exasperation as he mustered his

remaining strength. He raised his pistol and aimed.



Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol! ejaculated Nesvtski.



Cover yourself! even Densov cried to his adversary.



Pierre, with a gentle smile of pity and remorse, his arms and legs

helplessly spread out, stood with his broad chest directly facing

Dlokhov and looked sorrowfully at him. Densov, Rostv, and

Nesvtski closed their eyes. At the same instant they heard a report

and Dlokhovs angry cry.



Missed! shouted Dlokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards

on the snow.



Pierre clutched his temples, and turning round went into the forest,

trampling through the deep snow, and muttering incoherent words



Folly... folly! Death... lies... he repeated, puckering his face.



Nesvtski stopped him and took him home.



Rostv and Densov drove away with the wounded Dlokhov.



The latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed eyes and did not answer

a word to the questions addressed to him. But on entering Moscow he

suddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostv, who

was sitting beside him, by the hand. Rostv was struck by the

totally altered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on

Dlokhovs face.



Well? How do you feel? he asked.



Bad! But its not that, my friend said Dlokhov with a

gasping voice. Where are we? In Moscow, I know. I dont matter,

but I have killed her, killed... She wont get over it! She wont

survive....



Who? asked Rostv.



My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother, and

Dlokhov pressed Rostvs hand and burst into tears.



When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostv that he was

living with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it.

He implored Rostv to go on and prepare her.



Rostv went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise

learned that Dlokhov the brawler, Dlokhov the bully, lived in Moscow

with an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate

of sons and brothers.











CHAPTER VI



Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both in Petersburg and in

Moscow their house was always full of visitors. The night after the

duel he did not go to his bedroom but, as he often did, remained in his

fathers room, that huge room in which Count Bezkhov had died.



He lay down on the sofa meaning to fall asleep and forget all that

had happened to him, but could not do so. Such a storm of feelings,

thoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not fall

asleep, nor even remain in one place, but had to jump up and pace the

room with rapid steps. Now he seemed to see her in the early days of

their marriage, with bare shoulders and a languid, passionate look on

her face, and then immediately he saw beside her Dlokhovs handsome,

insolent, hard, and mocking face as he had seen it at the banquet, and

then that same face pale, quivering, and suffering, as it had been when

he reeled and sank on the snow.



What has happened? he asked himself. I have killed her lover,

yes, killed my wifes lover. Yes, that was it! And why? How did I come

to do it?Because you married her, answered an inner voice.



But in what was I to blame? he asked. In marrying her without

loving her in deceiving yourself and her. And he vividly recalled

that moment after supper at Prince Vaslis, when he spoke those

words he had found so difficult to utter I love you. It all

comes from that! Even then I felt it, he thought. I felt then that

it was not so, that I had no right to do it. And so it turns out.



He remembered his honeymoon and blushed at the recollection.

Particularly vivid, humiliating, and shameful was the recollection of

how one day soon after his marriage he came out of the bedroom into his

study a little before noon in his silk dressing gown and found his head

steward there, who, bowing respectfully, looked into his face and at

his dressing gown and smiled slightly, as if expressing respectful

understanding of his employers happiness.



But how often I have felt proud of her, proud of her majestic beauty

and social tact, thought he been proud of my house, in which she

received all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability and beauty. So

this is what I was proud of! I then thought that I did not understand

her. How often when considering her character I have told myself that

I was to blame for not understanding her, for not understanding that

constant composure and complacency and lack of all interests or desires,

and the whole secret lies in the terrible truth that she is a depraved

woman. Now I have spoken that terrible word to myself all has become

clear.



Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her

naked shoulders. She did not give him the money, but let herself be

kissed. Her father in jest tried to rouse her jealousy, and she replied

with a calm smile that she was not so stupid as to be jealous Let

him do what he pleases, she used to say of me. One day I asked her if

she felt any symptoms of pregnancy. She laughed contemptuously and said

she was not a fool to want to have children, and that she was not going

to have any children by me.



Then he recalled the coarseness and bluntness of her thoughts and the

vulgarity of the expressions that were natural to her, though she had

been brought up in the most aristocratic circles.



Im not such a fool.... Just you try it on.... Allez-vous

promener, * she used to say. Often seeing the success she had with

young and old men and women Pierre could not understand why he did not

love her.



    * You clear out of this.





Yes, I never loved her, said he to himself I knew she was a

depraved woman, he repeated, but dared not admit it to myself.

And now theres Dlokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile and

perhaps dying, while meeting my remorse with some forced bravado!



Pierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance of what

is called weak character, do not seek a confidant in their troubles. He

digested his sufferings alone.



It is all, all her fault, he said to himself but what of that?

Why did I bind myself to her? Why did I say Je vous aime * to her,

which was a lie, and worse than a lie? I am guilty and must endure...

what? A slur on my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, thats

nonsense, he thought. The slur on my name and honorthats all

apart from myself.



    * I love you.



Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonorable and a

criminal, came into Pierres head, and from their point of

view they were right, as were those too who canonized him and died a

martyrs death for his sake. Then Robespierre was beheaded for being

a despot. Who is right and who is wrong? No one! But if you are

alivelive tomorrow youll die as I might have died an hour ago.

And is it worth tormenting oneself, when one has only a moment of life

in comparison with eternity?



But at the moment when he imagined himself calmed by such reflections,

she suddenly came into his mind as she was at the moments when he had

most strongly expressed his insincere love for her, and he felt the

blood rush to his heart and had again to get up and move about and break

and tear whatever came to his hand. Why did I tell her that Je

vous aime? he kept repeating to himself. And when he had said it

for the tenth time, Molires words Mais que diable allait-il

faire dans cette galre? * occurred to him, and he began to laugh at

himself.



      * But what the devil was he doing in that galley?





In the night he called his valet and told him to pack up to go to

Petersburg. He could not imagine how he could speak to her now. He

resolved to go away next day and leave a letter informing her of his

intention to part from her forever.



Next morning when the valet came into the room with his coffee, Pierre

was lying asleep on the ottoman with an open book in his hand.



He woke up and looked round for a while with a startled expression,

unable to realize where he was.



The countess told me to inquire whether your excellency was at

home, said the valet.



But before Pierre could decide what answer he would send, the countess

herself in a white satin dressing gown embroidered with silver and with

simply dressed hair (two immense plaits twice round her lovely head like

a coronet) entered the room, calm and majestic, except that there was

a wrathful wrinkle on her rather prominent marble brow. With her

imperturbable calm she did not begin to speak in front of the valet.

She knew of the duel and had come to speak about it. She waited till the

valet had set down the coffee things and left the room. Pierre looked

at her timidly over his spectacles, and like a hare surrounded by hounds

who lays back her ears and continues to crouch motionless before her

enemies, he tried to continue reading. But feeling this to be senseless

and impossible, he again glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down

but looked at him with a contemptuous smile, waiting for the valet to

go.



Well, whats this now? What have you been up to now, I should like

to know? she asked sternly.



I? What have I...? stammered Pierre.



So it seems youre a hero, eh? Come now, what was this duel about?

What is it meant to prove? What? I ask you.



Pierre turned over heavily on the ottoman and opened his mouth, but

could not reply.



If you wont answer, Ill tell you... Hlne went on. You

believe everything youre told. You were told... Hlne laughed,

that Dlokhov was my lover, she said in French with her coarse

plainness of speech, uttering the word amant as casually as any other

word, and you believed it! Well, what have you proved? What does this

duel prove? That youre a fool, que vous tes un sot, but everybody

knew that. What will be the result? That I shall be the laughingstock of

all Moscow, that everyone will say that you, drunk and not knowing what

you were about, challenged a man you are jealous of without cause.

Hlne raised her voice and became more and more excited, A man

whos a better man than you in every way...



Hm... Hm...! growled Pierre, frowning without looking at her, and

not moving a muscle.



And how could you believe he was my lover? Why? Because I like

his company? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should prefer

yours.



Dont speak to me... I beg you, muttered Pierre hoarsely.



Why shouldnt I speak? I can speak as I like, and I tell you

plainly that there are not many wives with husbands such as you who

would not have taken lovers (des amants), but I have not done so,

said she.



Pierre wished to say something, looked at her with eyes whose strange

expression she did not understand, and lay down again. He was suffering

physically at that moment, there was a weight on his chest and he could

not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this

suffering, but what he wanted to do was too terrible.



We had better separate, he muttered in a broken voice.



Separate? Very well, but only if you give me a fortune, said

Hlne. Separate! Thats a thing to frighten me with!



Pierre leaped up from the sofa and rushed staggering toward her.



Ill kill you! he shouted, and seizing the marble top of a table

with a strength he had never before felt, he made a step toward her

brandishing the slab.



Hlnes face became terrible, she shrieked and sprang aside. His

fathers nature showed itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination and

delight of frenzy. He flung down the slab, broke it, and swooping

down on her with outstretched hands shouted, Get out! in such a

terrible voice that the whole house heard it with horror. God knows what

he would have done at that moment had Hlne not fled from the room.





A week later Pierre gave his wife full power to control all his estates

in Great Russia, which formed the larger part of his property, and left

for Petersburg alone.











CHAPTER VII



Two months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitz and

the loss of Prince Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spite of the

letters sent through the embassy and all the searches made, his body had

not been found nor was he on the list of prisoners. What was worst of

all for his relations was the fact that there was still a possibility of

his having been picked up on the battlefield by the people of the

place and that he might now be lying, recovering or dying, alone among

strangers and unable to send news of himself. The gazettes from which

the old prince first heard of the defeat at Austerlitz stated, as usual

very briefly and vaguely, that after brilliant engagements the Russians

had had to retreat and had made their withdrawal in perfect order. The

old prince understood from this official report that our army had been

defeated. A week after the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz

came a letter from Kutzov informing the prince of the fate that had

befallen his son.



Your son, wrote Kutzov, fell before my eyes, a standard in

his hand and at the head of a regimenthe fell as a hero, worthy of

his father and his fatherland. To the great regret of myself and of the

whole army it is still uncertain whether he is alive or not. I comfort

myself and you with the hope that your son is alive, for otherwise

he would have been mentioned among the officers found on the field of

battle, a list of whom has been sent me under flag of truce.



After receiving this news late in the evening, when he was alone in his

study, the old prince went for his walk as usual next morning, but he

was silent with his steward, the gardener, and the architect, and though

he looked very grim he said nothing to anyone.



When Princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working at his

lathe and, as usual, did not look round at her.



Ah, Princess Mary! he said suddenly in an unnatural voice,

throwing down his chisel. (The wheel continued to revolve by its own

impetus, and Princess Mary long remembered the dying creak of that

wheel, which merged in her memory with what followed.)



She approached him, saw his face, and something gave way within her. Her

eyes grew dim. By the expression of her fathers face, not sad, not

crushed, but angry and working unnaturally, she saw that hanging over

her and about to crush her was some terrible misfortune, the worst

in life, one she had not yet experienced, irreparable and

incomprehensiblethe death of one she loved.



Father! Andrew!said the ungraceful, awkward princess with such

an indescribable charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that her father

could not bear her look but turned away with a sob.



Bad news! Hes not among the prisoners nor among the killed!

Kutzov writes... and he screamed as piercingly as if he wished to

drive the princess away by that scream... Killed!



The princess did not fall down or faint. She was already pale, but on

hearing these words her face changed and something brightened in her

beautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joya supreme joy apart from the

joys and sorrows of this worldoverflowed the great grief within her.

She forgot all fear of her father, went up to him, took his hand, and

drawing him down put her arm round his thin, scraggy neck.



Father, she said, do not turn away from me, let us weep

together.



Scoundrels! Blackguards! shrieked the old man, turning his face

away from her. Destroying the army, destroying the men! And why? Go,

go and tell Lise.



The princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father and

wept. She saw her brother now as he had been at the moment when he took

leave of her and of Lise, his look tender yet proud. She saw him tender

and amused as he was when he put on the little icon. Did he believe?

Had he repented of his unbelief? Was he now there? There in the realms

of eternal peace and blessedness? she thought.



Father, tell me how it happened, she asked through her tears.



Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of Russian men and

Russias glory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Mary. Go and tell

Lise. I will follow.



When Princess Mary returned from her father, the little princess sat

working and looked up with that curious expression of inner, happy calm

peculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her eyes did not see

Princess Mary but were looking within... into herself... at something

joyful and mysterious taking place within her.



Mary, she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and lying

back, give me your hand. She took her sister-in-laws hand and

held it below her waist.



Her eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and remained

lifted in childlike happiness.



Princess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her

sister-in-laws dress.



There, there! Do you feel it? I feel so strange. And do you know,

Mary, I am going to love him very much, said Lise, looking with

bright and happy eyes at her sister-in-law.



Princess Mary could not lift her head, she was weeping.



What is the matter, Mary?



Nothing... only I feel sad... sad about Andrew, she said, wiping

away her tears on her sister-in-laws knee.



Several times in the course of the morning Princess Mary began trying to

prepare her sister-in-law, and every time began to cry. Unobservant as

was the little princess, these tears, the cause of which she did not

understand, agitated her. She said nothing but looked about uneasily as

if in search of something. Before dinner the old prince, of whom she was

always afraid, came into her room with a peculiarly restless and malign

expression and went out again without saying a word. She looked at

Princess Mary, then sat thinking for a while with that expression of

attention to something within her that is only seen in pregnant women,

and suddenly began to cry.



Has anything come from Andrew? she asked.



No, you know its too soon for news. But my father is anxious and I

feel afraid.



So theres nothing?



Nothing, answered Princess Mary, looking firmly with her radiant

eyes at her sister-in-law.



She had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father to hide the

terrible news from her till after her confinement, which was expected

within a few days. Princess Mary and the old prince each bore and hid

their grief in their own way. The old prince would not cherish any hope

he made up his mind that Prince Andrew had been killed, and though he

sent an official to Austria to seek for traces of his son, he ordered a

monument from Moscow which he intended to erect in his own garden to his

memory, and he told everybody that his son had been killed. He tried not

to change his former way of life, but his strength failed him. He walked

less, ate less, slept less, and became weaker every day. Princess Mary

hoped. She prayed for her brother as living and was always awaiting news

of his return.











CHAPTER VIII



Dearest, said the little princess after breakfast on the morning

of the nineteenth March, and her downy little lip rose from old habit,

but as sorrow was manifest in every smile, the sound of every word, and

even every footstep in that house since the terrible news had come, so

now the smile of the little princessinfluenced by the general mood

though without knowing its causewas such as to remind one still more

of the general sorrow.



Dearest, Im afraid this mornings fruschtique *as Fka the

cook calls ithas disagreed with me.



    * Frhstck breakfast.



What is the matter with you, my darling? You look pale. Oh, you

are very pale! said Princess Mary in alarm, running with her soft,

ponderous steps up to her sister-in-law.



Your excellency, should not Mary Bogdnovna be sent for? said one

of the maids who was present. (Mary Bogdnovna was a midwife from the

neighboring town, who had been at Bald Hills for the last fortnight.)



Oh yes, assented Princess Mary, perhaps thats it. Ill go.

Courage, my angel. She kissed Lise and was about to leave the room.



Oh, no, no! And besides the pallor and the physical suffering

on the little princess face, an expression of childish fear of

inevitable pain showed itself.



No, its only indigestion?... Say its only indigestion, say so,

Mary! Say... And the little princess began to cry capriciously like

a suffering child and to wring her little hands even with some

affectation. Princess Mary ran out of the room to fetch Mary

Bogdnovna.



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 Bogdnovna, I think its beginning! said Princess Mary

looking at the midwife with wide-open eyes of alarm.



Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess, said Mary Bogdnovna, not

hastening her steps. You young ladies should not know anything about

it.



But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet? said the

princess. (In accordance with Lises and Prince Andrews wishes they

had sent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him at

any moment.)



No matter, Princess, dont be alarmed, said Mary Bogdnovna.

Well manage very well without a doctor.



Five minutes later Princess Mary from her room heard something heavy

being carried by. She looked out. The men servants were carrying the

large leather sofa from Prince Andrews study into the bedroom. On

their faces was a quiet and solemn look.



Princess Mary sat alone in her room listening to the sounds in the

house, now and then opening her door when someone passed and watching

what was going on in the passage. Some women passing with quiet steps in

and out of the bedroom glanced at the princess and turned away. She did

not venture to ask any questions, and shut the door again, now sitting

down in her easy chair, now taking her prayer book, now kneeling before

the icon stand. To her surprise and distress she found that her prayers

did not calm her excitement. Suddenly her door opened softly and her old

nurse, Praskvya Svishna, who hardly ever came to that room as the

old prince had forbidden it, appeared on the threshold with a shawl

round her head.



Ive come to sit with you a bit, Msha, said the nurse, and

here Ive brought the princes wedding candles to light before his

saint, my angel, she said with a sigh.



Oh, nurse, Im so glad!



God is merciful, birdie.



The nurse lit the gilt candles before the icons and sat down by the door

with her knitting. Princess Mary took a book and began reading. Only

when footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another, the

princess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging. Everyone in the

house was dominated by the same feeling that Princess Mary experienced

as she sat in her room. But owing to the superstition that the fewer

the people who know of it the less a woman in travail suffers, everyone

tried to pretend not to know no one spoke of it, but apart from the

ordinary staid and respectful good manners habitual in the princes

household, a common anxiety, a softening of the heart, and a

consciousness that something great and mysterious was being accomplished

at that moment made itself felt.



There was no laughter in the maids large hall. In the men servants

hall all sat waiting, silently and alert. In the outlying serfs

quarters torches and candles were burning and no one slept. The old

prince, stepping on his heels, paced up and down his study and sent

Tkhon to ask Mary Bogdnovna what news.Say only that the

prince told me to ask, and come and tell me her answer.



Inform the prince that labor has begun, said Mary Bogdnovna,

giving the messenger a significant look.



Tkhon went and told the prince.



Very good! said the prince closing the door behind him, and

Tkhon did not hear the slightest sound from the study after that.



After a while he re-entered it as if to snuff the candles, and, seeing

the prince was lying on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his perturbed

face, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissed him on the

shoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why he

had entered. The most solemn mystery in the world continued its course.

Evening passed, night came, and the feeling of suspense and softening of

heart in the presence of the unfathomable did not lessen but increased.

No one slept.



It was one of those March nights when winter seems to wish to resume its

sway and scatters its last snows and storms with desperate fury. A relay

of horses had been sent up the highroad to meet the German doctor from

Moscow who was expected every moment, and men on horseback with lanterns

were sent to the crossroads to guide him over the country road with its

hollows and snow-covered pools of water.



Princess Mary had long since put aside her book she sat silent, her

luminous eyes fixed on her nurses wrinkled face (every line of which

she knew so well), on the lock of gray hair that escaped from under the

kerchief, and the loose skin that hung under her chin.



Nurse Svishna, knitting in hand, was telling in low tones, scarcely

hearing or understanding her own words, what she had told hundreds of

times before how the late princess had given birth to Princess Mary

in Kishenv with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help instead of a

midwife.



God is merciful, doctors are never needed, she said.



Suddenly a gust of wind beat violently against the casement of the

window, from which the double frame had been removed (by order of the

prince, one window frame was removed in each room as soon as the larks

returned), and, forcing open a loosely closed latch, set the damask

curtain flapping and blew out the candle with its chill, snowy draft.

Princess Mary shuddered her nurse, putting down the stocking she was

knitting, went to the window and leaning out tried to catch the open

casement. The cold wind flapped the ends of her kerchief and her loose

locks of gray hair.



Princess, my dear, theres someone driving up the avenue! she

said, holding the casement and not closing it. With lanterns. Most

likely the doctor.



Oh, my God! thank God! said Princess Mary. I must go and meet

him, he does not know Russian.



Princess Mary threw a shawl over her head and ran to meet the newcomer.

As she was crossing the anteroom she saw through the window a carriage

with lanterns, standing at the entrance. She went out on the stairs. On

a banister post stood a tallow candle which guttered in the draft. On

the landing below, Philip, the footman, stood looking scared and holding

another candle. Still lower, beyond the turn of the staircase, one

could hear the footstep of someone in thick felt boots, and a voice that

seemed familiar to Princess Mary was saying something.



Thank God! said the voice. And Father?



Gone to bed, replied the voice of Demyn the house steward, who

was downstairs.



Then the voice said something more, Demyn replied, and the steps in

the felt boots approached the unseen bend of the staircase more rapidly.



Its Andrew! thought Princess Mary. No it cant be, that

would be too extraordinary, and at the very moment she thought this,

the face and figure of Prince Andrew, in a fur cloak the deep collar of

which covered with snow, appeared on the landing where the footman

stood with the candle. Yes, it was he, pale, thin, with a changed and

strangely softened but agitated expression on his face. He came up the

stairs and embraced his sister.



You did not get my letter? he asked, and not waiting for a

replywhich he would not have received, for the princess was unable to

speakhe turned back, rapidly mounted the stairs again with the

doctor who had entered the hall after him (they had met at the last post

station), and again embraced his sister.



What a strange fate, Msha darling! And having taken off his

cloak and felt boots, he went to the little princess apartment.











CHAPTER IX



The little princess lay supported by pillows, with a white cap on her

head (the pains had just left her). Strands of her black hair lay round

her inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her charming rosy mouth with its

downy lip was open and she was smiling joyfully. Prince Andrew entered

and paused facing her at the foot of the sofa on which she was lying.

Her glittering eyes, filled with childlike fear and excitement, rested

on him without changing their expression. I love you all and have

done no harm to anyone why must I suffer so? Help me! her look

seemed to say. She saw her husband, but did not realize the significance

of his appearance before her now. Prince Andrew went round the sofa and

kissed her forehead.



My darling! he saida word he had never used to her before.

God is merciful....



She looked at him inquiringly and with childlike reproach.



I expected help from you and I get none, none from you either!

said her eyes. She was not surprised at his having come she did

not realize that he had come. His coming had nothing to do with

her sufferings or with their relief. The pangs began again and Mary

Bogdnovna advised Prince Andrew to leave the room.



The doctor entered. Prince Andrew went out and, meeting Princess Mary,

again joined her. They began talking in whispers, but their talk broke

off at every moment. They waited and listened.



Go, dear, said Princess Mary.



Prince Andrew went again to his wife and sat waiting in the room next

to hers. A woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face and became

confused when she saw Prince Andrew. He covered his face with his hands

and remained so for some minutes. Piteous, helpless, animal moans came

through the door. Prince Andrew got up, went to the door, and tried to

open it. Someone was holding it shut.



You cant come in! You cant! said a terrified voice from

within.



He began pacing the room. The screaming ceased, and a few more seconds

went by. Then suddenly a terrible shriekit could not be hers, she

could not scream like thatcame from the bedroom. Prince Andrew ran to

the door the scream ceased and he heard the wail of an infant.



What have they taken a baby in there for? thought Prince Andrew in

the first second. A baby? What baby...? Why is there a baby there? Or

is the baby born?



Then suddenly he realized the joyful significance of that wail tears

choked him, and leaning his elbows on the window sill he began to cry,

sobbing like a child. The door opened. The doctor with his shirt sleeves

tucked up, without a coat, pale and with a trembling jaw, came out

of the room. Prince Andrew turned to him, but the doctor gave him a

bewildered look and passed by without a word. A woman rushed out and

seeing Prince Andrew stopped, hesitating on the threshold. He went into

his wifes room. She was lying dead, in the same position he had seen

her in five minutes before and, despite the fixed eyes and the pallor of

the cheeks, the same expression was on her charming childlike face with

its upper lip covered with tiny black hair.



I love you all, and have done no harm to anyone and what have you

done to me?said her charming, pathetic, dead face.



In a corner of the room something red and tiny gave a grunt and squealed

in Mary Bogdnovnas trembling white hands.





Two hours later Prince Andrew, stepping softly, went into his fathers

room. The old man already knew everything. He was standing close to

the door and as soon as it opened his rough old arms closed like a vise

round his sons neck, and without a word he began to sob like a child.





Three days later the little princess was buried, and Prince Andrew went

up the steps to where the coffin stood, to give her the farewell kiss.

And there in the coffin was the same face, though with closed eyes.

Ah, what have you done to me? it still seemed to say, and Prince

Andrew felt that something gave way in his soul and that he was guilty

of a sin he could neither remedy nor forget. He could not weep. The

old man too came up and kissed the waxen little hands that lay quietly

crossed one on the other on her breast, and to him, too, her face seemed

to say Ah, what have you done to me, and why? And at the sight

the old man turned angrily away.





Another five days passed, and then the young Prince Nicholas Andrevich

was baptized. The wet nurse supported the coverlet with her chin, while

the priest with a goose feather anointed the boys little red and

wrinkled soles and palms.



His grandfather, who was his godfather, trembling and afraid of dropping

him, carried the infant round the battered tin font and handed him over

to the godmother, Princess Mary. Prince Andrew sat in another room,

faint with fear lest the baby should be drowned in the font, and awaited

the termination of the ceremony. He looked up joyfully at the baby when

the nurse brought it to him and nodded approval when she told him that

the wax with the babys hair had not sunk in the font but had floated.











CHAPTER X



Rostvs share in Dlokhovs duel with Bezkhov was hushed up by

the efforts of the old count, and instead of being degraded to the ranks

as he expected he was appointed an adjutant to the governor general of

Moscow. As a result he could not go to the country with the rest of the

family, but was kept all summer in Moscow by his new duties. Dlokhov

recovered, and Rostv became very friendly with him during his

convalescence. Dlokhov lay ill at his mothers who loved him

passionately and tenderly, and old Mary Ivnovna, who had grown fond of

Rostv for his friendship to her Fdya, often talked to him about her

son.



Yes, Count, she would say, he is too noble and pure-souled for

our present, depraved world. No one now loves virtue it seems like

a reproach to everyone. Now tell me, Count, was it right, was it

honorable, of Bezkhov? And Fdya, with his noble spirit, loved him

and even now never says a word against him. Those pranks in Petersburg

when they played some tricks on a policeman, didnt they do it

together? And there! Bezkhov got off scotfree, while Fdya had to

bear the whole burden on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to go through!

Its true he has been reinstated, but how could they fail to do that?

I think there were not many such gallant sons of the fatherland out

there as he. And nowthis duel! Have these people no feeling, or

honor? Knowing him to be an only son, to challenge him and shoot so

straight! Its well God had mercy on us. And what was it for? Who

doesnt have intrigues nowadays? Why, if he was so jealous, as I see

things he should have shown it sooner, but he lets it go on for months.

And then to call him out, reckoning on Fdya not fighting because he

owed him money! What baseness! What meanness! I know you understand

Fdya, my dear count that, believe me, is why I am so fond of you. Few

people do understand him. He is such a lofty, heavenly soul!



Dlokhov himself during his convalescence spoke to Rostv in a way no

one would have expected of him.



I know people consider me a bad man! he said. Let them! I

dont care a straw about anyone but those I love but those I love,

I love so that I would give my life for them, and the others Id

throttle if they stood in my way. I have an adored, a priceless mother,

and two or three friendsyou among themand as for the rest I only

care about them in so far as they are harmful or useful. And most of

them are harmful, especially the women. Yes, dear boy, he continued,

I have met loving, noble, high-minded men, but I have not yet met

any womencountesses or cookswho were not venal. I have not yet met

that divine purity and devotion I look for in women. If I found such a

one Id give my life for her! But those!... and he made a gesture

of contempt. And believe me, if I still value my life it is

only because I still hope to meet such a divine creature, who will

regenerate, purify, and elevate me. But you dont understand it.



Oh, yes, I quite understand, answered Rostv, who was under his

new friends influence.



In the autumn the Rostvs returned to Moscow. Early in the winter

Densov also came back and stayed with them. The first half of the

winter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostv spent in Moscow, was one of the

happiest, merriest times for him and the whole family. Nicholas brought

many young men to his parents house. Vra was a handsome girl

of twenty Snya a girl of sixteen with all the charm of an opening

flower Natsha, half grown up and half child, was now childishly

amusing, now girlishly enchanting.



At that time in the Rostvs house there prevailed an amorous

atmosphere characteristic of homes where there are very young and very

charming girls. Every young man who came to the houseseeing those

impressionable, smiling young faces (smiling probably at their own

happiness), feeling the eager bustle around him, and hearing the fitful

bursts of song and music and the inconsequent but friendly prattle of

young girls ready for anything and full of hopeexperienced the same

feeling sharing with the young folk of the Rostvs household a

readiness to fall in love and an expectation of happiness.



Among the young men introduced by Rostv one of the first was

Dlokhov, whom everyone in the house liked except Natsha. She almost

quarreled with her brother about him. She insisted that he was a bad

man, and that in the duel with Bezkhov, Pierre was right and Dlokhov

wrong, and further that he was disagreeable and unnatural.



Theres nothing for me to understand, she cried out with

resolute self-will, he is wicked and heartless. There now, I like

your Densov though he is a rake and all that, still I like him so

you see I do understand. I dont know how to put it... with this one

everything is calculated, and I dont like that. But Densov...



Oh, Densov is quite different, replied Nicholas, implying that

even Densov was nothing compared to Dlokhovyou must understand

what a soul there is in Dlokhov, you should see him with his mother.

What a heart!



Well, I dont know about that, but I am uncomfortable with him. And

do you know he has fallen in love with Snya?



What nonsense...



Im certain of it youll see.



Natshas prediction proved true. Dlokhov, who did not usually care

for the society of ladies, began to come often to the house, and the

question for whose sake he came (though no one spoke of it) was soon

settled. He came because of Snya. And Snya, though she would never

have dared to say so, knew it and blushed scarlet every time Dlokhov

appeared.



Dlokhov often dined at the Rostvs, never missed a performance at

which they were present, and went to Iogels balls for young people

which the Rostvs always attended. He was pointedly attentive to Snya

and looked at her in such a way that not only could she not bear his

glances without coloring, but even the old countess and Natsha blushed

when they saw his looks.



It was evident that this strange, strong man was under the irresistible

influence of the dark, graceful girl who loved another.



Rostv noticed something new in Dlokhovs relations with Snya,

but he did not explain to himself what these new relations were.

Theyre always in love with someone, he thought of Snya and

Natsha. But he was not as much at ease with Snya and Dlokhov as

before and was less frequently at home.



In the autumn of 1806 everybody had again begun talking of the war with

Napoleon with even greater warmth than the year before. Orders were

given to raise recruits, ten men in every thousand for the regular army,

and besides this, nine men in every thousand for the militia. Everywhere

Bonaparte was anathematized and in Moscow nothing but the coming war

was talked of. For the Rostv family the whole interest of these

preparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of

remaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Densovs

furlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment. His

approaching departure did not prevent his amusing himself, but rather

gave zest to his pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time away

from home, at dinners, parties, and balls.











CHAPTER XI



On the third day after Christmas Nicholas dined at home, a thing he had

rarely done of late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and Densov

were leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany. About twenty people

were present, including Dlokhov and Densov.



Never had love been so much in the air, and never had the amorous

atmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostvs house as at

this holiday time. Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved!

That is the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one

thing we are interested in here, said the spirit of the place.



Nicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, without

visiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had been invited,

returned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered he noticed and

felt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and also noticed a

curious embarrassment among some of those present. Snya, Dlokhov,

and the old countess were especially disturbed, and to a lesser degree

Natsha. Nicholas understood that something must have happened between

Snya and Dlokhov before dinner, and with the kindly sensitiveness

natural to him was very gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On

that same evening there was to be one of the balls that Iogel (the

dancing master) gave for his pupils during the holidays.



Nicholas, will you come to Iogels? Please do! said Natsha.

He asked you, and Vasli Dmtrich * is also going.



    * Densov.



Where would I not go at the countess command! said Densov,

who at the Rostvs had jocularly assumed the role of Natshas

knight. Im even weady to dance the pas de chle.



If I have time, answered Nicholas. But I promised the

Arkhrovs they have a party.



And you? he asked Dlokhov, but as soon as he had asked the

question he noticed that it should not have been put.



Perhaps, coldly and angrily replied Dlokhov, glancing at Snya,

and, scowling, he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given Pierre

at the club dinner.



There is something up, thought Nicholas, and he was further

confirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dlokhov left immediately

after dinner. He called Natsha and asked her what was the matter.



And I was looking for you, said Natsha running out to him. I

told you, but you would not believe it, she said triumphantly. He

has proposed to Snya!



Little as Nicholas had occupied himself with Snya of late, something

seemed to give way within him at this news. Dlokhov was a suitable and

in some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless, orphan girl. From

the point of view of the old countess and of society it was out of the

question for her to refuse him. And therefore Nicholas first feeling

on hearing the news was one of anger with Snya.... He tried to say,

Thats capital of course shell forget her childish promises

and accept the offer, but before he had time to say it Natsha began

again.



And fancy! she refused him quite definitely! adding, after a

pause, she told him she loved another.



Yes, my Snya could not have done otherwise! thought Nicholas.



Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she wont change

once she has said...



And Mamma pressed her! said Nicholas reproachfully.



Yes, said Natsha. Do you know, Nicholasdont be

angrybut I know you will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but

I know for certain that you wont marry her.



Now you dont know that at all! said Nicholas. But I must

talk to her. What a darling Snya is! he added with a smile.



Ah, she is indeed a darling! Ill send her to you.



And Natsha kissed her brother and ran away.



A minute later Snya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scared

look. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first

time since his return that they had talked alone and about their love.



Sophie, he began, timidly at first and then more and more

boldly, if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and

advantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend...



Snya interrupted him.



I have already refused, she said hurriedly.



If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I...



Snya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look.



Nicholas, dont tell me that! she said.



No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say

it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I

love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else....



That is enough for me, said Snya, blushing.



No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in

love again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship,

confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma does

not wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to consider

Dlokhovs offer, he said, articulating his friends name with

difficulty.



Dont say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother and

always shall, and I want nothing more.



You are an angel I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of

misleading you.



And Nicholas again kissed her hand.











CHAPTER XII



Iogels were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothers

as they watched their young people executing their newly learned steps,

and so said the youths and maidens themselves as they danced till they

were ready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men and women who

came to these balls with an air of condescension and found them most

enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of these balls. The two

pretty young Princesses Gorchakv met suitors there and were married

and so further increased the fame of these dances. What distinguished

them from others was the absence of host or hostess and the presence of

the good-natured Iogel, flying about like a feather and bowing according

to the rules of his art, as he collected the tickets from all his

visitors. There was the fact that only those came who wished to dance

and amuse themselves as girls of thirteen and fourteen do who are

wearing long dresses for the first time. With scarcely any exceptions

they all were, or seemed to be, prettyso rapturous were their smiles

and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best of the pupils, of whom

Natsha, who was exceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the pas

de chle, but at this last ball only the cossaise, the anglaise, and

the mazurka, which was just coming into fashion, were danced. Iogel had

taken a ballroom in Bezkhovs house, and the ball, as everyone said,

was a great success. There were many pretty girls and the Rostv girls

were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay.

That evening, proud of Dlokhovs proposal, her refusal, and her

explanation with Nicholas, Snya twirled about before she left home

so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was

transparently radiant with impulsive joy.



Natsha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real

ball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink

ribbons.



Natsha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She

was not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whatever

person she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment.



Oh, how delightful it is! she kept saying, running up to Snya.



Nicholas and Densov were walking up and down, looking with kindly

patronage at the dancers.



How sweet she isshe will be a weal beauty! said Densov.



Who?



Countess Natsha, answered Densov.



And how she dances! What gwace! he said again after a pause.



Who are you talking about?



About your sister, ejaculated Densov testily.



Rostv smiled.



My dear count, you were one of my best pupilsyou must dance,

said little Iogel coming up to Nicholas. Look how many charming young

ladies He turned with the same request to Densov who was also a

former pupil of his.



No, my dear fellow, Ill be a wallflower, said Densov.

Dont you wecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?



Oh no! said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. You were only

inattentive, but you had talentoh yes, you had talent!



The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could not

refuse Iogel and asked Snya to dance. Densov sat down by the old

ladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told

them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young

people dancing, Iogel with Natsha, his pride and his best pupil, were

the first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little

feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natsha, who,

though shy, went on carefully executing her steps. Densov did not

take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly

indicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not

because he could not. In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostv

who was passing



This is not at all the thing, he said. What sort of Polish

mazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly.



Knowing that Densov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly

way in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to Natsha



Go and choose Densov. He is a real dancer, a wonder! he said.



When it came to Natshas turn to choose a partner, she rose and,

tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran

timidly to the corner where Densov sat. She saw that everybody was

looking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Densov was refusing

though he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them.



Please, Vasli Dmtrich, Natsha was saying, do come!



Oh no, let me off, Countess, Densov replied.



Now then, Vska, said Nicholas.



They coax me as if I were Vska the cat! said Densov jokingly.



Ill sing for you a whole evening, said Natsha.



Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me! said Densov, and

he unhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his

partners hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot,

waiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka was

Densovs short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow

he felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he looked sideways

at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with

one foot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flew round the room

taking his partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across

the room, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at

them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs,

he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot

clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel

against his right, flew round again in a circle. Natsha guessed what

he meant to do, and abandoning herself to him followed his lead hardly

knowing how. First he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now

with his right hand, then falling on one knee he twirled her round him,

and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if

he would rush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath,

and then he suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected

steps. When at last, smartly whirling his partner round in front of her

chair, he drew up with a click of his spurs and bowed to her, Natsha

did not even make him a curtsy. She fixed her eyes on him in amazement,

smiling as if she did not recognize him.



What does this mean? she brought out.



Although Iogel did not acknowledge this to be the real mazurka, everyone

was delighted with Densovs skill, he was asked again and again as

a partner, and the old men began smilingly to talk about Poland and the

good old days. Densov, flushed after the mazurka and mopping himself

with his handkerchief, sat down by Natsha and did not leave her for

the rest of the evening.











CHAPTER XIII



For two days after that Rostv did not see Dlokhov at his own or at

Dlokhovs home on the third day he received a note from him



As I do not intend to be at your house again for reasons you know

of, and am going to rejoin my regiment, I am giving a farewell supper

tonight to my friendscome to the English Hotel.



About ten oclock Rostv went to the English Hotel straight from the

theater, where he had been with his family and Densov. He was at once

shown to the best room, which Dlokhov had taken for that evening. Some

twenty men were gathered round a table at which Dlokhov sat between

two candles. On the table was a pile of gold and paper money, and he

was keeping the bank. Rostv had not seen him since his proposal and

Snyas refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thought of how they

would meet.



Dlokhovs clear, cold glance met Rostv as soon as he entered the

door, as though he had long expected him.



Its a long time since we met, he said. Thanks for coming.

Ill just finish dealing, and then Ilyshka will come with his

chorus.



I called once or twice at your house, said Rostv, reddening.



Dlokhov made no reply.



You may punt, he said.



Rostv recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had

with Dlokhov. None but fools trust to luck in play, Dlokhov

had then said.



Or are you afraid to play with me? Dlokhov now asked as if

guessing Rostvs thought.



Beneath his smile Rostv saw in him the mood he had shown at the club

dinner and at other times, when as if tired of everyday life he had felt

a need to escape from it by some strange, and usually cruel, action.



Rostv felt ill at ease. He tried, but failed, to find some joke with

which to reply to Dlokhovs words. But before he had thought of

anything, Dlokhov, looking straight in his face, said slowly and

deliberately so that everyone could hear



Do you remember we had a talk about cards... Hes a fool who

trusts to luck, one should make certain, and I want to try.



To try his luck or the certainty? Rostv asked himself.



Well, youd better not play, Dlokhov added, and springing a

new pack of cards said Bank, gentlemen!



Moving the money forward he prepared to deal. Rostv sat down by his

side and at first did not play. Dlokhov kept glancing at him.



Why dont you play? he asked.



And strange to say Nicholas felt that he could not help taking up a

card, putting a small stake on it, and beginning to play.



I have no money with me, he said.



Ill trust you.



Rostv staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, and again

lost. Dlokhov killed, that is, beat, ten cards of Rostvs

running.



Gentlemen, said Dlokhov after he had dealt for some time.

Please place your money on the cards or I may get muddled in the

reckoning.



One of the players said he hoped he might be trusted.



Yes, you might, but I am afraid of getting the accounts mixed. So I

ask you to put the money on your cards, replied Dlokhov. Dont

stint yourself, well settle afterwards, he added, turning to

Rostv.



The game continued a waiter kept handing round champagne.



All Rostvs cards were beaten and he had eight hundred rubles scored

up against him. He wrote 800 rubles on a card, but while the

waiter filled his glass he changed his mind and altered it to his usual

stake of twenty rubles.



Leave it, said Dlokhov, though he did not seem to be even

looking at Rostv, youll win it back all the sooner. I lose to

the others but win from you. Or are you afraid of me? he asked again.



Rostv submitted. He let the eight hundred remain and laid down a seven

of hearts with a torn corner, which he had picked up from the floor. He

well remembered that seven afterwards. He laid down the seven of hearts,

on which with a broken bit of chalk he had written 800 rubles in

clear upright figures he emptied the glass of warm champagne that was

handed him, smiled at Dlokhovs words, and with a sinking heart,

waiting for a seven to turn up, gazed at Dlokhovs hands which held

the pack. Much depended on Rostvs winning or losing on that seven

of hearts. On the previous Sunday the old count had given his son

two thousand rubles, and though he always disliked speaking of money

difficulties had told Nicholas that this was all he could let him have

till May, and asked him to be more economical this time. Nicholas had

replied that it would be more than enough for him and that he gave his

word of honor not to take anything more till the spring. Now only twelve

hundred rubles was left of that money, so that this seven of hearts

meant for him not only the loss of sixteen hundred rubles, but the

necessity of going back on his word. With a sinking heart he watched

Dlokhovs hands and thought, Now then, make haste and let me have

this card and Ill take my cap and drive home to supper with Densov,

Natsha, and Snya, and will certainly never touch a card again. At

that moment his home life, jokes with Ptya, talks with Snya, duets

with Natsha, piquet with his father, and even his comfortable bed

in the house on the Povarskya rose before him with such vividness,

clearness, and charm that it seemed as if it were all a lost and

unappreciated bliss, long past. He could not conceive that a stupid

chance, letting the seven be dealt to the right rather than to the left,

might deprive him of all this happiness, newly appreciated and newly

illumined, and plunge him into the depths of unknown and undefined

misery. That could not be, yet he awaited with a sinking heart the

movement of Dlokhovs hands. Those broad, reddish hands, with hairy

wrists visible from under the shirt cuffs, laid down the pack and took

up a glass and a pipe that were handed him.



So you are not afraid to play with me? repeated Dlokhov, and as

if about to tell a good story he put down the cards, leaned back in his

chair, and began deliberately with a smile



Yes, gentlemen, Ive been told theres a rumor going about Moscow

that Im a sharper, so I advise you to be careful.



Come now, deal! exclaimed Rostv.



Oh, those Moscow gossips! said Dlokhov, and he took up the cards

with a smile.



Aah! Rostv almost screamed lifting both hands to his head. The

seven he needed was lying uppermost, the first card in the pack. He had

lost more than he could pay.



Still, dont ruin yourself! said Dlokhov with a side glance at

Rostv as he continued to deal.











CHAPTER XIV



An hour and a half later most of the players were but little interested

in their own play.



The whole interest was concentrated on Rostv. Instead of sixteen

hundred rubles he had a long column of figures scored against him,

which he had reckoned up to ten thousand, but that now, as he vaguely

supposed, must have risen to fifteen thousand. In reality it already

exceeded twenty thousand rubles. Dlokhov was no longer listening to

stories or telling them, but followed every movement of Rostvs

hands and occasionally ran his eyes over the score against him. He had

decided to play until that score reached forty-three thousand. He

had fixed on that number because forty-three was the sum of his and

Snyas joint ages. Rostv, leaning his head on both hands, sat at

the table which was scrawled over with figures, wet with spilled wine,

and littered with cards. One tormenting impression did not leave him

that those broad-boned reddish hands with hairy wrists visible from

under the shirt sleeves, those hands which he loved and hated, held him

in their power.



Six hundred rubles, ace, a corner, a nine... winning it backs

impossible... Oh, how pleasant it was at home!... The knave, double or

quits... it cant be!... And why is he doing this to me? Rostv

pondered. Sometimes he staked a large sum, but Dlokhov refused to

accept it and fixed the stake himself. Nicholas submitted to him, and at

one moment prayed to God as he had done on the battlefield at the bridge

over the Enns, and then guessed that the card that came first to hand

from the crumpled heap under the table would save him, now counted the

cords on his coat and took a card with that number and tried staking the

total of his losses on it, then he looked round for aid from the other

players, or peered at the now cold face of Dlokhov and tried to read

what was passing in his mind.



He knows of course what this loss means to me. He cant want my

ruin. Wasnt he my friend? Wasnt I fond of him? But its not his

fault. Whats he to do if he has such luck?... And its not my fault

either, he thought to himself, I have done nothing wrong. Have I

killed anyone, or insulted or wished harm to anyone? Why such a terrible

misfortune? And when did it begin? Such a little while ago I came to

this table with the thought of winning a hundred rubles to buy that

casket for Mammas name day and then going home. I was so happy, so

free, so lighthearted! And I did not realize how happy I was! When did

that end and when did this new, terrible state of things begin? What

marked the change? I sat all the time in this same place at this table,

chose and placed cards, and watched those broad-boned agile hands in the

same way. When did it happen and what has happened? I am well and strong

and still the same and in the same place. No, it cant be! Surely it

will all end in nothing!



He was flushed and bathed in perspiration, though the room was not hot.

His face was terrible and piteous to see, especially from its helpless

efforts to seem calm.



The score against him reached the fateful sum of forty-three thousand.

Rostv had just prepared a card, by bending the corner of which he

meant to double the three thousand just put down to his score, when

Dlokhov, slamming down the pack of cards, put it aside and began

rapidly adding up the total of Rostvs debt, breaking the chalk as

he marked the figures in his clear, bold hand.



Supper, its time for supper! And here are the gypsies!



Some swarthy men and women were really entering from the cold outside

and saying something in their gypsy accents. Nicholas understood that it

was all over but he said in an indifferent tone



Well, wont you go on? I had a splendid card all ready, as if it

were the fun of the game which interested him most.



Its all up! Im lost! thought he. Now a bullet through my

brainthats all thats left me! And at the same time he said

in a cheerful voice



Come now, just this one more little card!



All right! said Dlokhov, having finished the addition. All

right! Twenty-one rubles, he said, pointing to the figure twenty-one

by which the total exceeded the round sum of forty-three thousand and

taking up a pack he prepared to deal. Rostv submissively unbent the

corner of his card and, instead of the six thousand he had intended,

carefully wrote twenty-one.



Its all the same to me, he said. I only want to see whether

you will let me win this ten, or beat it.



Dlokhov began to deal seriously. Oh, how Rostv detested at that

moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists,

which held him in their power.... The ten fell to him.



You owe forty-three thousand, Count, said Dlokhov, and

stretching himself he rose from the table. One does get tired sitting

so long, he added.



Yes, Im tired too, said Rostv.



Dlokhov cut him short, as if to remind him that it was not for him to

jest.



When am I to receive the money, Count?



Rostv, flushing, drew Dlokhov into the next room.



I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you take an I.O.U.? he said.



I say, Rostv, said Dlokhov clearly, smiling and looking

Nicholas straight in the eyes, you know the saying, Lucky in love,

unlucky at cards. Your cousin is in love with you, I know.



Oh, its terrible to feel oneself so in this mans power,

thought Rostv. He knew what a shock he would inflict on his father and

mother by the news of this loss, he knew what a relief it would be to

escape it all, and felt that Dlokhov knew that he could save him from

all this shame and sorrow, but wanted now to play with him as a cat does

with a mouse.



Your cousin... Dlokhov started to say, but Nicholas interrupted

him.



My cousin has nothing to do with this and its not necessary to

mention her! he exclaimed fiercely.



Then when am I to have it?



Tomorrow, replied Rostv and left the room.











CHAPTER XV



To say tomorrow and keep up a dignified tone was not difficult,

but to go home alone, see his sisters, brother, mother, and father,

confess and ask for money he had no right to after giving his word of

honor, was terrible.



At home, they had not yet gone to bed. The young people, after returning

from the theater, had had supper and were grouped round the clavichord.

As soon as Nicholas entered, he was enfolded in that poetic atmosphere

of love which pervaded the Rostv household that winter and, now after

Dlokhovs proposal and Iogels ball, seemed to have grown thicker

round Snya and Natsha as the air does before a thunderstorm. Snya

and Natsha, in the light-blue dresses they had worn at the theater,

looking pretty and conscious of it, were standing by the clavichord,

happy and smiling. Vra was playing chess with Shinshn in the drawing

room. The old countess, waiting for the return of her husband and son,

sat playing patience with the old gentlewoman who lived in their house.

Densov, with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair, sat at the clavichord

striking chords with his short fingers, his legs thrown back and his

eyes rolling as he sang, with his small, husky, but true voice, some

verses called Enchantress, which he had composed, and to which he

was trying to fit music



   Enchantress, say, to my forsaken lyre

   What magic power is this recalls me still?

   What spark has set my inmost soul on fire,

   What is this bliss that makes my fingers thrill?



He was singing in passionate tones, gazing with his sparkling

black-agate eyes at the frightened and happy Natsha.



Splendid! Excellent! exclaimed Natsha. Another verse, she

said, without noticing Nicholas.



Everythings still the same with them, thought Nicholas,

glancing into the drawing room, where he saw Vra and his mother with

the old lady.



Ah, and heres Nicholas! cried Natsha, running up to him.



Is Papa at home? he asked.



I am so glad youve come! said Natsha, without answering him.

We are enjoying ourselves! Vasli Dmtrich is staying a day longer

for my sake! Did you know?



No, Papa is not back yet, said Snya.



Nicholas, have you come? Come here, dear! called the old countess

from the drawing room.



Nicholas went to her, kissed her hand, and sitting down silently at her

table began to watch her hands arranging the cards. From the dancing

room, they still heard the laughter and merry voices trying to persuade

Natsha to sing.



All wight! All wight! shouted Densov. Its no good making

excuses now! Its your turn to sing the bacawollaI entweat

you!



The countess glanced at her silent son.



What is the matter? she asked.



Oh, nothing, said he, as if weary of being continually asked the

same question. Will Papa be back soon?



I expect so.



Everythings the same with them. They know nothing about it! Where

am I to go? thought Nicholas, and went again into the dancing room

where the clavichord stood.



Snya was sitting at the clavichord, playing the prelude to

Densovs favorite barcarolle. Natsha was preparing to sing.

Densov 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? Theres

nothing to be happy about! thought he.



Snya struck the first chord of the prelude.



My God, Im a ruined and dishonored man! A bullet through my brain

is the only thing left menot singing! his thoughts ran on. Go

away? But where to? Its onelet them sing!



He continued to pace the room, looking gloomily at Densov and the

girls and avoiding their eyes.



Niklenka, what is the matter? Snyas eyes fixed on him

seemed to ask. She noticed at once that something had happened to him.



Nicholas turned away from her. Natsha too, with her quick instinct,

had instantly noticed her brothers condition. But, though she noticed

it, she was herself in such high spirits at that moment, so far from

sorrow, sadness, or self-reproach, that she purposely deceived herself

as young people often do. No, I am too happy now to spoil my

enjoyment by sympathy with anyones sorrow, she felt, and she said

to herself No, I must be mistaken, he must be feeling happy, just as

I am.



Now, Snya! she said, going to the very middle of the room, where

she considered the resonance was best.



Having lifted her head and let her arms droop lifelessly, as ballet

dancers do, Natsha, rising energetically from her heels to her toes,

stepped to the middle of the room and stood still.



Yes, thats me! she seemed to say, answering the rapt gaze with

which Densov followed her.



And what is she so pleased about? thought Nicholas, looking at his

sister. Why isnt she dull and ashamed?



Natsha took the first note, her throat swelled, her chest rose,

her eyes became serious. At that moment she was oblivious of her

surroundings, and from her smiling lips flowed sounds which anyone may

produce at the same intervals and hold for the same time, but which

leave you cold a thousand times and the thousand and first time thrill

you and make you weep.



Natsha, that winter, had for the first time begun to sing seriously,

mainly because Densov so delighted in her singing. She no longer sang

as a child, there was no longer in her singing that comical, childish,

painstaking effect that had been in it before but she did not yet sing

well, as all the connoisseurs who heard her said It is not trained,

but it is a beautiful voice that must be trained. Only they generally

said this some time after she had finished singing. While that untrained

voice, with its incorrect breathing and labored transitions, was

sounding, even the connoisseurs said nothing, but only delighted in

it and wished to hear it again. In her voice there was a virginal

freshness, an unconsciousness of her own powers, and an as yet untrained

velvety softness, which so mingled with her lack of art in singing that

it seemed as if nothing in that voice could be altered without spoiling

it.



What is this? thought Nicholas, listening to her with widely

opened eyes. What has happened to her? How she is singing today!

And suddenly the whole world centered for him on anticipation of the

next note, the next phrase, and everything in the world was divided into

three beats Oh mio crudele affetto.... One, two, three... one,

two, three... One... Oh mio crudele affetto.... One, two, three...

One. Oh, this senseless life of ours! thought Nicholas. All

this misery, and money, and Dlokhov, and anger, and honorits all

nonsense... but this is real.... Now then, Natsha, now then, dearest!

Now then, darling! How will she take that si? Shes taken it! Thank

God! And without noticing that he was singing, to strengthen the si

he sung a second, a third below the high note. Ah, God! How fine! Did

I really take it? How fortunate! he thought.



Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that was finest

in Rostvs soul! And this something was apart from everything else

in the world and above everything in the world. What were losses, and

Dlokhov, and words of honor?... All nonsense! One might kill and rob

and yet be happy....











CHAPTER XVI



It was long since Rostv had felt such enjoyment from music as he

did that day. But no sooner had Natsha finished her barcarolle than

reality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word and went

downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the old count

came in from his club, cheerful and contented. Nicholas, hearing him

drive up, went to meet him.



Wellhad a good time? said the old count, smiling gaily and

proudly at his son.



Nicholas tried to say Yes, but could not and he nearly burst into

sobs. The count was lighting his pipe and did not notice his sons

condition.



Ah, it cant be avoided! thought Nicholas, for the first and

last time. And suddenly, in the most casual tone, which made him feel

ashamed of himself, he said, as if merely asking his father to let him

have the carriage to drive to town



Papa, I have come on a matter of business. I was nearly forgetting. I

need some money.



Dear me! said his father, who was in a specially good humor. I

told you it would not be enough. How much?



Very much, said Nicholas flushing, and with a stupid careless

smile, for which he was long unable to forgive himself, I have lost a

little, I mean a good deal, a great dealforty three thousand.



What! To whom?... Nonsense! cried the count, suddenly reddening

with an apoplectic flush over neck and nape as old people do.



I promised to pay tomorrow, said Nicholas.



Well!... said the old count, spreading out his arms and sinking

helplessly on the sofa.



It cant be helped! It happens to everyone! said the son, with

a bold, free, and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself as a

worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He

longed to kiss his fathers hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness,

but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that it happens to

everyone!



The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his sons words and began

bustlingly searching for something.



Yes, yes, he muttered, it will be difficult, I fear, difficult

to raise... happens to everybody! Yes, who has not done it?



And with a furtive glance at his sons face, the count went out of the

room.... Nicholas had been prepared for resistance, but had not at all

expected this.



Papa! Pa-pa! he called after him, sobbing, forgive me! And

seizing his fathers hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst into

tears.



While father and son were having their explanation, the mother and

daughter were having one not less important. Natsha came running to

her mother, quite excited.



Mamma!... Mamma!... He has made me...



Made what?



Made, made me an offer, Mamma! Mamma! she exclaimed.



The countess did not believe her ears. Densov had proposed. To whom?

To this chit of a girl, Natsha, who not so long ago was playing with

dolls and who was still having lessons.



Dont, Natsha! What nonsense! she said, hoping it was a joke.



Nonsense, indeed! I am telling you the fact, said Natsha

indignantly. I come to ask you what to do, and you call it

nonsense!



The countess shrugged her shoulders.



If it is true that Monsieur Densov has made you a proposal, tell

him he is a fool, thats all!



No, hes not a fool! replied Natsha indignantly and seriously.



Well then, what do you want? Youre all in love nowadays. Well,

if you are in love, marry him! said the countess, with a laugh of

annoyance. Good luck to you!



No, Mamma, Im not in love with him, I suppose Im not in love

with him.



Well then, tell him so.



Mamma, are you cross? Dont 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. Its all very

well for you, said Natsha, with a responsive smile. You should

have seen how he said it! I know he did not mean to say it, but it came

out accidently.



Well, all the same, you must refuse him.



No, I mustnt. I am so sorry for him! Hes so nice.



Well then, accept his offer. Its high time for you to be

married, answered the countess sharply and sarcastically.



No, Mamma, but Im so sorry for him. I dont know how Im to

say it.



And theres nothing for you to say. I shall speak to him myself,

said the countess, indignant that they should have dared to treat this

little Natsha as grown up.



No, not on any account! I will tell him myself, and youll listen

at the door, and Natsha ran across the drawing room to the dancing

hall, where Densov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichord

with his face in his hands.



He jumped up at the sound of her light step.



Nataly, he said, moving with rapid steps toward her, decide my

fate. It is in your hands.



Vasli Dmtrich, Im so sorry for you!... No, but you are so

nice... but it wont do...not that... but as a friend, I shall always

love you.



Densov bent over her hand and she heard strange sounds she did not

understand. She kissed his rough curly black head. At this instant, they

heard the quick rustle of the countess dress. She came up to them.



Vasli Dmtrich, I thank you for the honor, she said, with an

embarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Densovbut my

daughter is so young, and I thought that, as my sons friend, you

would have addressed yourself first to me. In that case you would not

have obliged me to give this refusal.



Countess... said Densov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face.

He tried to say more, but faltered.



Natsha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. She began

to sob aloud.



Countess, I have done wong, Densov went on in an unsteady

voice, but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family

that I would give my life twice over... He looked at the countess,

and seeing her severe face said Well, good-by, Countess, and

kissing her hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, without

looking at Natsha.





Next day Rostv saw Densov off. He did not wish to stay another

day in Moscow. All Densovs Moscow friends gave him a farewell

entertainment at the gypsies, with the result that he had no

recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three

stages of his journey.



After Densovs departure, Rostv spent another fortnight in Moscow,

without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could

not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls room.



Snya was more tender and devoted to him than ever. It was as if she

wanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made her

love him all the more, but Nicholas now considered himself unworthy of

her.



He filled the girls albums with verses and music, and having at last

sent Dlokhov the whole forty-three thousand rubles and received his

receipt, he left at the end of November, without taking leave of any of

his acquaintances, to overtake his regiment which was already in Poland.











BOOK FIVE 1806 - 07











CHAPTER I



After his interview with his wife Pierre left for Petersburg. At the

Torzhk post station, either there were no horses or the postmaster

would not supply them. Pierre was obliged to wait. Without undressing,

he lay down on the leather sofa in front of a round table, put his big

feet in their overboots on the table, and began to reflect.



Will you have the portmanteaus brought in? And a bed got ready, and

tea? asked his valet.



Pierre gave no answer, for he neither heard nor saw anything. He had

begun to think of the last station and was still pondering on the same

questionone so important that he took no notice of what went

on around him. Not only was he indifferent as to whether he got to

Petersburg earlier or later, or whether he secured accommodation at this

station, but compared to the thoughts that now occupied him it was a

matter of indifference whether he remained there for a few hours or for

the rest of his life.



The postmaster, his wife, the valet, and a peasant woman selling

Torzhk embroidery came into the room offering their services.

Without changing his careless attitude, Pierre looked at them over his

spectacles unable to understand what they wanted or how they could go on

living without having solved the problems that so absorbed him. He had

been engrossed by the same thoughts ever since the day he returned from

Soklniki after the duel and had spent that first agonizing, sleepless

night. But now, in the solitude of the journey, they seized him with

special force. No matter what he thought about, he always returned to

these same questions which he could not solve and yet could not cease to

ask himself. It was as if the thread of the chief screw which held his

life together were stripped, so that the screw could not get in or out,

but went on turning uselessly in the same place.



The postmaster came in and began obsequiously to beg his excellency to

wait only two hours, when, come what might, he would let his excellency

have the courier horses. It was plain that he was lying and only wanted

to get more money from the traveler.



Is this good or bad? Pierre asked himself. It is good for me,

bad for another traveler, and for himself its unavoidable, because

he needs money for food the man said an officer had once given him a

thrashing for letting a private traveler have the courier horses.

But the officer thrashed him because he had to get on as quickly as

possible. And I, continued Pierre, shot Dlokhov because I

considered myself injured, and Louis XVI was executed because they

considered him a criminal, and a year later they executed those who

executed himalso for some reason. What is bad? What is good? What

should one love and what hate? What does one live for? And what am I?

What is life, and what is death? What power governs all?



There was no answer to any of these questions, except one, and that

not a logical answer and not at all a reply to them. The answer was

Youll die and all will end. Youll die and know all, or cease

asking. But dying was also dreadful.



The Torzhk peddler woman, in a whining voice, went on offering her

wares, especially a pair of goatskin slippers. I have hundreds of

rubles I dont know what to do with, and she stands in her tattered

cloak looking timidly at me, he thought. And what does she

want the money for? As if that money could add a hairs breadth to

happiness or peace of mind. Can anything in the world make her or me

less a prey to evil and death?death which ends all and must come

today or tomorrowat any rate, in an instant as compared with

eternity. And again he twisted the screw with the stripped thread,

and again it turned uselessly in the same place.



His servant handed him a half-cut novel, in the form of letters, by

Madame de Souza. He began reading about the sufferings and virtuous

struggles of a certain Emilie de Mansfeld. And why did she resist

her seducer when she loved him? he thought. God could not have put

into her heart an impulse that was against His will. My wifeas she

once wasdid not struggle, and perhaps she was right. Nothing has been

found out, nothing discovered, Pierre again said to himself. All

we can know is that we know nothing. And thats the height of human

wisdom.



Everything within and around him seemed confused, senseless, and

repellent. Yet in this very repugnance to all his circumstances Pierre

found a kind of tantalizing satisfaction.



I make bold to ask your excellency to move a little for this

gentleman, said the postmaster, entering the room followed by another

traveler, also detained for lack of horses.



The newcomer was a short, large-boned, yellow-faced, wrinkled old

man, with gray bushy eyebrows overhanging bright eyes of an indefinite

grayish color.



Pierre took his feet off the table, stood up, and lay down on a bed that

had been got ready for him, glancing now and then at the newcomer, who,

with a gloomy and tired face, was wearily taking off his wraps with the

aid of his servant, and not looking at Pierre. With a pair of felt boots

on his thin bony legs, and keeping on a worn, nankeen-covered, sheepskin

coat, the traveler sat down on the sofa, leaned back his big head with

its broad temples and close-cropped hair, and looked at Bezkhov. The

stern, shrewd, and penetrating expression of that look struck Pierre. He

felt a wish to speak to the stranger, but by the time he had made up his

mind to ask him a question about the roads, the traveler had closed his

eyes. His shriveled old hands were folded and on the finger of one of

them Pierre noticed a large cast iron ring with a seal representing a

deaths head. The stranger sat without stirring, either resting or, as

it seemed to Pierre, sunk in profound and calm meditation. His servant

was also a yellow, wrinkled old man, without beard or mustache,

evidently not because he was shaven but because they had never grown.

This active old servant was unpacking the travelers canteen and

preparing tea. He brought in a boiling samovar. When everything was

ready, the stranger opened his eyes, moved to the table, filled a

tumbler with tea for himself and one for the beardless old man to whom

he passed it. Pierre began to feel a sense of uneasiness, and the

need, even the inevitability, of entering into conversation with this

stranger.



The servant brought back his tumbler turned upside down, * with an

unfinished bit of nibbled sugar, and asked if anything more would be

wanted.



    * To indicate he did not want more tea.



No. Give me the book, said the stranger.



The servant handed him a book which Pierre took to be a devotional work,

and the traveler became absorbed in it. Pierre looked at him. All at

once the stranger closed the book, putting in a marker, and again,

leaning with his arms on the back of the sofa, sat in his former

position with his eyes shut. Pierre looked at him and had not time

to turn away when the old man, opening his eyes, fixed his steady and

severe gaze straight on Pierres face.



Pierre felt confused and wished to avoid that look, but the bright old

eyes attracted him irresistibly.











CHAPTER II



I have the pleasure of addressing Count Bezkhov, if I am not

mistaken, said the stranger in a deliberate and loud voice.



Pierre looked silently and inquiringly at him over his spectacles.



I have heard of you, my dear sir, continued the stranger, and

of your misfortune. He seemed to emphasize the last word, as if to

sayYes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I know that what

happened to you in Moscow was a misfortune.I regret it very

much, my dear sir.



Pierre flushed and, hurriedly putting his legs down from the bed, bent

forward toward the old man with a forced and timid smile.



I have not referred to this out of curiosity, my dear sir, but for

greater reasons.



He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved aside on the sofa by way

of inviting the other to take a seat beside him. Pierre felt reluctant

to enter into conversation with this old man, but, submitting to him

involuntarily, came up and sat down beside him.



You are unhappy, my dear sir, the stranger continued. You

are young and I am old. I should like to help you as far as lies in my

power.



Oh, yes! said Pierre, with a forced smile. I am very grateful

to you. Where are you traveling from?



The strangers face was not genial, it was even cold and severe, but

in spite of this, both the face and words of his new acquaintance were

irresistibly attractive to Pierre.



But if for any reason you dont feel inclined to talk to me,

said the old man, say so, my dear sir. And he suddenly smiled, in

an unexpected and tenderly paternal way.



Oh no, not at all! On the contrary, I am very glad to make your

acquaintance, said Pierre. And again, glancing at the strangers

hands, he looked more closely at the ring, with its skulla Masonic

sign.



Allow me to ask, he said, are you a Mason?



Yes, I belong to the Brotherhood of the Freemasons, said the

stranger, looking deeper and deeper into Pierres eyes. And in

their name and my own I hold out a brotherly hand to you.



I am afraid, said Pierre, smiling, and wavering between the

confidence the personality of the Freemason inspired in him and his own

habit of ridiculing the Masonic beliefsI am afraid I am very far

from understandinghow am I to put it?I am afraid my way of looking

at the world is so opposed to yours that we shall not understand one

another.



I know your outlook, said the Mason, and the view of life you

mention, and which you think is the result of your own mental efforts,

is the one held by the majority of people, and is the invariable fruit

of pride, indolence, and ignorance. Forgive me, my dear sir, but if I

had not known it I should not have addressed you. Your view of life is a

regrettable delusion.



Just as I may suppose you to be deluded, said Pierre, with a faint

smile.



I should never dare to say that I know the truth, said the Mason,

whose words struck Pierre more and more by their precision and firmness.

No one can attain to truth by himself. Only by laying stone on stone

with the cooperation of all, by the millions of generations from our

forefather Adam to our own times, is that temple reared which is to be

a worthy dwelling place of the Great God, he added, and closed his

eyes.



I ought to tell you that I do not believe... do not believe in

God, said Pierre, regretfully and with an effort, feeling it

essential to speak the whole truth.



The Mason looked intently at Pierre and smiled as a rich man with

millions in hand might smile at a poor fellow who told him that he, poor

man, had not the five rubles that would make him happy.



Yes, you do not know Him, my dear sir, said the Mason. You

cannot know Him. You do not know Him and that is why you are unhappy.



Yes, yes, I am unhappy, assented Pierre. But what am I to

do?



You know Him not, my dear sir, and so you are very unhappy. You do

not know Him, but He is here, He is in me, He is in my words, He is in

thee, and even in those blasphemous words thou hast just uttered!

pronounced the Mason in a stern and tremulous voice.



He paused and sighed, evidently trying to calm himself.



If He were not, he said quietly, you and I would not be

speaking of Him, my dear sir. Of what, of whom, are we speaking? Whom

hast thou denied? he suddenly asked with exulting austerity and

authority in his voice. Who invented Him, if He did not exist? Whence

came thy conception of the existence of such an incomprehensible Being?

didst thou, and why did the whole world, conceive the idea of the

existence of such an incomprehensible Being, a Being all-powerful,

eternal, and infinite in all His attributes?...



He stopped and remained silent for a long time.



Pierre could not and did not wish to break this silence.



He exists, but to understand Him is hard, the Mason began again,

looking not at Pierre but straight before him, and turning the leaves

of his book with his old hands which from excitement he could not keep

still. If it were a man whose existence thou didst doubt I could

bring him to thee, could take him by the hand and show him to thee. But

how can I, an insignificant mortal, show His omnipotence, His infinity,

and all His mercy to one who is blind, or who shuts his eyes that he may

not see or understand Him and may not see or understand his own vileness

and sinfulness? He paused again. Who art thou? Thou dreamest that

thou art wise because thou couldst utter those blasphemous words, he

went on, with a somber and scornful smile. And thou art more foolish

and unreasonable than a little child, who, playing with the parts of a

skillfully made watch, dares to say that, as he does not understand

its use, he does not believe in the master who made it. To know Him is

hard.... For ages, from our forefather Adam to our own day, we labor to

attain that knowledge and are still infinitely far from our aim but

in our lack of understanding we see only our weakness and His

greatness....



Pierre listened with swelling heart, gazing into the Masons face with

shining eyes, not interrupting or questioning him, but believing with

his whole soul what the stranger said. Whether he accepted the wise

reasoning contained in the Masons words, or believed as a child

believes, in the speakers tone of conviction and earnestness, or

the tremor of the speakers voicewhich sometimes almost brokeor

those brilliant aged eyes grown old in this conviction, or the calm

firmness and certainty of his vocation, which radiated from his whole

being (and which struck Pierre especially by contrast with his own

dejection and hopelessness)at any rate, Pierre longed with his whole

soul to believe and he did believe, and felt a joyful sense of comfort,

regeneration, and return to life.



He is not to be apprehended by reason, but by life, said the

Mason.



I do not understand, said Pierre, feeling with dismay doubts

reawakening. He was afraid of any want of clearness, any weakness, in

the Masons arguments he dreaded not to be able to believe in him.

I dont understand, he said, how it is that the mind of man

cannot attain the knowledge of which you speak.



The Mason smiled with his gentle fatherly smile.



The highest wisdom and truth are like the purest liquid we may wish

to imbibe, he said. Can I receive that pure liquid into an impure

vessel and judge of its purity? Only by the inner purification of myself

can I retain in some degree of purity the liquid I receive.



Yes, yes, that is so, said Pierre joyfully.



The highest wisdom is not founded on reason alone, not on those

worldly sciences of physics, history, chemistry, and the like, into

which intellectual knowledge is divided. The highest wisdom is one.

The highest wisdom has but one sciencethe science of the wholethe

science explaining the whole creation and mans place in it. To

receive that science it is necessary to purify and renew ones inner

self, and so before one can know, it is necessary to believe and to

perfect ones self. And to attain this end, we have the light called

conscience that God has implanted in our souls.



Yes, yes, assented Pierre.



Look then at thy inner self with the eyes of the spirit, and ask

thyself whether thou art content with thyself. What hast thou attained

relying on reason only? What art thou? You are young, you are rich, you

are clever, you are well educated. And what have you done with all these

good gifts? Are you content with yourself and with your life?



No, I hate my life, Pierre muttered, wincing.



Thou hatest it. Then change it, purify thyself and as thou art

purified, thou wilt gain wisdom. Look at your life, my dear sir.

How have you spent it? In riotous orgies and debauchery, receiving

everything from society and giving nothing in return. You have become

the possessor of wealth. How have you used it? What have you done

for your neighbor? Have you ever thought of your tens of thousands

of slaves? Have you helped them physically and morally? No! You have

profited by their toil to lead a profligate life. That is what you have

done. Have you chosen a post in which you might be of service to your

neighbor? No! You have spent your life in idleness. Then you married, my

dear sirtook on yourself responsibility for the guidance of a young

woman and what have you done? You have not helped her to find the way

of truth, my dear sir, but have thrust her into an abyss of deceit and

misery. A man offended you and you shot him, and you say you do not

know God and hate your life. There is nothing strange in that, my dear

sir!



After these words, the Mason, as if tired by his long discourse, again

leaned his arms on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Pierre

looked at that aged, stern, motionless, almost lifeless face and moved

his lips without uttering a sound. He wished to say, Yes, a vile,

idle, vicious life! but dared not break the silence.



The Mason cleared his throat huskily, as old men do, and called his

servant.



How about the horses? he asked, without looking at Pierre.



The exchange horses have just come, answered the servant. Will

you not rest here?



No, tell them to harness.



Can he really be going away leaving me alone without having told me

all, and without promising to help me? thought Pierre, rising with

downcast head and he began to pace the room, glancing occasionally at

the Mason. Yes, I never thought of it, but I have led a contemptible

and profligate life, though I did not like it and did not want to,

thought Pierre. But this man knows the truth and, if he wished to,

could disclose it to me.



Pierre wished to say this to the Mason, but did not dare to. The

traveler, having packed his things with his practiced hands, began

fastening his coat. When he had finished, he turned to Bezkhov, and

said in a tone of indifferent politeness



Where are you going to now, my dear sir?



I?... Im going to Petersburg, answered Pierre, in a childlike,

hesitating voice. I thank you. I agree with all you have said. But

do not suppose me to be so bad. With my whole soul I wish to be what you

would have me be, but I have never had help from anyone.... But it is

I, above all, who am to blame for everything. Help me, teach me, and

perhaps I may...



Pierre could not go on. He gulped and turned away.



The Mason remained silent for a long time, evidently considering.



Help comes from God alone, he said, but such measure of help as

our Order can bestow it will render you, my dear sir. You are going to

Petersburg. Hand this to Count Willarski (he took out his notebook

and wrote a few words on a large sheet of paper folded in four).

Allow me to give you a piece of advice. When you reach the capital,

first of all devote some time to solitude and self-examination and do

not resume your former way of life. And now I wish you a good journey,

my dear sir, he added, seeing that his servant had entered... and

success.



The traveler was Joseph Alexevich Bazdev, as Pierre saw from the

postmasters book. Bazdev had been one of the best-known Freemasons

and Martinists, even in Novkovs time. For a long while after he had

gone, Pierre did not go to bed or order horses but paced up and down

the room, pondering over his vicious past, and with a rapturous sense

of beginning anew pictured to himself the blissful, irreproachable,

virtuous future that seemed to him so easy. It seemed to him that he had

been vicious only because he had somehow forgotten how good it is to

be virtuous. Not a trace of his former doubts remained in his soul. He

firmly believed in the possibility of the brotherhood of men united in

the aim of supporting one another in the path of virtue, and that is how

Freemasonry presented itself to him.











CHAPTER III



On reaching Petersburg Pierre did not let anyone know of his arrival,

he went nowhere and spent whole days in reading Thomas  Kempis, whose

book had been sent him by someone unknown. One thing he continually

realized as he read that book the joy, hitherto unknown to him,

of believing in the possibility of attaining perfection, and in the

possibility of active brotherly love among men, which Joseph Alexevich

had revealed to him. A week after his arrival, the young Polish count,

Willarski, whom Pierre had known slightly in Petersburg society, came

into his room one evening in the official and ceremonious manner in

which Dlokhovs second had called on him, and, having closed the

door behind him and satisfied himself that there was nobody else in the

room, addressed Pierre.



I have come to you with a message and an offer, Count, he

said without sitting down. A person of very high standing in our

Brotherhood has made application for you to be received into our Order

before the usual term and has proposed to me to be your sponsor. I

consider it a sacred duty to fulfill that persons wishes. Do you wish

to enter the Brotherhood of Freemasons under my sponsorship?



The cold, austere tone of this man, whom he had almost always before met

at balls, amiably smiling in the society of the most brilliant women,

surprised Pierre.



Yes, I do wish it, said he.



Willarski bowed his head.



One more question, Count, he said, which I beg you to answer

in all sinceritynot as a future Mason but as an honest man have you

renounced your former convictionsdo you believe in God?



Pierre considered.



Yes... yes, I believe in God, he said.



In that case... began Willarski, but Pierre interrupted him.



Yes, I do believe in God, he repeated.



In that case we can go, said Willarski. My carriage is at your

service.



Willarski was silent throughout the drive. To Pierres inquiries as

to what he must do and how he should answer, Willarski only replied that

brothers more worthy than he would test him and that Pierre had only to

tell the truth.



Having entered the courtyard of a large house where the Lodge had its

headquarters, and having ascended a dark staircase, they entered a small

well-lit anteroom where they took off their cloaks without the aid of

a servant. From there they passed into another room. A man in strange

attire appeared at the door. Willarski, stepping toward him, said

something to him in French in an undertone and then went up to a small

wardrobe in which Pierre noticed garments such as he had never seen

before. Having taken a kerchief from the cupboard, Willarski bound

Pierres eyes with it and tied it in a knot behind, catching some

hairs painfully in the knot. Then he drew his face down, kissed him, and

taking him by the hand led him forward. The hairs tied in the knot hurt

Pierre and there were lines of pain on his face and a shamefaced smile.

His huge figure, with arms hanging down and with a puckered, though

smiling face, moved after Willarski with uncertain, timid steps.



Having led him about ten paces, Willarski stopped.



Whatever happens to you, he said, you must bear it all manfully

if you have firmly resolved to join our Brotherhood. (Pierre nodded

affirmatively.) When you hear a knock at the door, you will uncover

your eyes, added Willarski. I wish you courage and success,

and, pressing Pierres hand, he went out.



Left alone, Pierre went on smiling in the same way. Once or twice

he shrugged his shoulders and raised his hand to the kerchief, as if

wishing to take it off, but let it drop again. The five minutes spent

with his eyes bandaged seemed to him an hour. His arms felt numb,

his legs almost gave way, it seemed to him that he was tired out. He

experienced a variety of most complex sensations. He felt afraid of what

would happen to him and still more afraid of showing his fear. He felt

curious to know what was going to happen and what would be revealed to

him but most of all, he felt joyful that the moment had come when he

would at last start on that path of regeneration and on the actively

virtuous life of which he had been dreaming since he met Joseph

Alexevich. Loud knocks were heard at the door. Pierre took the bandage

off his eyes and glanced around him. The room was in black darkness,

only a small lamp was burning inside something white. Pierre went nearer

and saw that the lamp stood on a black table on which lay an open book.

The book was the Gospel, and the white thing with the lamp inside was a

human skull with its cavities and teeth. After reading the first words

of the Gospel In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with

God, Pierre went round the table and saw a large open box filled

with something. It was a coffin with bones inside. He was not at all

surprised by what he saw. Hoping to enter on an entirely new life quite

unlike the old one, he expected everything to be unusual, even more

unusual than what he was seeing. A skull, a coffin, the Gospelit

seemed to him that he had expected all this and even more. Trying

to stimulate his emotions he looked around. God, death, love, the

brotherhood of man, he kept saying to himself, associating these

words with vague yet joyful ideas. The door opened and someone came in.



By the dim light, to which Pierre had already become accustomed, he

saw a rather short man. Having evidently come from the light into the

darkness, the man paused, then moved with cautious steps toward the

table and placed on it his small leather-gloved hands.



This short man had on a white leather apron which covered his chest and

part of his legs he had on a kind of necklace above which rose a high

white ruffle, outlining his rather long face which was lit up from

below.



For what have you come hither? asked the newcomer, turning in

Pierres direction at a slight rustle made by the latter. Why have

you, who do not believe in the truth of the light and who have not

seen the light, come here? What do you seek from us? Wisdom, virtue,

enlightenment?



At the moment the door opened and the stranger came in, Pierre felt a

sense of awe and veneration such as he had experienced in his boyhood at

confession he felt himself in the presence of one socially a complete

stranger, yet nearer to him through the brotherhood of man. With bated

breath and beating heart he moved toward the Rhetor (by which name the

brother who prepared a seeker for entrance into the Brotherhood was

known). Drawing nearer, he recognized in the Rhetor a man he knew,

Smolyannov, and it mortified him to think that the newcomer was an

acquaintancehe wished him simply a brother and a virtuous instructor.

For a long time he could not utter a word, so that the Rhetor had to

repeat his question.



Yes... I... I... desire regeneration, Pierre uttered with

difficulty.



Very well, said Smolyannov, and went on at once Have you any

idea of the means by which our holy Order will help you to reach your

aim? said he quietly and quickly.



I... hope... for guidance... help... in regeneration, said Pierre,

with a trembling voice and some difficulty in utterance due to his

excitement and to being unaccustomed to speak of abstract matters in

Russian.



What is your conception of Freemasonry?



I imagine that Freemasonry is the fraternity and equality of men who

have virtuous aims, said Pierre, feeling ashamed of the inadequacy

of his words for the solemnity of the moment, as he spoke. I

imagine...



Good! said the Rhetor quickly, apparently satisfied with

this answer. Have you sought for means of attaining your aim in

religion?



No, I considered it erroneous and did not follow it, said Pierre,

so softly that the Rhetor did not hear him and asked him what he was

saying. I have been an atheist, answered Pierre.



You are seeking for truth in order to follow its laws in your life,

therefore you seek wisdom and virtue. Is that not so? said the

Rhetor, after a moments pause.



Yes, yes, assented Pierre.



The Rhetor cleared his throat, crossed his gloved hands on his breast,

and began to speak.



Now I must disclose to you the chief aim of our Order, he said,

and if this aim coincides with yours, you may enter our Brotherhood

with profit. The first and chief object of our Order, the foundation on

which it rests and which no human power can destroy, is the preservation

and handing on to posterity of a certain important mystery... which

has come down to us from the remotest ages, even from the first mana

mystery on which perhaps the fate of mankind depends. But since this

mystery is of such a nature that nobody can know or use it unless he be

prepared by long and diligent self-purification, not everyone can hope

to attain it quickly. Hence we have a secondary aim, that of preparing

our members as much as possible to reform their hearts, to purify and

enlighten their minds, by means handed on to us by tradition from those

who have striven to attain this mystery, and thereby to render them

capable of receiving it.



By purifying and regenerating our members we try, thirdly, to improve

the whole human race, offering it in our members an example of piety

and virtue, and thereby try with all our might to combat the evil which

sways the world. Think this over and I will come to you again.



To combat the evil which sways the world... Pierre repeated, and a

mental image of his future activity in this direction rose in his mind.

He imagined men such as he had himself been a fortnight ago, and he

addressed an edifying exhortation to them. He imagined to himself

vicious and unfortunate people whom he would assist by word and deed,

imagined oppressors whose victims he would rescue. Of the three

objects mentioned by the Rhetor, this last, that of improving mankind,

especially appealed to Pierre. The important mystery mentioned by the

Rhetor, though it aroused his curiosity, did not seem to him essential,

and the second aim, that of purifying and regenerating himself, did not

much interest him because at that moment he felt with delight that he

was already perfectly cured of his former faults and was ready for all

that was good.



Half an hour later, the Rhetor returned to inform the seeker of the

seven virtues, corresponding to the seven steps of Solomons temple,

which every Freemason should cultivate in himself. These virtues were

1. Discretion, the keeping of the secrets of the Order. 2. Obedience to

those of higher ranks in the Order. 3. Morality. 4. Love of mankind. 5.

Courage. 6. Generosity. 7. The love of death.



In the seventh place, try, by the frequent thought of death, the

Rhetor said, to bring yourself to regard it not as a dreaded foe, but

as a friend that frees the soul grown weary in the labors of virtue

from this distressful life, and leads it to its place of recompense and

peace.



Yes, that must be so, thought Pierre, when after these words the

Rhetor went away, leaving him to solitary meditation. It must be so,

but I am still so weak that I love my life, the meaning of which is only

now gradually opening before me. But five of the other virtues which

Pierre recalled, counting them on his fingers, he felt already in his

soul courage, generosity, morality, love of mankind, and especially

obediencewhich did not even seem to him a virtue, but a joy. (He now

felt so glad to be free from his own lawlessness and to submit his will

to those who knew the indubitable truth.) He forgot what the seventh

virtue was and could not recall it.



The third time the Rhetor came back more quickly and asked Pierre

whether he was still firm in his intention and determined to submit to

all that would be required of him.



I am ready for everything, said Pierre.



I must also inform you, said the Rhetor, that our Order

delivers its teaching not in words only but also by other means, which

may perhaps have a stronger effect on the sincere seeker after wisdom

and virtue than mere words. This chamber with what you see therein

should already have suggested to your heart, if it is sincere, more than

words could do. You will perhaps also see in your further initiation a

like method of enlightenment. Our Order imitates the ancient societies

that explained their teaching by hieroglyphics. A hieroglyph, said

the Rhetor, is an emblem of something not cognizable by the senses

but which possesses qualities resembling those of the symbol.



Pierre knew very well what a hieroglyph was, but dared not speak. He

listened to the Rhetor in silence, feeling from all he said that his

ordeal was about to begin.



If you are resolved, I must begin your initiation, said the Rhetor

coming closer to Pierre. In token of generosity I ask you to give me

all your valuables.



But I have nothing here, replied Pierre, supposing that he was

asked to give up all he possessed.



What you have with you watch, money, rings....



Pierre quickly took out his purse and watch, but could not manage for

some time to get the wedding ring off his fat finger. When that had been

done, the Rhetor said



In token of obedience, I ask you to undress.



Pierre took off his coat, waistcoat, and left boot according to the

Rhetors instructions. The Mason drew the shirt back from Pierres

left breast, and stooping down pulled up the left leg of his trousers

to above the knee. Pierre hurriedly began taking off his right boot also

and was going to tuck up the other trouser leg to save this stranger the

trouble, but the Mason told him that was not necessary and gave him

a slipper for his left foot. With a childlike smile of embarrassment,

doubt, and self-derision, which appeared on his face against his will,

Pierre stood with his arms hanging down and legs apart, before his

brother Rhetor, and awaited his further commands.



And now, in token of candor, I ask you to reveal to me your chief

passion, said the latter.



My passion! I have had so many, replied Pierre.



That passion which more than all others caused you to waver on the

path of virtue, said the Mason.



Pierre paused, seeking a reply.



Wine? Gluttony? Idleness? Laziness? Irritability? Anger? Women?

He went over his vices in his mind, not knowing to which of them to give

the pre-eminence.



Women, he said in a low, scarcely audible voice.



The Mason did not move and for a long time said nothing after this

answer. At last he moved up to Pierre and, taking the kerchief that lay

on the table, again bound his eyes.



For the last time I say to youturn all your attention upon

yourself, put a bridle on your senses, and seek blessedness, not in

passion but in your own heart. The source of blessedness is not without

us but within....



Pierre had already long been feeling in himself that refreshing source

of blessedness which now flooded his heart with glad emotion.











CHAPTER IV



Soon after this there came into the dark chamber to fetch Pierre, not

the Rhetor but Pierres sponsor, Willarski, whom he recognized by his

voice. To fresh questions as to the firmness of his resolution Pierre

replied Yes, yes, I agree, and with a beaming, childlike smile,

his fat chest uncovered, stepping unevenly and timidly in one slippered

and one booted foot, he advanced, while Willarski held a sword to his

bare chest. He was conducted from that room along passages that turned

backwards and forwards and was at last brought to the doors of the

Lodge. Willarski coughed, he was answered by the Masonic knock with

mallets, the doors opened before them. A bass voice (Pierre was still

blindfolded) questioned him as to who he was, when and where he was

born, and so on. Then he was again led somewhere still blindfolded,

and as they went along he was told allegories of the toils of his

pilgrimage, of holy friendship, of the Eternal Architect of the

universe, and of the courage with which he should endure toils and

dangers. During these wanderings, Pierre noticed that he was spoken

of now as the Seeker, now as the Sufferer, and now as the

Postulant, to the accompaniment of various knockings with

mallets and swords. As he was being led up to some object he noticed a

hesitation and uncertainty among his conductors. He heard those around

him disputing in whispers and one of them insisting that he should be

led along a certain carpet. After that they took his right hand, placed

it on something, and told him to hold a pair of compasses to his left

breast with the other hand and to repeat after someone who read aloud

an oath of fidelity to the laws of the Order. The candles were then

extinguished and some spirit lighted, as Pierre knew by the smell, and

he was told that he would now see the lesser light. The bandage was

taken off his eyes and, by the faint light of the burning spirit,

Pierre, as in a dream, saw several men standing before him, wearing

aprons like the Rhetors and holding swords in their hands pointed at

his breast. Among them stood a man whose white shirt was stained with

blood. On seeing this, Pierre moved forward with his breast toward the

swords, meaning them to pierce it. But the swords were drawn back from

him and he was at once blindfolded again.



Now thou hast seen the lesser light, uttered a voice. Then the

candles were relit and he was told that he would see the full light the

bandage was again removed and more than ten voices said together Sic

transit gloria mundi.



Pierre gradually began to recover himself and looked about at the room

and at the people in it. Round a long table covered with black sat some

twelve men in garments like those he had already seen. Some of them

Pierre had met in Petersburg society. In the Presidents chair sat a

young man he did not know, with a peculiar cross hanging from his

neck. On his right sat the Italian abb whom Pierre had met at

Anna Pvlovnas two years before. There were also present a very

distinguished dignitary and a Swiss who had formerly been tutor at the

Kurgins. All maintained a solemn silence, listening to the words

of the President, who held a mallet in his hand. Let into the wall was

a star-shaped light. At one side of the table was a small carpet with

various figures worked upon it, at the other was something resembling an

altar on which lay a Testament and a skull. Round it stood seven large

candlesticks like those used in churches. Two of the brothers led Pierre

up to the altar, placed his feet at right angles, and bade him lie down,

saying that he must prostrate himself at the Gates of the Temple.



He must first receive the trowel, whispered one of the brothers.



Oh, hush, please! said another.



Pierre, perplexed, looked round with his shortsighted eyes without

obeying, and suddenly doubts arose in his mind. Where am I? What am

I doing? Arent they laughing at me? Shant I be ashamed to remember

this? But these doubts only lasted a moment. Pierre glanced at

the serious faces of those around, remembered all he had already gone

through, and realized that he could not stop halfway. He was aghast

at his hesitation and, trying to arouse his former devotional feeling,

prostrated himself before the Gates of the Temple. And really, the

feeling of devotion returned to him even more strongly than before. When

he had lain there some time, he was told to get up, and a white leather

apron, such as the others wore, was put on him he was given a trowel

and three pairs of gloves, and then the Grand Master addressed him. He

told him that he should try to do nothing to stain the whiteness of that

apron, which symbolized strength and purity then of the unexplained

trowel, he told him to toil with it to cleanse his own heart from vice,

and indulgently to smooth with it the heart of his neighbor. As to the

first pair of gloves, a mans, he said that Pierre could not know

their meaning but must keep them. The second pair of mans gloves

he was to wear at the meetings, and finally of the third, a pair of

womens gloves, he said Dear brother, these womans gloves are

intended for you too. Give them to the woman whom you shall honor most

of all. This gift will be a pledge of your purity of heart to her whom

you select to be your worthy helpmeet in Masonry. And after a pause,

he added But beware, dear brother, that these gloves do not deck

hands that are unclean. While the Grand Master said these last words

it seemed to Pierre that he grew embarrassed. Pierre himself grew still

more confused, blushed like a child till tears came to his eyes, began

looking about him uneasily, and an awkward pause followed.



This silence was broken by one of the brethren, who led Pierre up to the

rug and began reading to him from a manuscript book an explanation of

all the figures on it the sun, the moon, a hammer, a plumb line, a

trowel, a rough stone and a squared stone, a pillar, three windows, and

so on. Then a place was assigned to Pierre, he was shown the signs of

the Lodge, told the password, and at last was permitted to sit down.

The Grand Master began reading the statutes. They were very long, and

Pierre, from joy, agitation, and embarrassment, was not in a state to

understand what was being read. He managed to follow only the last words

of the statutes and these remained in his mind.



In our temples we recognize no other distinctions, read the Grand

Master, but those between virtue and vice. Beware of making any

distinctions which may infringe equality. Fly to a brothers aid

whoever he may be, exhort him who goeth astray, raise him that falleth,

never bear malice or enmity toward thy brother. Be kindly and courteous.

Kindle in all hearts the flame of virtue. Share thy happiness with thy

neighbor, and may envy never dim the purity of that bliss. Forgive thy

enemy, do not avenge thyself except by doing him good. Thus fulfilling

the highest law thou shalt regain traces of the ancient dignity which

thou hast lost.



He finished and, getting up, embraced and kissed Pierre, who, with tears

of joy in his eyes, looked round him, not knowing how to answer the

congratulations and greetings from acquaintances that met him on all

sides. He acknowledged no acquaintances but saw in all these men only

brothers, and burned with impatience to set to work with them.



The Grand Master rapped with his mallet. All the Masons sat down in

their places, and one of them read an exhortation on the necessity of

humility.



The Grand Master proposed that the last duty should be performed,

and the distinguished dignitary who bore the title of Collector

of Alms went round to all the brothers. Pierre would have liked

to subscribe all he had, but fearing that it might look like pride

subscribed the same amount as the others.



The meeting was at an end, and on reaching home Pierre felt as if he had

returned from a long journey on which he had spent dozens of years, had

become completely changed, and had quite left behind his former habits

and way of life.











CHAPTER V



The day after he had been received into the Lodge, Pierre was sitting at

home reading a book and trying to fathom the significance of the Square,

one side of which symbolized God, another moral things, a third

physical things, and the fourth a combination of these. Now and then

his attention wandered from the book and the Square and he formed in

imagination a new plan of life. On the previous evening at the Lodge, he

had heard that a rumor of his duel had reached the Emperor and that it

would be wiser for him to leave Petersburg. Pierre proposed going to his

estates in the south and there attending to the welfare of his serfs.

He was joyfully planning this new life, when Prince Vasli suddenly

entered the room.



My dear fellow, what have you been up to in Moscow? Why have you

quarreled with Hlne, mon cher? You are under a delusion, said

Prince Vasli, as he entered. I know all about it, and I can tell

you positively that Hlne is as innocent before you as Christ was

before the Jews.



Pierre was about to reply, but Prince Vasli interrupted him.



And why didnt you simply come straight to me as to a friend? I

know all about it and understand it all, he said. You behaved as

becomes a man who values his honor, perhaps too hastily, but we wont

go into that. But consider the position in which you are placing her and

me in the eyes of society, and even of the court, he added, lowering

his voice. She is living in Moscow and you are here. Remember,

dear boy, and he drew Pierres arm downwards, it is simply a

misunderstanding. I expect you feel it so yourself. Let us write her

a letter at once, and shell come here and all will be explained, or

else, my dear boy, let me tell you its quite likely youll have to

suffer for it.



Prince Vasli gave Pierre a significant look.



I know from reliable sources that the Dowager Empress is taking a

keen interest in the whole affair. You know she is very gracious to

Hlne.



Pierre tried several times to speak, but, on one hand, Prince Vasli

did not let him and, on the other, Pierre himself feared to begin to

speak in the tone of decided refusal and disagreement in which he had

firmly resolved to answer his father-in-law. Moreover, the words of the

Masonic statutes, be kindly and courteous, recurred to him. He

blinked, went red, got up and sat down again, struggling with himself

to do what was for him the most difficult thing in lifeto say an

unpleasant thing to a mans face, to say what the other, whoever

he might be, did not expect. He was so used to submitting to Prince

Vaslis tone of careless self-assurance that he felt he would be

unable to withstand it now, but he also felt that on what he said now

his future dependedwhether he would follow the same old road, or that

new path so attractively shown him by the Masons, on which he firmly

believed he would be reborn to a new life.



Now, dear boy, said Prince Vasli playfully, say yes,

and Ill write to her myself, and we will kill the fatted calf.



But before Prince Vasli had finished his playful speech, Pierre,

without looking at him, and with a kind of fury that made him like his

father, muttered in a whisper



Prince, I did not ask you here. Go, please go! And he jumped up

and opened the door for him.



Go! he repeated, amazed at himself and glad to see the look of

confusion and fear that showed itself on Prince Vaslis face.



Whats the matter with you? Are you ill?



Go! the quivering voice repeated. And Prince Vasli had to go

without receiving any explanation.



A week later, Pierre, having taken leave of his new friends, the Masons,

and leaving large sums of money with them for alms, went away to his

estates. His new brethren gave him letters to the Kiev and Odessa Masons

and promised to write to him and guide him in his new activity.











CHAPTER VI



The duel between Pierre and Dlokhov was hushed up and, in spite of

the Emperors severity regarding duels at that time, neither the

principals nor their seconds suffered for it. But the story of the duel,

confirmed by Pierres rupture with his wife, was the talk of society.

Pierre who had been regarded with patronizing condescension when he was

an illegitimate son, and petted and extolled when he was the best

match in Russia, had sunk greatly in the esteem of society after his

marriagewhen the marriageable daughters and their mothers had nothing

to hope from himespecially as he did not know how, and did not

wish, to court societys favor. Now he alone was blamed for what had

happened, he was said to be insanely jealous and subject like his

father to fits of bloodthirsty rage. And when after Pierres

departure Hlne returned to Petersburg, she was received by all her

acquaintances not only cordially, but even with a shade of deference

due to her misfortune. When conversation turned on her husband Hlne

assumed a dignified expression, which with characteristic tact she had

acquired though she did not understand its significance. This expression

suggested that she had resolved to endure her troubles uncomplainingly

and that her husband was a cross laid upon her by God. Prince Vasli

expressed his opinion more openly. He shrugged his shoulders when Pierre

was mentioned and, pointing to his forehead, remarked



A bit touchedI always said so.



I said from the first, declared Anna Pvlovna referring to

Pierre, I said at the time and before anyone else (she insisted

on her priority) that that senseless young man was spoiled by the

depraved ideas of these days. I said so even at the time when everybody

was in raptures about him, when he had just returned from abroad, and

when, if you remember, he posed as a sort of Marat at one of my soirees.

And how has it ended? I was against this marriage even then and foretold

all that has happened.



Anna Pvlovna continued to give on free evenings the same kind of

soirees as beforesuch as she alone had the gift of arrangingat

which was to be found the cream of really good society, the bloom

of the intellectual essence of Petersburg, as she herself put it.

Besides this refined selection of society Anna Pvlovnas receptions

were also distinguished by the fact that she always presented some new

and interesting person to the visitors and that nowhere else was the

state of the political thermometer of legitimate Petersburg court

society so dearly and distinctly indicated.



Toward the end of 1806, when all the sad details of Napoleons

destruction of the Prussian army at Jena and Auerstdt and the

surrender of most of the Prussian fortresses had been received, when our

troops had already entered Prussia and our second war with Napoleon

was beginning, Anna Pvlovna gave one of her soirees. The cream of

really good society consisted of the fascinating Hlne, forsaken

by her husband, Mortemart, the delightful Prince Hippolyte who had

just returned from Vienna, two diplomatists, the old aunt, a young man

referred to in that drawing room as a man of great merit (un homme

de beaucoup de mrite), a newly appointed maid of honor and her mother,

and several other less noteworthy persons.



The novelty Anna Pvlovna was setting before her guests that evening

was Bors Drubetsky, who had just arrived as a special messenger from

the Prussian army and was aide-de-camp to a very important personage.



The temperature shown by the political thermometer to the company that

evening was this



Whatever the European sovereigns and commanders may do to

countenance Bonaparte, and to cause me, and us in general, annoyance and

mortification, our opinion of Bonaparte cannot alter. We shall not cease

to express our sincere views on that subject, and can only say to the

King of Prussia and others So much the worse for you. Tu las

voulu, George Dandin, thats all we have to say about it!



When Bors, who was to be served up to the guests, entered the drawing

room, almost all the company had assembled, and the conversation, guided

by Anna Pvlovna, was about our diplomatic relations with Austria and

the hope of an alliance with her.



Bors, grown more manly and looking fresh, rosy and self-possessed,

entered the drawing room elegantly dressed in the uniform of an

aide-de-camp and was duly conducted to pay his respects to the aunt and

then brought back to the general circle.



Anna Pvlovna gave him her shriveled hand to kiss and introduced him to

several persons whom he did not know, giving him a whispered description

of each.



Prince Hippolyte Kurgincharming young fellow M.

Kronq,charg daffaires from Copenhagena profound intellect,

and simply, Mr. Shtova man of great meritthis of the man

usually so described.



Thanks to Anna Mikhylovnas efforts, his own tastes, and the

peculiarities of his reserved nature, Bors had managed during his

service to place himself very advantageously. He was aide-de-camp to a

very important personage, had been sent on a very important mission to

Prussia, and had just returned from there as a special messenger. He had

become thoroughly conversant with that unwritten code with which he had

been so pleased at Olmtz and according to which an ensign might rank

incomparably higher than a general, and according to which what was

needed for success in the service was not effort or work, or courage, or

perseverance, but only the knowledge of how to get on with those who can

grant rewards, and he was himself often surprised at the rapidity of his

success and at the inability of others to understand these things.

In consequence of this discovery his whole manner of life, all

his relations with old friends, all his plans for his future, were

completely altered. He was not rich, but would spend his last groat to

be better dressed than others, and would rather deprive himself of many

pleasures than allow himself to be seen in a shabby equipage or appear

in the streets of Petersburg in an old uniform. He made friends with

and sought the acquaintance of only those above him in position and

who could therefore be of use to him. He liked Petersburg and despised

Moscow. The remembrance of the Rostvs house and of his childish

love for Natsha was unpleasant to him and he had not once been to see

the Rostvs since the day of his departure for the army. To be in Anna

Pvlovnas drawing room he considered an important step up in the

service, and he at once understood his role, letting his hostess make

use of whatever interest he had to offer. He himself carefully scanned

each face, appraising the possibilities of establishing intimacy with

each of those present, and the advantages that might accrue. He took

the seat indicated to him beside the fair Hlne and listened to the

general conversation.



Vienna considers the bases of the proposed treaty so unattainable

that not even a continuity of most brilliant successes would secure

them, and she doubts the means we have of gaining them. That is the

actual phrase used by the Vienna cabinet, said the Danish charg

daffaires.



The doubt is flattering, said the man of profound intellect,

with a subtle smile.



We must distinguish between the Vienna cabinet and the Emperor of

Austria, said Mortemart. The Emperor of Austria can never have

thought of such a thing, it is only the cabinet that says it.



Ah, my dear vicomte, put in Anna Pvlovna, LUrope (for

some reason she called it Urope as if that were a specially refined

French pronunciation which she could allow herself when conversing with

a Frenchman), LUrope ne sera jamais notre allie sincre. *



    * Europe will never be our sincere ally.





After that Anna Pvlovna led up to the courage and firmness of the King

of Prussia, in order to draw Bors into the conversation.



Bors listened attentively to each of the speakers, awaiting his turn,

but managed meanwhile to look round repeatedly at his neighbor, the

beautiful Hlne, whose eyes several times met those of the handsome

young aide-de-camp with a smile.



Speaking of the position of Prussia, Anna Pvlovna very naturally asked

Bors to tell them about his journey to Glogau and in what state he

found the Prussian army. Bors, speaking with deliberation, told them

in pure, correct French many interesting details about the armies and

the court, carefully abstaining from expressing an opinion of his

own about the facts he was recounting. For some time he engrossed the

general attention, and Anna Pvlovna felt that the novelty she had

served up was received with pleasure by all her visitors. The greatest

attention of all to Bors narrative was shown by Hlne. She asked

him several questions about his journey and seemed greatly interested in

the state of the Prussian army. As soon as he had finished she turned to

him with her usual smile.



You absolutely must come and see me, she said in a tone that

implied that, for certain considerations he could not know of, this was

absolutely necessary.



On Tuesday between eight and nine. It will give me great pleasure.



Bors promised to fulfill her wish and was about to begin a

conversation with her, when Anna Pvlovna called him away on the

pretext that her aunt wished to hear him.



You know her husband, of course? said Anna Pvlovna, closing her

eyes and indicating Hlne with a sorrowful gesture. Ah, she is

such an unfortunate and charming woman! Dont mention him before

herplease dont! It is too painful for her!











CHAPTER VII



When Bors and Anna Pvlovna returned to the others Prince Hippolyte

had the ear of the company.



Bending forward in his armchair he said Le Roi de Prusse! and

having said this laughed. Everyone turned toward him.



Le Roi de Prusse? Hippolyte said interrogatively, again laughing,

and then calmly and seriously sat back in his chair. Anna Pvlovna

waited for him to go on, but as he seemed quite decided to say no more

she began to tell of how at Potsdam the impious Bonaparte had stolen the

sword of Frederick the Great.



It is the sword of Frederick the Great which I... she began, but

Hippolyte interrupted her with the words Le Roi de Prusse... and

again, as soon as all turned toward him, excused himself and said no

more.



Anna Pvlovna frowned. Mortemart, Hippolytes friend, addressed him

firmly.



Come now, what about your Roi de Prusse?



Hippolyte laughed as if ashamed of laughing.



Oh, its nothing. I only wished to say... (he wanted to repeat

a joke he had heard in Vienna and which he had been trying all that

evening to get in) I only wished to say that we are wrong to fight

pour le Roi de Prusse!



Bors smiled circumspectly, so that it might be taken as ironical

or appreciative according to the way the joke was received. Everybody

laughed.



Your joke is too bad, its witty but unjust, said Anna

Pvlovna, shaking her little shriveled finger at him.



We are not fighting pour le Roi de Prusse, but for right principles.

Oh, that wicked Prince Hippolyte! she said.



The conversation did not flag all evening and turned chiefly on the

political news. It became particularly animated toward the end of the

evening when the rewards bestowed by the Emperor were mentioned.



You know N N received a snuffbox with the portrait last

year? said the man of profound intellect. Why shouldnt

S S get the same distinction?



Pardon me! A snuffbox with the Emperors portrait is a reward but

not a distinction, said the diplomatista gift, rather.



There are precedents, I may mention Schwarzenberg.



Its impossible, replied another.



Will you bet? The ribbon of the order is a different matter....



When everybody rose to go, Hlne who had spoken very little all

the evening again turned to Bors, asking him in a tone of caressing

significant command to come to her on Tuesday.



It is of great importance to me, she said, turning with a smile

toward Anna Pvlovna, and Anna Pvlovna, with the same sad smile with

which she spoke of her exalted patroness, supported Hlnes wish.



It seemed as if from some words Bors had spoken that evening about the

Prussian army, Hlne had suddenly found it necessary to see him.

She seemed to promise to explain that necessity to him when he came on

Tuesday.



But on Tuesday evening, having come to Hlnes splendid salon,

Bors received no clear explanation of why it had been necessary for

him to come. There were other guests and the countess talked little to

him, and only as he kissed her hand on taking leave said unexpectedly

and in a whisper, with a strangely unsmiling face Come to dinner

tomorrow... in the evening. You must come.... Come!



During that stay in Petersburg, Bors became an intimate in the

countess house.











CHAPTER VIII



The war was flaming up and nearing the Russian frontier. Everywhere one

heard curses on Bonaparte, the enemy of mankind. Militiamen and

recruits were being enrolled in the villages, and from the seat of

war came contradictory news, false as usual and therefore variously

interpreted. The life of old Prince Bolknski, Prince Andrew, and

Princess Mary had greatly changed since 1805.



In 1806 the old prince was made one of the eight commanders in chief

then appointed to supervise the enrollment decreed throughout Russia.

Despite the weakness of age, which had become particularly noticeable

since the time when he thought his son had been killed, he did not think

it right to refuse a duty to which he had been appointed by the Emperor

himself, and this fresh opportunity for action gave him new energy

and strength. He was continually traveling through the three provinces

entrusted to him, was pedantic in the fulfillment of his duties, severe

to cruel with his subordinates, and went into everything down to the

minutest details himself. Princess Mary had ceased taking lessons in

mathematics from her father, and when the old prince was at home went

to his study with the wet nurse and little Prince Nicholas (as his

grandfather called him). The baby Prince Nicholas lived with his wet

nurse and nurse Svishna in the late princess rooms and Princess

Mary spent most of the day in the nursery, taking a mothers place to

her little nephew as best she could. Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, seemed

passionately fond of the boy, and Princess Mary often deprived herself

to give her friend the pleasure of dandling the little angelas she

called her nephewand playing with him.



Near the altar of the church at Bald Hills there was a chapel over the

tomb of the little princess, and in this chapel was a marble monument

brought from Italy, representing an angel with outspread wings ready to

fly upwards. The angels upper lip was slightly raised as though

about to smile, and once on coming out of the chapel Prince Andrew and

Princess Mary admitted to one another that the angels face reminded

them strangely of the little princess. But what was still stranger,

though of this Prince Andrew said nothing to his sister, was that in the

expression the sculptor had happened to give the angels face, Prince

Andrew read the same mild reproach he had read on the face of his dead

wife Ah, why have you done this to me?



Soon after Prince Andrews return the old prince made over to him a

large estate, Boguchrovo, about twenty-five miles from Bald Hills.

Partly because of the depressing memories associated with Bald Hills,

partly because Prince Andrew did not always feel equal to bearing with

his fathers peculiarities, and partly because he needed solitude,

Prince Andrew made use of Boguchrovo, began building and spent most of

his time there.



After the Austerlitz campaign Prince Andrew had firmly resolved not

to continue his military service, and when the war recommenced

and everybody had to serve, he took a post under his father in the

recruitment so as to avoid active service. The old prince and his son

seemed to have changed roles since the campaign of 1805. The old man,

roused by activity, expected the best results from the new campaign,

while Prince Andrew on the contrary, taking no part in the war and

secretly regretting this, saw only the dark side.



On February 26, 1807, the old prince set off on one of his circuits.

Prince Andrew remained at Bald Hills as usual during his fathers

absence. Little Nicholas had been unwell for four days. The coachman who

had driven the old prince to town returned bringing papers and letters

for Prince Andrew.



Not finding the young prince in his study the valet went with the

letters to Princess Marys apartments, but did not find him there. He

was told that the prince had gone to the nursery.



If you please, your excellency, Ptrusha has brought some papers,

said one of the nursemaids to Prince Andrew who was sitting on a

childs little chair while, frowning and with trembling hands, he

poured drops from a medicine bottle into a wineglass half full of water.



What is it? he said crossly, and, his hand shaking

unintentionally, he poured too many drops into the glass. He threw the

mixture onto the floor and asked for some more water. The maid brought

it.



There were in the room a childs cot, two boxes, two armchairs, a

table, a childs table, and the little chair on which Prince Andrew

was sitting. The curtains were drawn, and a single candle was burning on

the table, screened by a bound music book so that the light did not fall

on the cot.



My dear, said Princess Mary, addressing her brother from beside

the cot where she was standing, better wait a bit... later...



Oh, leave off, you always talk nonsense and keep putting things

offand this is what comes of it! said Prince Andrew in an

exasperated whisper, evidently meaning to wound his sister.



My dear, really... its better not to wake him... hes 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 wed really better not wake him, he said hesitating.



As you please... really... I think so... but as you please, said

Princess Mary, evidently intimidated and confused that her opinion

had prevailed. She drew her brothers attention to the maid who was

calling him in a whisper.



It was the second night that neither of them had slept, watching the boy

who was in a high fever. These last days, mistrusting their household

doctor and expecting another for whom they had sent to town, they had

been trying first one remedy and then another. Worn out by sleeplessness

and anxiety they threw their burden of sorrow on one another and

reproached and disputed with each other.



Ptrusha has come with papers from your father, whispered the

maid.



Prince Andrew went out.



Devil take them! he muttered, and after listening to the verbal

instructions his father had sent and taking the correspondence and his

fathers letter, he returned to the nursery.



Well? he asked.



Still the same. Wait, for heavens sake. Karl Ivnich always says

that sleep is more important than anything, whispered Princess Mary

with a sigh.



Prince Andrew went up to the child and felt him. He was burning hot.



Confound you and your Karl Ivnich! He took the glass with the

drops and again went up to the cot.



Andrew, dont! said Princess Mary.



But he scowled at her angrily though also with suffering in his eyes,

and stooped glass in hand over the infant.



But I wish it, he said. I beg yougive it him!



Princess Mary shrugged her shoulders but took the glass submissively

and calling the nurse began giving the medicine. The child screamed

hoarsely. Prince Andrew winced and, clutching his head, went out and sat

down on a sofa in the next room.



He still had all the letters in his hand. Opening them mechanically he

began reading. The old prince, now and then using abbreviations, wrote

in his large elongated hand on blue paper as follows



Have just this moment received by special messenger very joyful

newsif its not false. Bennigsen seems to have obtained a complete

victory over Buonaparte at Eylau. In Petersburg everyone is rejoicing,

and the rewards sent to the army are innumerable. Though he is a

GermanI congratulate him! I cant make out what the commander at

Krchevoa certain Khandrikvis up to till now the additional

men and provisions have not arrived. Gallop off to him at once and

say Ill have his head off if everything is not here in a week.

Have received another letter about the Preussisch-Eylau battle

from Ptenkahe took part in itand its all true. When

mischief-makers dont meddle even a German beats Buonaparte. He is

said to be fleeing in great disorder. Mind you gallop off to Krchevo

without delay and carry out instructions!



Prince Andrew sighed and broke the seal of another envelope. It was

a closely written letter of two sheets from Bilbin. He folded it up

without reading it and reread his fathers letter, ending with the

words Gallop off to Krchevo and carry out instructions!



No, pardon me, I wont go now till the child is better, thought

he, going to the door and looking into the nursery.



Princess Mary was still standing by the cot, gently rocking the baby.



Ah yes, and what else did he say thats unpleasant? thought

Prince Andrew, recalling his fathers letter. Yes, we have gained

a victory over Bonaparte, just when Im not serving. Yes, yes, hes

always poking fun at me.... Ah, well! Let him! And he began reading

Bilbins letter which was written in French. He read without

understanding half of it, read only to forget, if but for a moment, what

he had too long been thinking of so painfully to the exclusion of all

else.











CHAPTER IX



Bilbin was now at army headquarters in a diplomatic capacity, and

though he wrote in French and used French jests and French idioms,

he described the whole campaign with a fearless self-censure and

self-derision genuinely Russian. Bilbin wrote that the obligation of

diplomatic discretion tormented him, and he was happy to have in Prince

Andrew a reliable correspondent to whom he could pour out the bile he

had accumulated at the sight of all that was being done in the army.

The letter was old, having been written before the battle at

Preussisch-Eylau.



Since the day of our brilliant success at Austerlitz, wrote

Bilbin, as you know, my dear prince, I never leave headquarters. I

have certainly acquired a taste for war, and it is just as well for me

what I have seen during these last three months is incredible.



I begin ab ovo. The enemy of the human race, as you know,

attacks the Prussians. The Prussians are our faithful allies who have

only betrayed us three times in three years. We take up their cause, but

it turns out that the enemy of the human race pays no heed to

our fine speeches and in his rude and savage way throws himself on the

Prussians without giving them time to finish the parade they had begun,

and in two twists of the hand he breaks them to smithereens and installs

himself in the palace at Potsdam.



I most ardently desire, writes the King of Prussia to

Bonaparte, that Your Majesty should be received and treated in my

palace in a manner agreeable to yourself, and in so far as circumstances

allowed, I have hastened to take all steps to that end. May I have

succeeded! The Prussian generals pride themselves on being polite to

the French and lay down their arms at the first demand.



The head of the garrison at Glogau, with ten thousand men, asks the

King of Prussia what he is to do if he is summoned to surrender.... All

this is absolutely true.



In short, hoping to settle matters by taking up a warlike attitude,

it turns out that we have landed ourselves in war, and what is more,

in war on our own frontiers, with and for the King of Prussia. We have

everything in perfect order, only one little thing is lacking, namely,

a commander in chief. As it was considered that the Austerlitz success

might have been more decisive had the commander in chief not been so

young, all our octogenarians were reviewed, and of Prozorvski

and Kmenski the latter was preferred. The general comes to us,

Suvrov-like, in a kibtka, and is received with acclamations of joy

and triumph.



On the 4th, the first courier arrives from Petersburg. The mails

are taken to the field marshals room, for he likes to do everything

himself. I am called in to help sort the letters and take those meant

for us. The field marshal looks on and waits for letters addressed

to him. We search, but none are to be found. The field marshal grows

impatient and sets to work himself and finds letters from the Emperor

to Count T., Prince V., and others. Then he bursts into one of his wild

furies and rages at everyone and everything, seizes the letters, opens

them, and reads those from the Emperor addressed to others. Ah! So

thats the way they treat me! No confidence in me! Ah, ordered to keep

an eye on me! Very well then! Get along with you! So he writes the

famous order of the day to General Bennigsen



I am wounded and cannot ride and consequently cannot command the

army. You have brought your army corps to Pultsk, routed here it is

exposed, and without fuel or forage, so something must be done, and, as

you yourself reported to Count Buxhwden yesterday, you must think of

retreating to our frontierwhich do today.



From all my riding, he writes to the Emperor, I have got a

saddle sore which, coming after all my previous journeys, quite prevents

my riding and commanding so vast an army, so I have passed on the

command to the general next in seniority, Count Buxhwden, having sent

him my whole staff and all that belongs to it, advising him if there is

a lack of bread, to move farther into the interior of Prussia, for only

one days ration of bread remains, and in some regiments none at all,

as reported by the division commanders, Ostermann and Sedmortzki, and

all that the peasants had has been eaten up. I myself will remain in

hospital at Ostrolenka till I recover. In regard to which I humbly

submit my report, with the information that if the army remains in its

present bivouac another fortnight there will not be a healthy man left

in it by spring.



Grant leave to retire to his country seat to an old man who is

already in any case dishonored by being unable to fulfill the great and

glorious task for which he was chosen. I shall await your most gracious

permission here in hospital, that I may not have to play the part of a

secretary rather than commander in the army. My removal from the army

does not produce the slightest stira blind man has left it. There are

thousands such as I in Russia.



The field marshal is angry with the Emperor and he punishes us all,

isnt it logical?



This is the first act. Those that follow are naturally increasingly

interesting and entertaining. After the field marshals departure

it appears that we are within sight of the enemy and must give battle.

Buxhwden is commander in chief by seniority, but General Bennigsen

does not quite see it more particularly as it is he and his corps who

are within sight of the enemy and he wishes to profit by the opportunity

to fight a battle on his own hand as the Germans say. He does so.

This is the battle of Pultsk, which is considered a great victory but

in my opinion was nothing of the kind. We civilians, as you know, have

a very bad way of deciding whether a battle was won or lost. Those who

retreat after a battle have lost it is what we say and according to

that it is we who lost the battle of Pultsk. In short, we retreat

after the battle but send a courier to Petersburg with news of a

victory, and General Bennigsen, hoping to receive from Petersburg the

post of commander in chief as a reward for his victory, does not give up

the command of the army to General Buxhwden. During this interregnum

we begin a very original and interesting series of maneuvers. Our aim is

no longer, as it should be, to avoid or attack the enemy, but solely to

avoid General Buxhwden who by right of seniority should be our chief.

So energetically do we pursue this aim that after crossing an unfordable

river we burn the bridges to separate ourselves from our enemy, who at

the moment is not Bonaparte but Buxhwden. General Buxhwden was all

but attacked and captured by a superior enemy force as a result of one

of these maneuvers that enabled us to escape him. Buxhwden pursues

uswe scuttle. He hardly crosses the river to our side before we

recross to the other. At last our enemy, Buxhwden, catches us and

attacks. Both generals are angry, and the result is a challenge on

Buxhwdens part and an epileptic fit on Bennigsens. But at the

critical moment the courier who carried the news of our victory at

Pultsk to Petersburg returns bringing our appointment as commander in

chief, and our first foe, Buxhwden, is vanquished we can now turn

our thoughts to the second, Bonaparte. But as it turns out, just at

that moment a third enemy rises before usnamely the Orthodox Russian

soldiers, loudly demanding bread, meat, biscuits, fodder, and whatnot!

The stores are empty, the roads impassable. The Orthodox begin looting,

and in a way of which our last campaign can give you no idea. Half the

regiments form bands and scour the countryside and put everything

to fire and sword. The inhabitants are totally ruined, the hospitals

overflow with sick, and famine is everywhere. Twice the marauders even

attack our headquarters, and the commander in chief has to ask for a

battalion to disperse them. During one of these attacks they carried off

my empty portmanteau and my dressing gown. The Emperor proposes to give

all commanders of divisions the right to shoot marauders, but I much

fear this will oblige one half the army to shoot the other.



At first Prince Andrew read with his eyes only, but after a while,

in spite of himself (although he knew how far it was safe to trust

Bilbin), what he had read began to interest him more and more. When he

had read thus far, he crumpled the letter up and threw it away. It was

not what he had read that vexed him, but the fact that the life out

there in which he had now no part could perturb him. He shut his eyes,

rubbed his forehead as if to rid himself of all interest in what he

had read, and listened to what was passing in the nursery. Suddenly he

thought he heard a strange noise through the door. He was seized with

alarm lest something should have happened to the child while he was

reading the letter. He went on tiptoe to the nursery door and opened it.



Just as he went in he saw that the nurse was hiding something from him

with a scared look and that Princess Mary was no longer by the cot.



My dear, he heard what seemed to him her despairing whisper behind

him.



As often happens after long sleeplessness and long anxiety, he was

seized by an unreasoning panicit occurred to him that the child was

dead. All that he saw and heard seemed to confirm this terror.



All is over, he thought, and a cold sweat broke out on his

forehead. He went to the cot in confusion, sure that he would find it

empty and that the nurse had been hiding the dead baby. He drew the

curtain aside and for some time his frightened, restless eyes could not

find the baby. At last he saw him the rosy boy had tossed about till he

lay across the bed with his head lower than the pillow, and was smacking

his lips in his sleep and breathing evenly.



Prince Andrew was as glad to find the boy like that, as if he had

already lost him. He bent over him and, as his sister had taught him,

tried with his lips whether the child was still feverish. The soft

forehead was moist. Prince Andrew touched the head with his hand even

the hair was wet, so profusely had the child perspired. He was not dead,

but evidently the crisis was over and he was convalescent. Prince Andrew

longed to snatch up, to squeeze, to hold to his heart, this helpless

little creature, but dared not do so. He stood over him, gazing at his

head and at the little arms and legs which showed under the blanket. He

heard a rustle behind him and a shadow appeared under the curtain of

the cot. He did not look round, but still gazing at the infants face

listened to his regular breathing. The dark shadow was Princess Mary,

who had come up to the cot with noiseless steps, lifted the curtain,

and dropped it again behind her. Prince Andrew recognized her without

looking and held out his hand to her. She pressed it.



He has perspired, said Prince Andrew.



I was coming to tell you so.



The child moved slightly in his sleep, smiled, and rubbed his forehead

against the pillow.



Prince Andrew looked at his sister. In the dim shadow of the curtain her

luminous eyes shone more brightly than usual from the tears of joy that

were in them. She leaned over to her brother and kissed him, slightly

catching the curtain of the cot. Each made the other a warning gesture

and stood still in the dim light beneath the curtain as if not wishing

to leave that seclusion where they three were shut off from all the

world. Prince Andrew was the first to move away, ruffling his hair

against the muslin of the curtain.



Yes, this is the one thing left me now, he said with a sigh.











CHAPTER X



Soon after his admission to the Masonic Brotherhood, Pierre went to the

Kiev province, where he had the greatest number of serfs, taking with

him full directions which he had written down for his own guidance as to

what he should do on his estates.



When he reached Kiev he sent for all his stewards to the head office

and explained to them his intentions and wishes. He told them that steps

would be taken immediately to free his serfsand that till then they

were not to be overburdened with labor, women while nursing their babies

were not to be sent to work, assistance was to be given to the serfs,

punishments were to be admonitory and not corporal, and hospitals,

asylums, and schools were to be established on all the estates. Some of

the stewards (there were semiliterate foremen among them) listened with

alarm, supposing these words to mean that the young count was displeased

with their management and embezzlement of money, some after their first

fright were amused by Pierres lisp and the new words they had not

heard before, others simply enjoyed hearing how the master talked, while

the cleverest among them, including the chief steward, understood from

this speech how they could best handle the master for their own ends.



The chief steward expressed great sympathy with Pierres intentions,

but remarked that besides these changes it would be necessary to go into

the general state of affairs which was far from satisfactory.



Despite Count Bezkhovs enormous wealth, since he had come into an

income which was said to amount to five hundred thousand rubles a year,

Pierre felt himself far poorer than when his father had made him

an allowance of ten thousand rubles. He had a dim perception of the

following budget



About 80,000 went in payments on all the estates to the Land Bank, about

30,000 went for the upkeep of the estate near Moscow, the town house,

and the allowance to the three princesses about 15,000 was given in

pensions and the same amount for asylums 150,000 alimony was sent to

the countess about 70,000 went for interest on debts. The building of a

new church, previously begun, had cost about 10,000 in each of the last

two years, and he did not know how the rest, about 100,000 rubles, was

spent, and almost every year he was obliged to borrow. Besides this the

chief steward wrote every year telling him of fires and bad harvests,

or of the necessity of rebuilding factories and workshops. So the first

task Pierre had to face was one for which he had very little aptitude or

inclinationpractical business.



He discussed estate affairs every day with his chief steward. But

he felt that this did not forward matters at all. He felt that these

consultations were detached from real affairs and did not link up with

them or make them move. On the one hand, the chief steward put the state

of things to him in the very worst light, pointing out the necessity of

paying off the debts and undertaking new activities with serf labor,

to which Pierre did not agree. On the other hand, Pierre demanded that

steps should be taken to liberate the serfs, which the steward met by

showing the necessity of first paying off the loans from the Land Bank,

and the consequent impossibility of a speedy emancipation.



The steward did not say it was quite impossible, but suggested selling

the forests in the province of Kostrom, the land lower down the river,

and the Crimean estate, in order to make it possible all of which

operations according to him were connected with such complicated

measuresthe removal of injunctions, petitions, permits, and so

onthat Pierre became quite bewildered and only replied



Yes, yes, do so.



Pierre had none of the practical persistence that would have enabled him

to attend to the business himself and so he disliked it and only tried

to pretend to the steward that he was attending to it. The steward

for his part tried to pretend to the count that he considered these

consultations very valuable for the proprietor and troublesome to

himself.



In Kiev Pierre found some people he knew, and strangers hastened to make

his acquaintance and joyfully welcomed the rich newcomer, the

largest landowner of the province. Temptations to Pierres greatest

weaknessthe one to which he had confessed when admitted to the

Lodgewere so strong that he could not resist them. Again whole days,

weeks, and months of his life passed in as great a rush and were as much

occupied with evening parties, dinners, lunches, and balls, giving him

no time for reflection, as in Petersburg. Instead of the new life he had

hoped to lead he still lived the old life, only in new surroundings.



Of the three precepts of Freemasonry Pierre realized that he did not

fulfill the one which enjoined every Mason to set an example of moral

life, and that of the seven virtues he lacked twomorality and the

love of death. He consoled himself with the thought that he fulfilled

another of the preceptsthat of reforming the human raceand had

other virtueslove of his neighbor, and especially generosity.



In the spring of 1807 he decided to return to Petersburg. On the way he

intended to visit all his estates and see for himself how far his orders

had been carried out and in what state were the serfs whom God had

entrusted to his care and whom he intended to benefit.



The chief steward, who considered the young counts attempts almost

insaneunprofitable to himself, to the count, and to the serfsmade

some concessions. Continuing to represent the liberation of the serfs

as impracticable, he arranged for the erection of large

buildingsschools, hospitals, and asylumson all the estates

before the master arrived. Everywhere preparations were made not for

ceremonious welcomes (which he knew Pierre would not like), but for just

such gratefully religious ones, with offerings of icons and the bread

and salt of hospitality, as, according to his understanding of his

master, would touch and delude him.



The southern spring, the comfortable rapid traveling in a Vienna

carriage, and the solitude of the road, all had a gladdening effect on

Pierre. The estates he had not before visited were each more picturesque

than the other the serfs everywhere seemed thriving and touchingly

grateful for the benefits conferred on them. Everywhere were receptions,

which though they embarrassed Pierre awakened a joyful feeling in the

depth of his heart. In one place the peasants presented him with bread

and salt and an icon of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, asking permission,

as a mark of their gratitude for the benefits he had conferred on them,

to build a new chantry to the church at their own expense in honor

of Peter and Paul, his patron saints. In another place the women with

infants in arms met him to thank him for releasing them from hard

work. On a third estate the priest, bearing a cross, came to meet

him surrounded by children whom, by the counts generosity, he was

instructing in reading, writing, and religion. On all his estates Pierre

saw with his own eyes brick buildings erected or in course of erection,

all on one plan, for hospitals, schools, and almshouses, which were soon

to be opened. Everywhere he saw the stewards accounts, according to

which the serfs manorial labor had been diminished, and heard the

touching thanks of deputations of serfs in their full-skirted blue

coats.



What Pierre did not know was that the place where they presented him

with bread and salt and wished to build a chantry in honor of Peter and

Paul was a market village where a fair was held on St. Peters day,

and that the richest peasants (who formed the deputation) had begun

the chantry long before, but that nine tenths of the peasants in that

villages were in a state of the greatest poverty. He did not know that

since the nursing mothers were no longer sent to work on his land, they

did still harder work on their own land. He did not know that the priest

who met him with the cross oppressed the peasants by his exactions, and

that the pupils parents wept at having to let him take their children

and secured their release by heavy payments. He did not know that the

brick buildings, built to plan, were being built by serfs whose manorial

labor was thus increased, though lessened on paper. He did not know

that where the steward had shown him in the accounts that the serfs

payments had been diminished by a third, their obligatory manorial work

had been increased by a half. And so Pierre was delighted with his visit

to his estates and quite recovered the philanthropic mood in which

he had left Petersburg, and wrote enthusiastic letters to his

brother-instructor as he called the Grand Master.



How easy it is, how little effort it needs, to do so much good,

thought Pierre, and how little attention we pay to it!



He was pleased at the gratitude he received, but felt abashed at

receiving it. This gratitude reminded him of how much more he might do

for these simple, kindly people.



The chief steward, a very stupid but cunning man who saw perfectly

through the nave and intelligent count and played with him as with

a toy, seeing the effect these prearranged receptions had on Pierre,

pressed him still harder with proofs of the impossibility and above all

the uselessness of freeing the serfs, who were quite happy as it was.



Pierre in his secret soul agreed with the steward that it would be

difficult to imagine happier people, and that God only knew what would

happen to them when they were free, but he insisted, though reluctantly,

on what he thought right. The steward promised to do all in his power to

carry out the counts wishes, seeing clearly that not only would the

count never be able to find out whether all measures had been taken for

the sale of the land and forests and to release them from the Land Bank,

but would probably never even inquire and would never know that the

newly erected buildings were standing empty and that the serfs continued

to give in money and work all that other peoples serfs gavethat is

to say, all that could be got out of them.











CHAPTER XI



Returning from his journey through South Russia in the happiest state

of mind, Pierre carried out an intention he had long had of visiting his

friend Bolknski, whom he had not seen for two years.



Boguchrovo lay in a flat uninteresting part of the country among

fields and forests of fir and birch, which were partly cut down. The

house lay behind a newly dug pond filled with water to the brink and

with banks still bare of grass. It was at the end of a village that

stretched along the highroad in the midst of a young copse in which were

a few fir trees.



The homestead consisted of a threshing floor, outhouses, stables, a

bathhouse, a lodge, and a large brick house with semicircular faade

still in course of construction. Round the house was a garden newly laid

out. The fences and gates were new and solid two fire pumps and a

water cart, painted green, stood in a shed the paths were straight,

the bridges were strong and had handrails. Everything bore an impress of

tidiness and good management. Some domestic serfs Pierre met, in reply

to inquiries as to where the prince lived, pointed out a small newly

built lodge close to the pond. Antn, a man who had looked after Prince

Andrew in his boyhood, helped Pierre out of his carriage, said that the

prince was at home, and showed him into a clean little anteroom.



Pierre was struck by the modesty of the small though clean house after

the brilliant surroundings in which he had last met his friend in

Petersburg.



He quickly entered the small reception room with its still-unplastered

wooden walls redolent of pine, and would have gone farther, but Antn

ran ahead on tiptoe and knocked at a door.



Well, what is it? came a sharp, unpleasant voice.



A visitor, answered Antn.



Ask him to wait, and the sound was heard of a chair being pushed

back.



Pierre went with rapid steps to the door and suddenly came face to

face with Prince Andrew, who came out frowning and looking old. Pierre

embraced him and lifting his spectacles kissed his friend on the cheek

and looked at him closely.



Well, I did not expect you, I am very glad, said Prince Andrew.



Pierre said nothing he looked fixedly at his friend with surprise. He

was struck by the change in him. His words were kindly and there was a

smile on his lips and face, but his eyes were dull and lifeless and in

spite of his evident wish to do so he could not give them a joyous

and glad sparkle. Prince Andrew had grown thinner, paler, and more

manly-looking, but what amazed and estranged Pierre till he got used

to it were his inertia and a wrinkle on his brow indicating prolonged

concentration on some one thought.



As is usually the case with people meeting after a prolonged separation,

it was long before their conversation could settle on anything. They

put questions and gave brief replies about things they knew ought to

be talked over at length. At last the conversation gradually settled on

some of the topics at first lightly touched on their past life, plans

for the future, Pierres journeys and occupations, the war, and so

on. The preoccupation and despondency which Pierre had noticed in his

friends look was now still more clearly expressed in the smile

with which he listened to Pierre, especially when he spoke with joyful

animation of the past or the future. It was as if Prince Andrew would

have liked to sympathize with what Pierre was saying, but could not.

The latter began to feel that it was in bad taste to speak of his

enthusiasms, dreams, and hopes of happiness or goodness, in Prince

Andrews presence. He was ashamed to express his new Masonic views,

which had been particularly revived and strengthened by his late tour.

He checked himself, fearing to seem nave, yet he felt an irresistible

desire to show his friend as soon as possible that he was now a quite

different, and better, Pierre than he had been in Petersburg.



I cant tell you how much I have lived through since then. I hardly

know myself again.



Yes, we have altered much, very much, since then, said Prince

Andrew.



Well, and you? What are your plans?



Plans! repeated Prince Andrew ironically. My plans? he said,

as if astonished at the word. Well, you see, Im building. I mean

to settle here altogether next year....



Pierre looked silently and searchingly into Prince Andrews face,

which had grown much older.



No, I meant to ask... Pierre began, but Prince Andrew interrupted

him.



But why talk of me?... Talk to me, yes, tell me about your travels

and all you have been doing on your estates.



Pierre began describing what he had done on his estates, trying as far

as possible to conceal his own part in the improvements that had been

made. Prince Andrew several times prompted Pierres story of what he

had been doing, as though it were all an old-time story, and he listened

not only without interest but even as if ashamed of what Pierre was

telling him.



Pierre felt uncomfortable and even depressed in his friends company

and at last became silent.



Ill tell you what, my dear fellow, said Prince Andrew, who

evidently also felt depressed and constrained with his visitor, I am

only bivouacking here and have just come to look round. I am going back

to my sister today. I will introduce you to her. But of course you know

her already, he said, evidently trying to entertain a visitor with

whom he now found nothing in common. We will go after dinner. And

would you now like to look round my place?



They went out and walked about till dinnertime, talking of the political

news and common acquaintances like people who do not know each other

intimately. Prince Andrew spoke with some animation and interest only of

the new homestead he was constructing and its buildings, but even here,

while on the scaffolding, in the midst of a talk explaining the future

arrangements of the house, he interrupted himself



However, this is not at all interesting. Let us have dinner, and then

well set off.



At dinner, conversation turned on Pierres marriage.



I was very much surprised when I heard of it, said Prince Andrew.



Pierre blushed, as he always did when it was mentioned, and said

hurriedly I will tell you some time how it all happened. But you

know it is all over, and forever.



Forever? said Prince Andrew. Nothings forever.



But you know how it all ended, dont you? You heard of the duel?



And so you had to go through that too!



One thing I thank God for is that I did not kill that man, said

Pierre.



Why so? asked Prince Andrew. To kill a vicious dog is a very

good thing really.



No, to kill a man is badwrong.



Why is it wrong? urged Prince Andrew. It is not given to man

to know what is right and what is wrong. Men always did and always will

err, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong.



What does harm to another is wrong, said Pierre, feeling with

pleasure that for the first time since his arrival Prince Andrew was

roused, had begun to talk, and wanted to express what had brought him to

his present state.



And who has told you what is bad for another man? he asked.



Bad! Bad! exclaimed Pierre. We all know what is bad for

ourselves.



Yes, we know that, but the harm I am conscious of in myself is

something I cannot inflict on others, said Prince Andrew, growing

more and more animated and evidently wishing to express his new outlook

to Pierre. He spoke in French. I only know two very real evils in

life remorse and illness. The only good is the absence of those evils.

To live for myself avoiding those two evils is my whole philosophy

now.



And love of ones neighbor, and self-sacrifice? began Pierre.

No, I cant agree with you! To live only so as not to do evil and

not to have to repent is not enough. I lived like that, I lived for

myself and ruined my life. And only now when I am living, or at least

trying (Pierres modesty made him correct himself) to live for

others, only now have I understood all the happiness of life. No, I

shall not agree with you, and you do not really believe what you are

saying. Prince Andrew looked silently at Pierre with an ironic smile.



When you see my sister, Princess Mary, youll get on with her,

he said. Perhaps you are right for yourself, he added after

a short pause, but everyone lives in his own way. You lived for

yourself and say you nearly ruined your life and only found happiness

when you began living for others. I experienced just the reverse. I

lived for glory.And after all what is glory? The same love of others,

a desire to do something for them, a desire for their approval.So I

lived for others, and not almost, but quite, ruined my life. And I have

become calmer since I began to live only for myself.



But what do you mean by living only for yourself? asked Pierre,

growing excited. What about your son, your sister, and your

father?



But thats just the same as myselfthey are not others,

explained Prince Andrew. The others, ones neighbors, le prochain,

as you and Princess Mary call it, are the chief source of all error and

evil. Le prochainyour Kiev peasants to whom you want to do good.



And he looked at Pierre with a mocking, challenging expression. He

evidently wished to draw him on.



You are joking, replied Pierre, growing more and more excited.

What error or evil can there be in my wishing to do good, and even

doing a littlethough I did very little and did it very badly? What

evil can there be in it if unfortunate people, our serfs, people like

ourselves, were growing up and dying with no idea of God and truth

beyond ceremonies and meaningless prayers and are now instructed in

a comforting belief in future life, retribution, recompense, and

consolation? What evil and error are there in it, if people were dying

of disease without help while material assistance could so easily be

rendered, and I supplied them with a doctor, a hospital, and an asylum

for the aged? And is it not a palpable, unquestionable good if a

peasant, or a woman with a baby, has no rest day or night and I give

them rest and leisure? said Pierre, hurrying and lisping. And

I have done that though badly and to a small extent but I have done

something toward it and you cannot persuade me that it was not a good

action, and more than that, you cant make me believe that you do not

think so yourself. And the main thing is, he continued, that I

know, and know for certain, that the enjoyment of doing this good is the

only sure happiness in life.



Yes, if you put it like that its quite a different matter, said

Prince Andrew. I build a house and lay out a garden, and you build

hospitals. The one and the other may serve as a pastime. But whats

right and whats good must be judged by one who knows all, but not by

us. Well, you want an argument, he added, come on then.



They rose from the table and sat down in the entrance porch which served

as a veranda.



Come, lets argue then, said Prince Andrew, You talk of

schools, he went on, crooking a finger, education and so forth

that is, you want to raise him (pointing to a peasant who passed by

them taking off his cap) from his animal condition and awaken in him

spiritual needs, while it seems to me that animal happiness is the only

happiness possible, and that is just what you want to deprive him of.

I envy him, but you want to make him what I am, without giving him my

means. Then you say, lighten his toil. But as I see it, physical

labor is as essential to him, as much a condition of his existence, as

mental activity is to you or me. You cant help thinking. I go to bed

after two in the morning, thoughts come and I cant sleep but toss

about till dawn, because I think and cant help thinking, just as

he cant help plowing and mowing if he didnt, he would go to the

drink shop or fall ill. Just as I could not stand his terrible physical

labor but should die of it in a week, so he could not stand my physical

idleness, but would grow fat and die. The third thingwhat else was

it you talked about? and Prince Andrew crooked a third finger. Ah,

yes, hospitals, medicine. He has a fit, he is dying, and you come and

bleed him and patch him up. He will drag about as a cripple, a burden to

everybody, for another ten years. It would be far easier and simpler for

him to die. Others are being born and there are plenty of them as it is.

It would be different if you grudged losing a laborerthats how I

regard himbut you want to cure him from love of him. And he does not

want that. And besides, what a notion that medicine ever cured anyone!

Killed them, yes! said he, frowning angrily and turning away from

Pierre.



Prince Andrew expressed his ideas so clearly and distinctly that it was

evident he had reflected on this subject more than once, and he spoke

readily and rapidly like a man who has not talked for a long time. His

glance became more animated as his conclusions became more hopeless.



Oh, that is dreadful, dreadful! said Pierre. I dont

understand how one can live with such ideas. I had such moments

myself not long ago, in Moscow and when traveling, but at such times I

collapsed so that I dont live at alleverything seems hateful to

me... myself most of all. Then I dont eat, dont wash... and how is

it with you?...



Why not wash? That is not cleanly, said Prince Andrew on the

contrary one must try to make ones life as pleasant as possible.

Im alive, that is not my fault, so I must live out my life as best I

can without hurting others.



But with such ideas what motive have you for living? One would sit

without moving, undertaking nothing....



Life as it is leaves one no peace. I should be thankful to do

nothing, but here on the one hand the local nobility have done me the

honor to choose me to be their marshal it was all I could do to get

out of it. They could not understand that I have not the necessary

qualifications for itthe kind of good-natured, fussy shallowness

necessary for the position. Then theres this house, which must be

built in order to have a nook of ones own in which to be quiet. And

now theres this recruiting.



Why arent you serving in the army?



After Austerlitz! said Prince Andrew gloomily. No, thank you

very much! I have promised myself not to serve again in the active

Russian army. And I wontnot even if Bonaparte were here at

Smolnsk threatening Bald Hillseven then I wouldnt serve in the

Russian army! Well, as I was saying, he continued, recovering his

composure, now theres this recruiting. My father is chief in

command of the Third District, and my only way of avoiding active

service is to serve under him.



Then you are serving?



I am.



He paused a little while.



And why do you serve?



Why, for this reason! My father is one of the most remarkable men of

his time. But he is growing old, and though not exactly cruel he has too

energetic a character. He is so accustomed to unlimited power that he is

terrible, and now he has this authority of a commander in chief of

the recruiting, granted by the Emperor. If I had been two hours late

a fortnight ago he would have had a paymasters clerk at Ykhnovna

hanged, said Prince Andrew with a smile. So I am serving because

I alone have any influence with my father, and now and then can save him

from actions which would torment him afterwards.



Well, there you see!



Yes, but it is not as you imagine, Prince Andrew continued. I

did not, and do not, in the least care about that scoundrel of a clerk

who had stolen some boots from the recruits I should even have been

very glad to see him hanged, but I was sorry for my fatherthat again

is for myself.



Prince Andrew grew more and more animated. His eyes glittered feverishly

while he tried to prove to Pierre that in his actions there was no

desire to do good to his neighbor.



There now, you wish to liberate your serfs, he continued that

is a very good thing, but not for youI dont suppose you ever had

anyone flogged or sent to Siberiaand still less for your serfs. If

they are beaten, flogged, or sent to Siberia, I dont suppose they are

any the worse off. In Siberia they lead the same animal life, and the

stripes on their bodies heal, and they are happy as before. But it is

a good thing for proprietors who perish morally, bring remorse upon

themselves, stifle this remorse and grow callous, as a result of being

able to inflict punishments justly and unjustly. It is those people I

pity, and for their sake I should like to liberate the serfs. You

may not have seen, but I have seen, how good men brought up in those

traditions of unlimited power, in time when they grow more irritable,

become cruel and harsh, are conscious of it, but cannot restrain

themselves and grow more and more miserable.



Prince Andrew spoke so earnestly that Pierre could not help thinking

that these thoughts had been suggested to Prince Andrew by his

fathers case.



He did not reply.



So thats what Im sorry forhuman dignity, peace of mind,

purity, and not the serfs backs and foreheads, which, beat and shave

as you may, always remain the same backs and foreheads.



No, no! A thousand times no! I shall never agree with you, said

Pierre.











CHAPTER XII



In the evening Andrew and Pierre got into the open carriage and drove to

Bald Hills. Prince Andrew, glancing at Pierre, broke the silence now and

then with remarks which showed that he was in a good temper.



Pointing to the fields, he spoke of the improvements he was making in

his husbandry.



Pierre remained gloomily silent, answering in monosyllables and

apparently immersed in his own thoughts.



He was thinking that Prince Andrew was unhappy, had gone astray, did not

see the true light, and that he, Pierre, ought to aid, enlighten, and

raise him. But as soon as he thought of what he should say, he felt that

Prince Andrew with one word, one argument, would upset all his teaching,

and he shrank from beginning, afraid of exposing to possible ridicule

what to him was precious and sacred.



No, but why do you think so? Pierre suddenly began, lowering his

head and looking like a bull about to charge, why do you think so?

You should not think so.



Think? What about? asked Prince Andrew with surprise.



About life, about mans destiny. It cant be so. I myself thought

like that, and do you know what saved me? Freemasonry! No, dont

smile. Freemasonry is not a religious ceremonial sect, as I thought

it was Freemasonry is the best expression of the best, the eternal,

aspects of humanity.



And he began to explain Freemasonry as he understood it to Prince

Andrew. He said that Freemasonry is the teaching of Christianity freed

from the bonds of State and Church, a teaching of equality, brotherhood,

and love.



Only our holy brotherhood has the real meaning of life, all the rest

is a dream, said Pierre. Understand, my dear fellow, that outside

this union all is filled with deceit and falsehood and I agree with you

that nothing is left for an intelligent and good man but to live out

his life, like you, merely trying not to harm others. But make our

fundamental convictions your own, join our brotherhood, give yourself up

to us, let yourself be guided, and you will at once feel yourself, as I

have felt myself, a part of that vast invisible chain the beginning of

which is hidden in heaven, said Pierre.



Prince Andrew, looking straight in front of him, listened in silence to

Pierres words. More than once, when the noise of the wheels prevented

his catching what Pierre said, he asked him to repeat it, and by the

peculiar glow that came into Prince Andrews eyes and by his silence,

Pierre saw that his words were not in vain and that Prince Andrew would

not interrupt him or laugh at what he said.



They reached a river that had overflowed its banks and which they had to

cross by ferry. While the carriage and horses were being placed on it,

they also stepped on the raft.



Prince Andrew, leaning his arms on the raft railing, gazed silently at

the flooding waters glittering in the setting sun.



Well, what do you think about it? Pierre asked. Why are you

silent?



What do I think about it? I am listening to you. Its all very

well.... You say join our brotherhood and we will show you the aim of

life, the destiny of man, and the laws which govern the world. But who

are we? Men. How is it you know everything? Why do I alone not see what

you see? You see a reign of goodness and truth on earth, but I dont

see it.



Pierre interrupted him.



Do you believe in a future life? he asked.



A future life? Prince Andrew repeated, but Pierre, giving him no

time to reply, took the repetition for a denial, the more readily as he

knew Prince Andrews former atheistic convictions.



You say you cant see a reign of goodness and truth on earth. Nor

could I, and it cannot be seen if one looks on our life here as the end

of everything. On earth, here on this earth (Pierre pointed to

the fields), there is no truth, all is false and evil but in the

universe, in the whole universe there is a kingdom of truth, and we who

are now the children of earth areeternallychildren of the

whole universe. Dont I feel in my soul that I am part of this vast

harmonious whole? Dont I feel that I form one link, one step, between

the lower and higher beings, in this vast harmonious multitude of

beings in whom the Deitythe Supreme Power if you prefer the termis

manifest? If I see, clearly see, that ladder leading from plant to man,

why should I suppose it breaks off at me and does not go farther and

farther? I feel that I cannot vanish, since nothing vanishes in this

world, but that I shall always exist and always have existed. I feel

that beyond me and above me there are spirits, and that in this world

there is truth.



Yes, that is Herders theory, said Prince Andrew, but it is

not that which can convince me, dear friendlife and death are what

convince. What convinces is when one sees a being dear to one, bound

up with ones own life, before whom one was to blame and had hoped to

make it right (Prince Andrews voice trembled and he turned away),

and suddenly that being is seized with pain, suffers, and ceases to

exist.... Why? It cannot be that there is no answer. And I believe there

is.... Thats what convinces, that is what has convinced me, said

Prince Andrew.



Yes, yes, of course, said Pierre, isnt that what Im

saying?



No. All I say is that it is not argument that convinces me of the

necessity of a future life, but this when you go hand in hand with

someone and all at once that person vanishes there, into nowhere, and

you yourself are left facing that abyss, and look in. And I have looked

in....



Well, thats it then! You know that there is a there and there is a

Someone? There is the future life. The Someone isGod.



Prince Andrew did not reply. The carriage and horses had long since been

taken off, onto the farther bank, and reharnessed. The sun had sunk half

below the horizon and an evening frost was starring the puddles near

the ferry, but Pierre and Andrew, to the astonishment of the footmen,

coachmen, and ferrymen, still stood on the raft and talked.



If there is a God and future life, there is truth and good, and

mans highest happiness consists in striving to attain them. We must

live, we must love, and we must believe that we live not only today on

this scrap of earth, but have lived and shall live forever, there, in

the Whole, said Pierre, and he pointed to the sky.



Prince Andrew stood leaning on the railing of the raft listening to

Pierre, and he gazed with his eyes fixed on the red reflection of the

sun gleaming on the blue waters. There was perfect stillness. Pierre

became silent. The raft had long since stopped and only the waves of the

current beat softly against it below. Prince Andrew felt as if the sound

of the waves kept up a refrain to Pierres words, whispering



It is true, believe it.



He sighed, and glanced with a radiant, childlike, tender look at

Pierres face, flushed and rapturous, but yet shy before his superior

friend.



Yes, if it only were so! said Prince Andrew. However, it is

time to get on, he added, and, stepping off the raft, he looked up

at the sky to which Pierre had pointed, and for the first time since

Austerlitz saw that high, everlasting sky he had seen while lying on

that battlefield and something that had long been slumbering, something

that was best within him, suddenly awoke, joyful and youthful, in his

soul. It vanished as soon as he returned to the customary conditions

of his life, but he knew that this feeling which he did not know how to

develop existed within him. His meeting with Pierre formed an epoch in

Prince Andrews life. Though outwardly he continued to live in the

same old way, inwardly he began a new life.











CHAPTER XIII



It was getting dusk when Prince Andrew and Pierre drove up to the front

entrance of the house at Bald Hills. As they approached the house,

Prince Andrew with a smile drew Pierres attention to a commotion

going on at the back porch. A woman, bent with age, with a wallet on her

back, and a short, long-haired, young man in a black garment had rushed

back to the gate on seeing the carriage driving up. Two women ran out

after them, and all four, looking round at the carriage, ran in dismay

up the steps of the back porch.



Those are Marys Gods folk, said Prince Andrew. They

have mistaken us for my father. This is the one matter in which she

disobeys him. He orders these pilgrims to be driven away, but she

receives them.



But what are Gods folk? asked Pierre.



Prince Andrew had no time to answer. The servants came out to meet them,

and he asked where the old prince was and whether he was expected back

soon.



The old prince had gone to the town and was expected back any minute.



Prince Andrew led Pierre to his own apartments, which were always kept

in perfect order and readiness for him in his fathers 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

Gods folk. It will serve her right, she will be confused, but

you will see her Gods folk. Its really very curious.



What are Gods folk? asked Pierre.



Come, and youll see for yourself.



Princess Mary really was disconcerted and red patches came on her face

when they went in. In her snug room, with lamps burning before the icon

stand, a young lad with a long nose and long hair, wearing a monks

cassock, sat on the sofa beside her, behind a samovar. Near them, in an

armchair, sat a thin, shriveled, old woman, with a meek expression on

her childlike face.



Andrew, why didnt you warn me? said the princess, with mild

reproach, as she stood before her pilgrims like a hen before her

chickens.



Charme de vous voir. Je suis trs contente de vous voir, * she

said to Pierre as he kissed her hand. She had known him as a child, and

now his friendship with Andrew, his misfortune with his wife, and above

all his kindly, simple face disposed her favorably toward him. She

looked at him with her beautiful radiant eyes and seemed to say, I

like you very much, but please dont 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 Ivnushka is here too! said Prince Andrew, glancing with

a smile at the young pilgrim.



Andrew! said Princess Mary, imploringly. Il faut que vous

sachiez que cest 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 heavens sake.





It was evident that Prince Andrews ironical tone toward the pilgrims

and Princess Marys helpless attempts to protect them were their

customary long-established relations on the matter.



Mais, ma bonne amie, said Prince Andrew, vous devriez au

contraire mtre reconnaissante de ce que jexplique  Pierre

votre intimit avec ce jeune homme. *



     * But, my dear, you ought on the contrary to be grateful to

     me for explaining to Pierre your intimacy with this young

     man.





Really? said Pierre, gazing over his spectacles with curiosity and

seriousness (for which Princess Mary was specially grateful to him) into

Ivnushkas face, who, seeing that she was being spoken about, looked

round at them all with crafty eyes.



Princess Marys embarrassment on her peoples account was quite

unnecessary. They were not in the least abashed. The old woman, lowering

her eyes but casting side glances at the newcomers, had turned her cup

upside down and placed a nibbled bit of sugar beside it, and sat

quietly in her armchair, though hoping to be offered another cup of tea.

Ivnushka, sipping out of her saucer, looked with sly womanish eyes

from under her brows at the young men.



Where have you been? To Kiev? Prince Andrew asked the old woman.



I have, good sir, she answered garrulously. Just at

Christmastime I was deemed worthy to partake of the holy and heavenly

sacrament at the shrine of the saint. And now Im from Kolyzin,

master, where a great and wonderful blessing has been revealed.



And was Ivnushka with you?



I go by myself, benefactor, said Ivnushka, trying to speak in a

bass voice. I only came across Pelagya in Ykhnovo....



Pelagya interrupted her companion she evidently wished to tell what

she had seen.



In Kolyzin, master, a wonderful blessing has been revealed.



What is it? Some new relics? asked Prince Andrew.



Andrew, do leave off, said Princess Mary. Dont tell him,

Pelagya.



No... why not, my dear, why shouldnt I? I like him. He is kind,

he is one of Gods chosen, hes a benefactor, he once gave me ten

rubles, I remember. When I was in Kiev, Crazy Cyril says to me (hes

one of Gods own and goes barefoot summer and winter), he says,

Why are you not going to the right place? Go to Kolyzin where a

wonder-working icon of the Holy Mother of God has been revealed. On

hearing those words I said good-by to the holy folk and went.



All were silent, only the pilgrim woman went on in measured tones,

drawing in her breath.



So I come, master, and the people say to me A great blessing has

been revealed, holy oil trickles from the cheeks of our blessed Mother,

the Holy Virgin Mother of God....



All right, all right, you can tell us afterwards, said Princess

Mary, flushing.



Let me ask her, said Pierre. Did you see it yourselves? he

inquired.



Oh, yes, master, I was found worthy. Such a brightness on the face

like the light of heaven, and from the blessed Mothers cheek it drops

and drops....



But, dear me, that must be a fraud! said Pierre, navely, who had

listened attentively to the pilgrim.



Oh, master, what are you saying? exclaimed the horrified

Pelagya, turning to Princess Mary for support.



They impose on the people, he repeated.



Lord Jesus Christ! exclaimed the pilgrim woman, crossing herself.

Oh, dont speak so, master! There was a general who did not

believe, and said, The monks cheat, and as soon as hed said it

he went blind. And he dreamed that the Holy Virgin Mother of the Kiev

catacombs came to him and said, Believe in me and I will make you

whole. So he begged Take me to her, take me to her. Its the

real truth Im telling you, I saw it myself. So he was brought, quite

blind, straight to her, and he goes up to her and falls down and says,

Make me whole, says he, and Ill give thee what the Tsar

bestowed on me. I saw it myself, master, the star is fixed into the

icon. Well, and what do you think? He received his sight! Its a sin

to speak so. God will punish you, she said admonishingly, turning to

Pierre.



How did the star get into the icon? Pierre asked.



And was the Holy Mother promoted to the rank of general? said

Prince Andrew, with a smile.



Pelagya suddenly grew quite pale and clasped her hands.



Oh, master, master, what a sin! And you who have a son! she began,

her pallor suddenly turning to a vivid red. Master, what have you

said? God forgive you! And she crossed herself. Lord forgive him!

My dear, what does it mean?... she asked, turning to Princess

Mary. She got up and, almost crying, began to arrange her wallet. She

evidently felt frightened and ashamed to have accepted charity in a

house where such things could be said, and was at the same time sorry to

have now to forgo the charity of this house.



Now, why need you do it? said Princess Mary. Why did you come

to me?...



Come, Pelagya, I was joking, said Pierre. Princesse, ma

parole, je nai pas voulu loffenser. * I did not mean anything,

I was only joking, he said, smiling shyly and trying to efface his

offense. It was all my fault, and Andrew was only joking.



    * Princess, on my word, I did not wish to offend her.





Pelagya stopped doubtfully, but in Pierres face there was such a

look of sincere penitence, and Prince Andrew glanced so meekly now at

her and now at Pierre, that she was gradually reassured.











CHAPTER XIV



The pilgrim woman was appeased and, being encouraged to talk, gave a

long account of Father Amphilochus, who led so holy a life that his

hands smelled of incense, and how on her last visit to Kiev some monks

she knew let her have the keys of the catacombs, and how she, taking

some dried bread with her, had spent two days in the catacombs with

the saints. Id pray awhile to one, ponder awhile, then go on to

another. Id sleep a bit and then again go and kiss the relics, and

there was such peace all around, such blessedness, that one dont want

to come out, even into the light of heaven again.



Pierre listened to her attentively and seriously. Prince Andrew went out

of the room, and then, leaving Gods folk to finish their tea,

Princess Mary took Pierre into the drawing room.



You are very kind, she said to him.



Oh, I really did not mean to hurt her feelings. I understand them so

well and have the greatest respect for them.



Princess Mary looked at him silently and smiled affectionately.



I have known you a long time, you see, and am as fond of you as of a

brother, she said. How do you find Andrew? she added hurriedly,

not giving him time to reply to her affectionate words. I am very

anxious about him. His health was better in the winter, but last spring

his wound reopened and the doctor said he ought to go away for a

cure. And I am also very much afraid for him spiritually. He has not a

character like us women who, when we suffer, can weep away our sorrows.

He keeps it all within him. Today he is cheerful and in good spirits,

but that is the effect of your visithe is not often like that. If

you could persuade him to go abroad. He needs activity, and this quiet

regular life is very bad for him. Others dont notice it, but I see

it.



Toward ten oclock the men servants rushed to the front door, hearing

the bells of the old princes carriage approaching. Prince Andrew and

Pierre also went out into the porch.



Whos that? asked the old prince, noticing Pierre as he got out

of the carriage.



Ah! Very glad! Kiss me, he said, having learned who the young

stranger was.



The old prince was in a good temper and very gracious to Pierre.



Before supper, Prince Andrew, coming back to his fathers study, found

him disputing hotly with his visitor. Pierre was maintaining that a time

would come when there would be no more wars. The old prince disputed it

chaffingly, but without getting angry.



Drain the blood from mens veins and put in water instead, then

there will be no more war! Old womens nonsenseold womens

nonsense! he repeated, but still he patted Pierre affectionately

on the shoulder, and then went up to the table where Prince Andrew,

evidently not wishing to join in the conversation, was looking over the

papers his father had brought from town. The old prince went up to him

and began to talk business.



The marshal, a Count Rostv, hasnt sent half his contingent. He

came to town and wanted to invite me to dinnerI gave him a pretty

dinner!... And there, look at this.... Well, my boy, the old prince

went on, addressing his son and patting Pierre on the shoulder. A

fine fellowyour friendI like him! He stirs me up. Another says

clever things and one doesnt care to listen, but this one talks

rubbish yet stirs an old fellow up. Well, go! Get along! Perhaps Ill

come and sit with you at supper. Well have another dispute. Make

friends with my little fool, Princess Mary, he shouted after Pierre,

through the door.



Only now, on his visit to Bald Hills, did Pierre fully realize the

strength and charm of his friendship with Prince Andrew. That charm was

not expressed so much in his relations with him as with all his family

and with the household. With the stern old prince and the gentle, timid

Princess Mary, though he had scarcely known them, Pierre at once felt

like an old friend. They were all fond of him already. Not only Princess

Mary, who had been won by his gentleness with the pilgrims, gave him her

most radiant looks, but even the one-year-old Prince Nicholas (as

his grandfather called him) smiled at Pierre and let himself be taken

in his arms, and Michael Ivnovich and Mademoiselle Bourienne looked at

him with pleasant smiles when he talked to the old prince.



The old prince came in to supper this was evidently on Pierres

account. And during the two days of the young mans visit he was

extremely kind to him and told him to visit them again.



When Pierre had gone and the members of the household met together, they

began to express their opinions of him as people always do after a new

acquaintance has left, but as seldom happens, no one said anything but

what was good of him.











CHAPTER XV



When returning from his leave, Rostv felt, for the first time, how

close was the bond that united him to Densov and the whole regiment.



On approaching it, Rostv felt as he had done when approaching his home

in Moscow. When he saw the first hussar with the unbuttoned uniform

of his regiment, when he recognized red-haired Demntyev and saw the

picket ropes of the roan horses, when Lavrshka gleefully shouted to

his master, The count has come! and Densov, who had been asleep

on his bed, ran all disheveled out of the mud hut to embrace him,

and the officers collected round to greet the new arrival, Rostv

experienced the same feeling as when his mother, his father, and his

sister had embraced him, and tears of joy choked him so that he could

not speak. The regiment was also a home, and as unalterably dear and

precious as his parents house.



When he had reported himself to the commander of the regiment and had

been reassigned to his former squadron, had been on duty and had gone

out foraging, when he had again entered into all the little interests

of the regiment and felt himself deprived of liberty and bound in one

narrow, unchanging frame, he experienced the same sense of peace, of

moral support, and the same sense of being at home here in his own

place, as he had felt under the parental roof. But here was none of

all that turmoil of the world at large, where he did not know his right

place and took mistaken decisions here was no Snya with whom he

ought, or ought not, to have an explanation here was no possibility of

going there or not going there here there were not twenty-four hours

in the day which could be spent in such a variety of ways there was not

that innumerable crowd of people of whom not one was nearer to him or

farther from him than another there were none of those uncertain and

undefined money relations with his father, and nothing to recall that

terrible loss to Dlokhov. Here, in the regiment, all was clear and

simple. The whole world was divided into two unequal parts one, our

Pvlograd regiment the other, all the rest. And the rest was no

concern of his. In the regiment, everything was definite who was

lieutenant, who captain, who was a good fellow, who a bad one, and most

of all, who was a comrade. The canteenkeeper gave one credit, ones

pay came every four months, there was nothing to think out or decide,

you had only to do nothing that was considered bad in the Pvlograd

regiment and, when given an order, to do what was clearly, distinctly,

and definitely orderedand all would be well.



Having once more entered into the definite conditions of this regimental

life, Rostv felt the joy and relief a tired man feels on lying down to

rest. Life in the regiment, during this campaign, was all the pleasanter

for him, because, after his loss to Dlokhov (for which, in spite

of all his familys efforts to console him, he could not forgive

himself), he had made up his mind to atone for his fault by serving,

not as he had done before, but really well, and by being a perfectly

first-rate comrade and officerin a word, a splendid man altogether, a

thing which seemed so difficult out in the world, but so possible in the

regiment.



After his losses, he had determined to pay back his debt to his parents

in five years. He received ten thousand rubles a year, but now resolved

to take only two thousand and leave the rest to repay the debt to his

parents.



Our army, after repeated retreats and advances and battles at Pultsk

and Preussisch-Eylau, was concentrated near Bartenstein. It was awaiting

the Emperors arrival and the beginning of a new campaign.



The Pvlograd regiment, belonging to that part of the army which had

served in the 1805 campaign, had been recruiting up to strength in

Russia, and arrived too late to take part in the first actions of the

campaign. It had been neither at Pultsk nor at Preussisch-Eylau and,

when it joined the army in the field in the second half of the campaign,

was attached to Pltovs division.



Pltovs division was acting independently of the main army. Several

times parts of the Pvlograd regiment had exchanged shots with

the enemy, had taken prisoners, and once had even captured Marshal

Oudinots carriages. In April the Pvlograds were stationed immovably

for some weeks near a totally ruined and deserted German village.



A thaw had set in, it was muddy and cold, the ice on the river broke,

and the roads became impassable. For days neither provisions for the

men nor fodder for the horses had been issued. As no transports could

arrive, the men dispersed about the abandoned and deserted villages,

searching for potatoes, but found few even of these.



Everything had been eaten up and the inhabitants had all fledif any

remained, they were worse than beggars and nothing more could be taken

from them even the soldiers, usually pitiless enough, instead of taking

anything from them, often gave them the last of their rations.



The Pvlograd regiment had had only two men wounded in action, but had

lost nearly half its men from hunger and sickness. In the hospitals,

death was so certain that soldiers suffering from fever, or the swelling

that came from bad food, preferred to remain on duty, and hardly able

to drag their legs went to the front rather than to the hospitals.

When spring came on, the soldiers found a plant just showing out of the

ground that looked like asparagus, which, for some reason, they called

Mshkas sweet root. It was very bitter, but they wandered

about the fields seeking it and dug it out with their sabers and ate it,

though they were ordered not to do so, as it was a noxious plant. That

spring a new disease broke out among the soldiers, a swelling of the

arms, legs, and face, which the doctors attributed to eating this root.

But in spite of all this, the soldiers of Densovs squadron fed

chiefly on Mshkas sweet root, because it was the second week

that the last of the biscuits were being doled out at the rate of half a

pound a man and the last potatoes received had sprouted and frozen.



The horses also had been fed for a fortnight on straw from the thatched

roofs and had become terribly thin, though still covered with tufts of

felty winter hair.



Despite this destitution, the soldiers and officers went on living just

as usual. Despite their pale swollen faces and tattered uniforms, the

hussars formed line for roll call, kept things in order, groomed their

horses, polished their arms, brought in straw from the thatched roofs in

place of fodder, and sat down to dine round the caldrons from which

they rose up hungry, joking about their nasty food and their hunger. As

usual, in their spare time, they lit bonfires, steamed themselves before

them naked smoked, picked out and baked sprouting rotten potatoes, told

and listened to stories of Potmkins and Suvrovs campaigns, or

to legends of Alsha the Sly, or the priests laborer Miklka.



The officers, as usual, lived in twos and threes in the roofless,

half-ruined houses. The seniors tried to collect straw and potatoes and,

in general, food for the men. The younger ones occupied themselves as

before, some playing cards (there was plenty of money, though there was

no food), some with more innocent games, such as quoits and skittles.

The general trend of the campaign was rarely spoken of, partly because

nothing certain was known about it, partly because there was a vague

feeling that in the main it was going badly.



Rostv lived, as before, with Densov, and since their furlough they

had become more friendly than ever. Densov never spoke of Rostvs

family, but by the tender friendship his commander showed him, Rostv

felt that the elder hussars luckless love for Natsha played a part

in strengthening their friendship. Densov evidently tried to expose

Rostv to danger as seldom as possible, and after an action greeted his

safe return with evident joy. On one of his foraging expeditions, in

a deserted and ruined village to which he had come in search of

provisions, Rostv found a family consisting of an old Pole and his

daughter with an infant in arms. They were half clad, hungry, too weak

to get away on foot and had no means of obtaining a conveyance. Rostv

brought them to his quarters, placed them in his own lodging, and

kept them for some weeks while the old man was recovering. One of his

comrades, talking of women, began chaffing Rostv, saying that he was

more wily than any of them and that it would not be a bad thing if he

introduced to them the pretty Polish girl he had saved. Rostv took

the joke as an insult, flared up, and said such unpleasant things to the

officer that it was all Densov could do to prevent a duel. When

the officer had gone away, Densov, who did not himself know what

Rostvs relations with the Polish girl might be, began to upbraid

him for his quickness of temper, and Rostv replied



Say what you like.... She is like a sister to me, and I cant tell

you how it offended me... because... well, for that reason....



Densov patted him on the shoulder and began rapidly pacing the room

without looking at Rostv, as was his way at moments of deep feeling.



Ah, what a mad bweed you Wostvs are! he muttered, and Rostv

noticed tears in his eyes.











CHAPTER XVI



In April the troops were enlivened by news of the Emperors arrival,

but Rostv had no chance of being present at the review he held at

Bartenstein, as the Pvlograds were at the outposts far beyond that

place.



They were bivouacking. Densov and Rostv were living in an earth hut,

dug out for them by the soldiers and roofed with branches and turf. The

hut was made in the following manner, which had then come into vogue. A

trench was dug three and a half feet wide, four feet eight inches deep,

and eight feet long. At one end of the trench, steps were cut out and

these formed the entrance and vestibule. The trench itself was the room,

in which the lucky ones, such as the squadron commander, had a board,

lying on piles at the end opposite the entrance, to serve as a table. On

each side of the trench, the earth was cut out to a breadth of about two

and a half feet, and this did duty for bedsteads and couches. The roof

was so constructed that one could stand up in the middle of the trench

and could even sit up on the beds if one drew close to the table.

Densov, who was living luxuriously because the soldiers of his

squadron liked him, had also a board in the roof at the farther end,

with a piece of (broken but mended) glass in it for a window. When it

was very cold, embers from the soldiers campfire were placed on

a bent sheet of iron on the steps in the reception roomas

Densov called that part of the hutand it was then so warm that the

officers, of whom there were always some with Densov and Rostv, sat

in their shirt sleeves.



In April, Rostv was on orderly duty. One morning, between seven and

eight, returning after a sleepless night, he sent for embers, changed

his rain-soaked underclothes, said his prayers, drank tea, got warm,

then tidied up the things on the table and in his own corner, and,

his face glowing from exposure to the wind and with nothing on but his

shirt, lay down on his back, putting his arms under his head. He was

pleasantly considering the probability of being promoted in a few days

for his last reconnoitering expedition, and was awaiting Densov, who

had gone out somewhere and with whom he wanted a talk.



Suddenly he heard Densov shouting in a vibrating voice behind the hut,

evidently much excited. Rostv moved to the window to see whom he was

speaking to, and saw the quartermaster, Topchenko.



I ordered you not to let them eat that Mshka woot stuff!

Densov was shouting. And I saw with my own eyes how Lazarchk

bwought some fwom the fields.



I have given the order again and again, your honor, but they dont

obey, answered the quartermaster.



Rostv lay down again on his bed and thought complacently Let

him fuss and bustle now, my jobs done and Im lying

downcapitally! He could hear that Lavrshkathat sly, bold

orderly of Densovswas talking, as well as the quartermaster.

Lavrshka was saying something about loaded wagons, biscuits, and oxen

he had seen when he had gone out for provisions.



Then Densovs voice was heard shouting farther and farther away.

Saddle! Second platoon!



Where are they off to now? thought Rostv.



Five minutes later, Densov came into the hut, climbed with muddy boots

on the bed, lit his pipe, furiously scattered his things about, took

his leaded whip, buckled on his saber, and went out again. In answer to

Rostvs inquiry where he was going, he answered vaguely and crossly

that he had some business.



Let God and our gweat monarch judge me afterwards! said Densov

going out, and Rostv heard the hoofs of several horses splashing

through the mud. He did not even trouble to find out where Densov had

gone. Having got warm in his corner, he fell asleep and did not leave

the hut till toward evening. Densov had not yet returned. The weather

had cleared up, and near the next hut two officers and a cadet were

playing svyka, laughing as they threw their missiles which buried

themselves in the soft mud. Rostv joined them. In the middle of the

game, the officers saw some wagons approaching with fifteen hussars on

their skinny horses behind them. The wagons escorted by the hussars drew

up to the picket ropes and a crowd of hussars surrounded them.



There now, Densov has been worrying, said Rostv, and here

are the provisions.



So they are! said the officers. Wont the soldiers be

glad!



A little behind the hussars came Densov, accompanied by two infantry

officers with whom he was talking.



Rostv went to meet them.



I warn you, Captain, one of the officers, a short thin man,

evidently very angry, was saying.



Havent I told you I wont give them up? replied Densov.



You will answer for it, Captain. It is mutinyseizing the transport

of ones own army. Our men have had nothing to eat for two days.



And mine have had nothing for two weeks, said Densov.



It is robbery! Youll answer for it, sir! said the infantry

officer, raising his voice.



Now, what are you pestewing me for? cried Densov, suddenly

losing his temper. I shall answer for it and not you, and youd

better not buzz about here till you get hurt. Be off! Go! he shouted

at the officers.



Very well, then! shouted the little officer, undaunted and not

riding away. If you are determined to rob, Ill...



Go to the devil! quick mach, while youre safe and sound! and

Densov turned his horse on the officer.



Very well, very well! muttered the officer, threateningly, and

turning his horse he trotted away, jolting in his saddle.



A dog astwide a fence! A weal dog astwide a fence! shouted

Densov after him (the most insulting expression a cavalryman can

address to a mounted infantryman) and riding up to Rostv, he burst out

laughing.



Ive taken twansports from the infantwy by force! he said.

After all, cant let our men starve.



The wagons that had reached the hussars had been consigned to an

infantry regiment, but learning from Lavrshka that the transport

was unescorted, Densov with his hussars had seized it by force. The

soldiers had biscuits dealt out to them freely, and they even shared

them with the other squadrons.



The next day the regimental commander sent for Densov, and holding his

fingers spread out before his eyes said



This is how I look at this affair I know nothing about it and

wont begin proceedings, but I advise you to ride over to the staff

and settle the business there in the commissariat department and if

possible sign a receipt for such and such stores received. If not, as

the demand was booked against an infantry regiment, there will be a row

and the affair may end badly.



From the regimental commanders, Densov rode straight to the staff

with a sincere desire to act on this advice. In the evening he came

back to his dugout in a state such as Rostv had never yet seen him in.

Densov could not speak and gasped for breath. When Rostv asked what

was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a

hoarse, feeble voice.



Alarmed at Densovs condition, Rostv suggested that he should

undress, drink some water, and send for the doctor.



Twy me for wobbewy... oh! Some more water... Let them twy me, but

Ill always thwash scoundwels... and Ill tell the Empewo...

Ice... he muttered.



The regimental doctor, when he came, said it was absolutely necessary

to bleed Densov. A deep saucer of black blood was taken from his hairy

arm and only then was he able to relate what had happened to him.



I get there, began Densov. Now then, wheres your

chiefs quarters? They were pointed out. Please to wait.

Ive widden twenty miles and have duties to attend to and no time

to wait. Announce me. Vewy well, so out comes their head

chiefalso took it into his head to lecture me Its

wobbewy!Wobbewy, I say, is not done by man who seizes

pwovisions to feed his soldiers, but by him who takes them to fill his

own pockets! Will you please be silent? Vewy good! Then

he says Go and give a weceipt to the commissioner, but your affair

will be passed on to headquarters. I go to the commissioner. I enter,

and at the table... who do you think? No, but wait a bit!... Who is it

thats starving us? shouted Densov, hitting the table with the

fist of his newly bled arm so violently that the table nearly broke down

and the tumblers on it jumped about. Telynin! What? So its

you whos starving us to death! Is it? Take this and this! and I

hit him so pat, stwaight on his snout... Ah, what a... what a...!

and I stated fwashing him... Well, Ive had a bit of fun I can tell

you! cried Densov, gleeful and yet angry, his white teeth showing

under his black mustache. Id have killed him if they hadnt

taken him away!



But what are you shouting for? Calm yourself, said Rostv.

Youve set your arm bleeding afresh. Wait, we must tie it up

again.



Densov was bandaged up again and put to bed. Next day he woke calm and

cheerful.



But at noon the adjutant of the regiment came into Rostvs and

Densovs dugout with a grave and serious face and regretfully showed

them a paper addressed to Major Densov from the regimental commander

in which inquiries were made about yesterdays occurrence. The

adjutant told them that the affair was likely to take a very bad

turn that a court-martial had been appointed, and that in view of the

severity with which marauding and insubordination were now regarded,

degradation to the ranks would be the best that could be hoped for.



The case, as represented by the offended parties, was that, after

seizing the transports, Major Densov, being drunk, went to the chief

quartermaster and without any provocation called him a thief, threatened

to strike him, and on being led out had rushed into the office and given

two officials a thrashing, and dislocated the arm of one of them.



In answer to Rostvs renewed questions, Densov said, laughing,

that he thought he remembered that some other fellow had got mixed up

in it, but that it was all nonsense and rubbish, and he did not in the

least fear any kind of trial, and that if those scoundrels dared attack

him he would give them an answer that they would not easily forget.



Densov spoke contemptuously of the whole matter, but Rostv knew him

too well not to detect that (while hiding it from others) at heart

he feared a court-martial and was worried over the affair, which was

evidently taking a bad turn. Every day, letters of inquiry and notices

from the court arrived, and on the first of May, Densov was ordered

to hand the squadron over to the next in seniority and appear before

the staff of his division to explain his violence at the commissariat

office. On the previous day Pltov reconnoitered with two Cossack

regiments and two squadrons of hussars. Densov, as was his wont, rode

out in front of the outposts, parading his courage. A bullet fired by

a French sharpshooter hit him in the fleshy part of his leg. Perhaps at

another time Densov would not have left the regiment for so slight a

wound, but now he took advantage of it to excuse himself from appearing

at the staff and went into hospital.











CHAPTER XVII



In June the battle of Friedland was fought, in which the Pvlograds did

not take part, and after that an armistice was proclaimed. Rostv, who

felt his friends absence very much, having no news of him since he

left and feeling very anxious about his wound and the progress of his

affairs, took advantage of the armistice to get leave to visit Densov

in hospital.



The hospital was in a small Prussian town that had been twice devastated

by Russian and French troops. Because it was summer, when it is so

beautiful out in the fields, the little town presented a particularly

dismal appearance with its broken roofs and fences, its foul streets,

tattered inhabitants, and the sick and drunken soldiers wandering about.



The hospital was in a brick building with some of the window frames and

panes broken and a courtyard surrounded by the remains of a wooden fence

that had been pulled to pieces. Several bandaged soldiers, with pale

swollen faces, were sitting or walking about in the sunshine in the

yard.



Directly Rostv entered the door he was enveloped by a smell of

putrefaction and hospital air. On the stairs he met a Russian army

doctor smoking a cigar. The doctor was followed by a Russian assistant.



I cant tear myself to pieces, the doctor was saying. Come to

Makr Alexevich in the evening. I shall be there.



The assistant asked some further questions.



Oh, do the best you can! Isnt it all the same? The doctor

noticed Rostv coming upstairs.



What do you want, sir? said the doctor. What do you want?

The bullets having spared you, do you want to try typhus? This is a

pesthouse, sir.



How so? asked Rostv.



Typhus, sir. Its death to go in. Only we two, Makev and I (he

pointed to the assistant), keep on here. Some five of us doctors have

died in this place.... When a new one comes he is done for in a week,

said the doctor with evident satisfaction. Prussian doctors have been

invited here, but our allies dont like it at all.



Rostv explained that he wanted to see Major Densov of the hussars,

who was wounded.



I dont know. I cant tell you, sir. Only think! I am alone in

charge of three hospitals with more than four hundred patients! Its

well that the charitable Prussian ladies send us two pounds of coffee

and some lint each month or we should be lost! he laughed. Four

hundred, sir, and theyre always sending me fresh ones. There are four

hundred? Eh? he asked, turning to the assistant.



The assistant looked fagged out. He was evidently vexed and impatient

for the talkative doctor to go.



Major Densov, Rostv said again. He was wounded at

Molliten.



Dead, I fancy. Eh, Makev? queried the doctor, in a tone of

indifference.



The assistant, however, did not confirm the doctors words.



Is he tall and with reddish hair? asked the doctor.



Rostv described Densovs appearance.



There was one like that, said the doctor, as if pleased. That

one is dead, I fancy. However, Ill look up our list. We had a list.

Have you got it, Makev?



Makr Alexevich has the list, answered the assistant. But if

youll step into the officers wards youll see for yourself,

he added, turning to Rostv.



Ah, youd better not go, sir, said the doctor, or you may

have to stay here yourself.



But Rostv bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant

to show him the way.



Only dont blame me! the doctor shouted up after him.



Rostv and the assistant went into the dark corridor. The smell was so

strong there that Rostv held his nose and had to pause and collect

his strength before he could go on. A door opened to the right, and an

emaciated sallow man on crutches, barefoot and in underclothing, limped

out and, leaning against the doorpost, looked with glittering envious

eyes at those who were passing. Glancing in at the door, Rostv

saw that the sick and wounded were lying on the floor on straw and

overcoats.



May I go in and look?



What is there to see? said the assistant.



But, just because the assistant evidently did not want him to go in,

Rostv entered the soldiers ward. The foul air, to which he had

already begun to get used in the corridor, was still stronger here. It

was a little different, more pungent, and one felt that this was where

it originated.



In the long room, brightly lit up by the sun through the large windows,

the sick and wounded lay in two rows with their heads to the walls, and

leaving a passage in the middle. Most of them were unconscious and

paid no attention to the newcomers. Those who were conscious raised

themselves or lifted their thin yellow faces, and all looked intently at

Rostv with the same expression of hope, of relief, reproach, and

envy of anothers health. Rostv went to the middle of the room and

looking through the open doors into the two adjoining rooms saw the same

thing there. He stood still, looking silently around. He had not at all

expected such a sight. Just before him, almost across the middle of the

passage on the bare floor, lay a sick man, probably a Cossack to judge

by the cut of his hair. The man lay on his back, his huge arms and legs

outstretched. His face was purple, his eyes were rolled back so that

only the whites were seen, and on his bare legs and arms which were

still red, the veins stood out like cords. He was knocking the back of

his head against the floor, hoarsely uttering some word which he kept

repeating. Rostv listened and made out the word. It was drink,

drink, a drink! Rostv glanced round, looking for someone who would

put this man back in his place and bring him water.



Who looks after the sick here? he asked the assistant.



Just then a commissariat soldier, a hospital orderly, came in from the

next room, marching stiffly, and drew up in front of Rostv.



Good day, your honor! he shouted, rolling his eyes at Rostv and

evidently mistaking him for one of the hospital authorities.



Get him to his place and give him some water, said Rostv,

pointing to the Cossack.



Yes, your honor, the soldier replied complacently, and rolling

his eyes more than ever he drew himself up still straighter, but did not

move.



No, its impossible to do anything here, thought Rostv,

lowering his eyes, and he was going out, but became aware of an intense

look fixed on him on his right, and he turned. Close to the corner, on

an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a

skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostv.

The mans neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing

at Rostv, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him. He drew

nearer and saw that the old man had only one leg bent under him, the

other had been amputated above the knee. His neighbor on the other side,

who lay motionless some distance from him with his head thrown back, was

a young soldier with a snub nose. His pale waxen face was still freckled

and his eyes were rolled back. Rostv looked at the young soldier and a

cold chill ran down his back.



Why, this one seems... he began, turning to the assistant.



And how weve been begging, your honor, said the old soldier,

his jaw quivering. Hes been dead since morning. After all were

men, not dogs.



Ill send someone at once. He shall be taken awaytaken away at

once, said the assistant hurriedly. Let us go, your honor.



Yes, yes, let us go, said Rostv hastily, and lowering his

eyes and shrinking, he tried to pass unnoticed between the rows of

reproachful envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and went out of the

room.











CHAPTER XVIII



Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostv to the officers

wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open. There

were beds in these rooms and the sick and wounded officers were lying or

sitting on them. Some were walking about the rooms in hospital dressing

gowns. The first person Rostv met in the officers ward was a thin

little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a

nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth.

Rostv looked at him, trying to remember where he had seen him before.



See where weve met again! said the little man. Tshin,

Tshin, dont you remember, who gave you a lift at Schn Grabern?

And Ive had a bit cut off, you see... he went on with a smile,

pointing to the empty sleeve of his dressing gown. Looking for

Vasli Dmtrich Densov? My neighbor, he added, when he heard

who Rostv wanted. Here, here, and Tshin led him into the next

room, from whence came sounds of several laughing voices.



How can they laugh, or even live at all here? thought Rostv,

still aware of that smell of decomposing flesh that had been so strong

in the soldiers ward, and still seeming to see fixed on him those

envious looks which had followed him out from both sides, and the face

of that young soldier with eyes rolled back.



Densov lay asleep on his bed with his head under the blanket, though

it was nearly noon.



Ah, Wostv? How are you, how are you? he called out, still in the

same voice as in the regiment, but Rostv noticed sadly that under this

habitual ease and animation some new, sinister, hidden feeling showed

itself in the expression of Densovs face and the intonations of his

voice.



His wound, though a slight one, had not yet healed even now, six weeks

after he had been hit. His face had the same swollen pallor as the faces

of the other hospital patients, but it was not this that struck Rostv.

What struck him was that Densov did not seem glad to see him, and

smiled at him unnaturally. He did not ask about the regiment, nor about

the general state of affairs, and when Rostv spoke of these matters

did not listen.



Rostv even noticed that Densov did not like to be reminded of the

regiment, or in general of that other free life which was going on

outside the hospital. He seemed to try to forget that old life and

was only interested in the affair with the commissariat officers. On

Rostvs inquiry as to how the matter stood, he at once produced from

under his pillow a paper he had received from the commission and the

rough draft of his answer to it. He became animated when he began

reading his paper and specially drew Rostvs attention to the

stinging rejoinders he made to his enemies. His hospital companions,

who had gathered round Rostva fresh arrival from the world

outsidegradually began to disperse as soon as Densov began reading

his answer. Rostv noticed by their faces that all those gentlemen had

already heard that story more than once and were tired of it. Only the

man who had the next bed, a stout Uhlan, continued to sit on his bed,

gloomily frowning and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Tshin still

listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle of the reading,

the Uhlan interrupted Densov.



But what I say is, he said, turning to Rostv, it would be

best simply to petition the Emperor for pardon. They say great rewards

will now be distributed, and surely a pardon would be granted....



Me petition the Empewo! exclaimed Densov, in a voice to which

he tried hard to give the old energy and fire, but which sounded like

an expression of irritable impotence. What for? If I were a wobber I

would ask mercy, but Im being court-martialed for bwinging wobbers

to book. Let them twy me, Im not afwaid of anyone. Ive served

the Tsar and my countwy honowably and have not stolen! And am I to be

degwaded?... Listen, Im witing to them stwaight. This is what I

say If I had wobbed the Tweasuwy...



Its certainly well written, said Tshin, but thats not

the point, Vasli Dmtrich, and he also turned to Rostv. One

has to submit, and Vasli Dmtrich doesnt want to. You know the

auditor told you it was a bad business.



Well, let it be bad, said Densov.



The auditor wrote out a petition for you, continued Tshin,

and you ought to sign it and ask this gentleman to take it. No doubt

he (indicating Rostv) has connections on the staff. You wont

find a better opportunity.



Havent I said Im not going to gwovel? Densov interrupted

him, went on reading his paper.



Rostv had not the courage to persuade Densov, though he

instinctively felt that the way advised by Tshin and the other

officers was the safest, and though he would have been glad to be of

service to Densov. He knew his stubborn will and straightforward hasty

temper.



When the reading of Densovs virulent reply, which took more than an

hour, was over, Rostv said nothing, and he spent the rest of the day

in a most dejected state of mind amid Densovs hospital comrades,

who had gathered round him, telling them what he knew and listening to

their stories. Densov was moodily silent all the evening.



Late in the evening, when Rostv was about to leave, he asked Densov

whether he had no commission for him.



Yes, wait a bit, said Densov, glancing round at the officers,

and taking his papers from under his pillow he went to the window, where

he had an inkpot, and sat down to write.



It seems its no use knocking ones head against a wall! he

said, coming from the window and giving Rostv a large envelope. In

it was the petition to the Emperor drawn up by the auditor, in

which Densov, without alluding to the offenses of the commissariat

officials, simply asked for pardon.



Hand it in. It seems...



He did not finish, but gave a painfully unnatural smile.











CHAPTER XIX



Having returned to the regiment and told the commander the state of

Densovs affairs, Rostv rode to Tilsit with the letter to the

Emperor.



On the thirteenth of June the French and Russian Emperors arrived in

Tilsit. Bors Drubetsky had asked the important personage on whom he

was in attendance, to include him in the suite appointed for the stay at

Tilsit.



I should like to see the great man, he said, alluding to Napoleon,

whom hitherto he, like everyone else, had always called Buonaparte.



You are speaking of Buonaparte? asked the general, smiling.



Bors looked at his general inquiringly and immediately saw that he was

being tested.



I am speaking, Prince, of the Emperor Napoleon, he replied. The

general patted him on the shoulder, with a smile.



You will go far, he said, and took him to Tilsit with him.



Bors was among the few present at the Niemen on the day the two

Emperors met. He saw the raft, decorated with monograms, saw Napoleon

pass before the French Guards on the farther bank of the river, saw the

pensive face of the Emperor Alexander as he sat in silence in a tavern

on the bank of the Niemen awaiting Napoleons arrival, saw both

Emperors get into boats, and saw how Napoleonreaching the raft

firststepped quickly forward to meet Alexander and held out his hand

to him, and how they both retired into the pavilion. Since he had begun

to move in the highest circles Bors had made it his habit to watch

attentively all that went on around him and to note it down. At the time

of the meeting at Tilsit he asked the names of those who had come with

Napoleon and about the uniforms they wore, and listened attentively to

words spoken by important personages. At the moment the Emperors went

into the pavilion he looked at his watch, and did not forget to look at

it again when Alexander came out. The interview had lasted an hour and

fifty-three minutes. He noted this down that same evening, among other

facts he felt to be of historic importance. As the Emperors suite

was a very small one, it was a matter of great importance, for a man who

valued his success in the service, to be at Tilsit on the occasion of

this interview between the two Emperors, and having succeeded in this,

Bors felt that henceforth his position was fully assured. He had not

only become known, but people had grown accustomed to him and accepted

him. Twice he had executed commissions to the Emperor himself, so

that the latter knew his face, and all those at court, far from

cold-shouldering him as at first when they considered him a newcomer,

would now have been surprised had he been absent.



Bors lodged with another adjutant, the Polish Count Zhilnski.

Zhilnski, a Pole brought up in Paris, was rich, and passionately

fond of the French, and almost every day of the stay at Tilsit, French

officers of the Guard and from French headquarters were dining and

lunching with him and Bors.



On the evening of the twenty-fourth of June, Count Zhilnski arranged a

supper for his French friends. The guest of honor was an aide-de-camp of

Napoleons, there were also several French officers of the Guard,

and a page of Napoleons, a young lad of an old aristocratic French

family. That same day, Rostv, profiting by the darkness to avoid being

recognized in civilian dress, came to Tilsit and went to the lodging

occupied by Bors and Zhilnski.



Rostv, in common with the whole army from which he came, was far

from having experienced the change of feeling toward Napoleon and the

Frenchwho from being foes had suddenly become friendsthat had

taken place at headquarters and in Bors. In the army, Bonaparte and

the French were still regarded with mingled feelings of anger, contempt,

and fear. Only recently, talking with one of Pltovs Cossack

officers, Rostv had argued that if Napoleon were taken prisoner he

would be treated not as a sovereign, but as a criminal. Quite lately,

happening to meet a wounded French colonel on the road, Rostv had

maintained with heat that peace was impossible between a legitimate

sovereign and the criminal Bonaparte. Rostv was therefore unpleasantly

struck by the presence of French officers in Bors lodging, dressed

in uniforms he had been accustomed to see from quite a different point

of view from the outposts of the flank. As soon as he noticed a French

officer, who thrust his head out of the door, that warlike feeling of

hostility which he always experienced at the sight of the enemy suddenly

seized him. He stopped at the threshold and asked in Russian whether

Drubetsky lived there. Bors, hearing a strange voice in the

anteroom, came out to meet him. An expression of annoyance showed itself

for a moment on his face on first recognizing Rostv.



Ah, its you? Very glad, very glad to see you, he said, however,

coming toward him with a smile. But Rostv had noticed his first

impulse.



Ive come at a bad time I think. I should not have come, but I have

business, he said coldly.



No, I only wonder how you managed to get away from your regiment.

Dans un moment je suis  vous, * he said, answering someone who

called him.



    * In a minute I shall be at your disposal.





I see Im intruding, Rostv repeated.



The look of annoyance had already disappeared from Bors face

having evidently reflected and decided how to act, he very quietly took

both Rostvs hands and led him into the next room. His eyes, looking

serenely and steadily at Rostv, seemed to be veiled by something,

as if screened by blue spectacles of conventionality. So it seemed to

Rostv.



Oh, come now! As if you could come at a wrong time! said Bors,

and he led him into the room where the supper table was laid and

introduced him to his guests, explaining that he was not a civilian, but

an hussar officer, and an old friend of his.



Count Zhilnskile Comte N. N.le Capitaine S. S., said he,

naming his guests. Rostv looked frowningly at the Frenchmen, bowed

reluctantly, and remained silent.



Zhilnski evidently did not receive this new Russian person very

willingly into his circle and did not speak to Rostv. Bors did not

appear to notice the constraint the newcomer produced and, with the same

pleasant composure and the same veiled look in his eyes with which

he had met Rostv, tried to enliven the conversation. One of the

Frenchmen, with the politeness characteristic of his countrymen,

addressed the obstinately taciturn Rostv, saying that the latter had

probably come to Tilsit to see the Emperor.



No, I came on business, replied Rostv, briefly.



Rostv had been out of humor from the moment he noticed the look of

dissatisfaction on Bors face, and as always happens to those in a

bad humor, it seemed to him that everyone regarded him with aversion

and that he was in everybodys way. He really was in their way, for he

alone took no part in the conversation which again became general. The

looks the visitors cast on him seemed to say And what is he sitting

here for? He rose and went up to Bors.



Anyhow, Im in your way, he said in a low tone. Come and talk

over my business and Ill go away.



Oh, no, not at all, said Bors. But if you are tired, come and

lie down in my room and have a rest.



Yes, really...



They went into the little room where Bors slept. Rostv, without

sitting down, began at once, irritably (as if Bors were to blame in

some way) telling him about Densovs affair, asking him whether,

through his general, he could and would intercede with the Emperor on

Densovs behalf and get Densovs petition handed in. When he

and Bors were alone, Rostv felt for the first time that he could not

look Bors in the face without a sense of awkwardness. Bors, with one

leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender

fingers of his right, listened to Rostv as a general listens to the

report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into

Rostvs eyes with the same veiled look. Each time this happened

Rostv felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes.



I have heard of such cases and know that His Majesty is very severe

in such affairs. I think it would be best not to bring it before the

Emperor, but to apply to the commander of the corps.... But in general,

I think...



So you dont want to do anything? Well then, say so! Rostv

almost shouted, not looking Bors in the face.



Bors smiled.



On the contrary, I will do what I can. Only I thought...



At that moment Zhilnskis voice was heard calling Bors.



Well then, go, go, go... said Rostv, and refusing supper and

remaining alone in the little room, he walked up and down for a long

time, hearing the lighthearted French conversation from the next room.











CHAPTER XX



Rostv had come to Tilsit the day least suitable for a petition

on Densovs behalf. He could not himself go to the general in

attendance as he was in mufti and had come to Tilsit without permission

to do so, and Bors, even had he wished to, could not have done so on

the following day. On that day, June 27, the preliminaries of peace were

signed. The Emperors exchanged decorations Alexander received the Cross

of the Legion of Honor and Napoleon the Order of St. Andrew of the

First Degree, and a dinner had been arranged for the evening, given by

a battalion of the French Guards to the Preobrazhnsk battalion. The

Emperors were to be present at that banquet.



Rostv felt so ill at ease and uncomfortable with Bors that, when the

latter looked in after supper, he pretended to be asleep, and early next

morning went away, avoiding Bors. In his civilian clothes and a

round hat, he wandered about the town, staring at the French and their

uniforms and at the streets and houses where the Russian and French

Emperors were staying. In a square he saw tables being set up and

preparations made for the dinner he saw the Russian and French colors

draped from side to side of the streets, with huge monograms A and N. In

the windows of the houses also flags and bunting were displayed.



Bors doesnt want to help me and I dont want to ask him.

Thats settled, thought Nicholas. All is over between us, but

I wont leave here without having done all I can for Densov and

certainly not without getting his letter to the Emperor. The Emperor!...

He is here! thought Rostv, who had unconsciously returned to the

house where Alexander lodged.



Saddled horses were standing before the house and the suite were

assembling, evidently preparing for the Emperor to come out.



I may see him at any moment, thought Rostv. If only I were

to hand the letter direct to him and tell him all... could they really

arrest me for my civilian clothes? Surely not! He would understand on

whose side justice lies. He understands everything, knows everything.

Who can be more just, more magnanimous than he? And even if they did

arrest me for being here, what would it matter? thought he, looking

at an officer who was entering the house the Emperor occupied. After

all, people do go in.... Its all nonsense! Ill go in and hand

the letter to the Emperor myself so much the worse for Drubetsky who

drives me to it! And suddenly with a determination he himself did not

expect, Rostv felt for the letter in his pocket and went straight to

the house.



No, I wont miss my opportunity now, as I did after Austerlitz,

he thought, expecting every moment to meet the monarch, and conscious of

the blood that rushed to his heart at the thought. I will fall at

his feet and beseech him. He will lift me up, will listen, and will even

thank me. I am happy when I can do good, but to remedy injustice is

the greatest happiness, Rostv fancied the sovereign saying. And

passing people who looked after him with curiosity, he entered the porch

of the Emperors house.



A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the right he

saw a closed door. Below, under the staircase, was a door leading to the

lower floor.



Whom do you want? someone inquired.



To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Majesty, said Nicholas,

with a tremor in his voice.



A petition? This way, to the officer on duty (he was shown the

door leading downstairs), only it wont be accepted.



On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostv grew frightened at what

he was doing the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so

fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away,

but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostv

entered.



A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches and high boots and

a batiste shirt that he had evidently only just put on, standing in that

room, and his valet was buttoning on to the back of his breeches a

new pair of handsome silk-embroidered braces that, for some reason,

attracted Rostvs attention. This man was speaking to someone in the

adjoining room.



A good figure and in her first bloom, he was saying, but on seeing

Rostv, 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. Hell be coming out directly, we must

go.



Later... later! Tomorrow. Its too late...



Rostv turned and was about to go, but the man in the braces stopped

him.



Whom have you come from? Who are you?



I come from Major Densov, answered Rostv.



Are you an officer?



Lieutenant Count Rostv.



What audacity! Hand it in through your commander. And go along with

you... go, and he continued to put on the uniform the valet handed

him.



Rostv went back into the hall and noticed that in the porch there were

many officers and generals in full parade uniform, whom he had to pass.



Cursing his temerity, his heart sinking at the thought of finding

himself at any moment face to face with the Emperor and being put to

shame and arrested in his presence, fully alive now to the impropriety

of his conduct and repenting of it, Rostv, with downcast eyes, was

making his way out of the house through the brilliant suite when a

familiar voice called him and a hand detained him.



What are you doing here, sir, in civilian dress? asked a deep

voice.



It was a cavalry general who had obtained the Emperors special favor

during this campaign, and who had formerly commanded the division in

which Rostv was serving.



Rostv, in dismay, began justifying himself, but seeing the kindly,

jocular face of the general, he took him aside and in an excited voice

told him the whole affair, asking him to intercede for Densov, whom

the general knew. Having heard Rostv to the end, the general shook his

head gravely.



Im sorry, sorry for that fine fellow. Give me the letter.



Hardly had Rostv handed him the letter and finished explaining

Densovs case, when hasty steps and the jingling of spurs were heard

on the stairs, and the general, leaving him, went to the porch. The

gentlemen of the Emperors suite ran down the stairs and went to their

horses. Hayne, the same groom who had been at Austerlitz, led up the

Emperors horse, and the faint creak of a footstep Rostv knew at

once was heard on the stairs. Forgetting the danger of being recognized,

Rostv went close to the porch, together with some inquisitive

civilians, and again, after two years, saw those features he adored

that same face and same look and step, and the same union of majesty and

mildness.... And the feeling of enthusiasm and love for his sovereign

rose again in Rostvs soul in all its old force. In the uniform of

the Preobrazhnsk regimentwhite chamois-leather breeches and high

bootsand wearing a star Rostv did not know (it was that of the

Lgion dhonneur), the monarch came out into the porch, putting on

his gloves and carrying his hat under his arm. He stopped and looked

about him, brightening everything around by his glance. He spoke a few

words to some of the generals, and, recognizing the former commander of

Rostvs division, smiled and beckoned to him.



All the suite drew back and Rostv saw the general talking for some

time to the Emperor.



The Emperor said a few words to him and took a step toward his horse.

Again the crowd of members of the suite and street gazers (among whom

was Rostv) moved nearer to the Emperor. Stopping beside his horse,

with his hand on the saddle, the Emperor turned to the cavalry general

and said in a loud voice, evidently wishing to be heard by all



I cannot do it, General. I cannot, because the law is stronger than

I, and he raised his foot to the stirrup.



The general bowed his head respectfully, and the monarch mounted and

rode down the street at a gallop. Beside himself with enthusiasm,

Rostv ran after him with the crowd.











CHAPTER XXI



The Emperor rode to the square where, facing one another, a battalion

of the Preobrazhnsk regiment stood on the right and a battalion of the

French Guards in their bearskin caps on the left.



As the Tsar rode up to one flank of the battalions, which presented

arms, another group of horsemen galloped up to the opposite flank, and

at the head of them Rostv recognized Napoleon. It could be no one

else. He came at a gallop, wearing a small hat, a blue uniform open over

a white vest, and the St. Andrew ribbon over his shoulder. He was riding

a very fine thoroughbred gray Arab horse with a crimson gold-embroidered

saddlecloth. On approaching Alexander he raised his hat, and as he did

so, Rostv, with his cavalrymans eye, could not help noticing

that Napoleon did not sit well or firmly in the saddle. The battalions

shouted Hurrah! and Vive lEmpereur! Napoleon said

something to Alexander, and both Emperors dismounted and took each

others hands. Napoleons face wore an unpleasant and artificial

smile. Alexander was saying something affable to him.



In spite of the trampling of the French gendarmes horses, which

were pushing back the crowd, Rostv kept his eyes on every movement

of Alexander and Bonaparte. It struck him as a surprise that Alexander

treated Bonaparte as an equal and that the latter was quite at ease with

the Tsar, as if such relations with an Emperor were an everyday matter

to him.



Alexander and Napoleon, with the long train of their suites, approached

the right flank of the Preobrazhnsk battalion and came straight up to

the crowd standing there. The crowd unexpectedly found itself so close

to the Emperors that Rostv, standing in the front row, was afraid he

might be recognized.



Sire, I ask your permission to present the Legion of Honor to the

bravest of your soldiers, said a sharp, precise voice, articulating

every letter.



This was said by the undersized Napoleon, looking up straight into

Alexanders eyes. Alexander listened attentively to what was said to

him and, bending his head, smiled pleasantly.



To him who has borne himself most bravely in this last war, added

Napoleon, accentuating each syllable, as with a composure and assurance

exasperating to Rostv, he ran his eyes over the Russian ranks drawn

up before him, who all presented arms with their eyes fixed on their

Emperor.



Will Your Majesty allow me to consult the colonel? said Alexander

and took a few hasty steps toward Prince Kozlvski, the commander of

the battalion.



Bonaparte meanwhile began taking the glove off his small white hand,

tore it in doing so, and threw it away. An aide-de-camp behind him

rushed forward and picked it up.



To whom shall it be given? the Emperor Alexander asked Kozlvski,

in Russian in a low voice.



To whomever Your Majesty commands.



The Emperor knit his brows with dissatisfaction and, glancing back,

remarked



But we must give him an answer.



Kozlvski scanned the ranks resolutely and included Rostv in his

scrutiny.



Can it be me? thought Rostv.



Lzarev! the colonel called, with a frown, and Lzarev, the

first soldier in the rank, stepped briskly forward.



Where are you off to? Stop here! voices whispered to Lzarev who

did not know where to go. Lzarev stopped, casting a sidelong look at

his colonel in alarm. His face twitched, as often happens to soldiers

called before the ranks.



Napoleon slightly turned his head, and put his plump little hand out

behind him as if to take something. The members of his suite, guessing

at once what he wanted, moved about and whispered as they passed

something from one to another, and a pagethe same one Rostv

had seen the previous evening at Borsran forward and, bowing

respectfully over the outstretched hand and not keeping it waiting a

moment, laid in it an Order on a red ribbon. Napoleon, without looking,

pressed two fingers together and the badge was between them. Then he

approached Lzarev (who rolled his eyes and persistently gazed at his

own monarch), looked round at the Emperor Alexander to imply that what

he was now doing was done for the sake of his ally, and the small white

hand holding the Order touched one of Lzarevs buttons. It was as if

Napoleon knew that it was only necessary for his hand to deign to touch

that soldiers breast for the soldier to be forever happy, rewarded,

and distinguished from everyone else in the world. Napoleon merely laid

the cross on Lzarevs breast and, dropping his hand, turned toward

Alexander as though sure that the cross would adhere there. And it

really did.



Officious hands, Russian and French, immediately seized the cross and

fastened it to the uniform. Lzarev glanced morosely at the little

man with white hands who was doing something to him and, still standing

motionless presenting arms, looked again straight into Alexanders

eyes, as if asking whether he should stand there, or go away, or do

something else. But receiving no orders, he remained for some time in

that rigid position.



The Emperors remounted and rode away. The Preobrazhnsk battalion,

breaking rank, mingled with the French Guards and sat down at the tables

prepared for them.



Lzarev sat in the place of honor. Russian and French officers embraced

him, congratulated him, and pressed his hands. Crowds of officers and

civilians drew near merely to see him. A rumble of Russian and French

voices and laughter filled the air round the tables in the square.

Two officers with flushed faces, looking cheerful and happy, passed by

Rostv.



What dyou think of the treat? All on silver plate, one of them

was saying. Have you seen Lzarev?



I have.



Tomorrow, I hear, the Preobrazhnskis will give them a dinner.



Yes, but what luck for Lzarev! Twelve hundred francs pension for

life.



Heres a cap, lads! shouted a Preobrazhnsk soldier, donning a

shaggy French cap.



Its a fine thing! First-rate!



Have you heard the password? asked one Guards officer of

another. The day before yesterday it was Napolon, France,

bravoure yesterday, Alexandre, Russie, grandeur. One day our

Emperor gives it and next day Napoleon. Tomorrow our Emperor will send

a St. Georges Cross to the bravest of the French Guards. It has to be

done. He must respond in kind.



Bors, too, with his friend Zhilnski, came to see the Preobrazhnsk

banquet. On his way back, he noticed Rostv standing by the corner of a

house.



Rostv! How dyou do? We missed one another, he said, and could

not refrain from asking what was the matter, so strangely dismal and

troubled was Rostvs face.



Nothing, nothing, replied Rostv.



Youll call round?



Yes, I will.



Rostv stood at that corner for a long time, watching the feast from a

distance. In his mind, a painful process was going on which he could

not bring to a conclusion. Terrible doubts rose in his soul. Now he

remembered Densov with his changed expression, his submission, and the

whole hospital, with arms and legs torn off and its dirt and disease. So

vividly did he recall that hospital stench of dead flesh that he

looked round to see where the smell came from. Next he thought of that

self-satisfied Bonaparte, with his small white hand, who was now an

Emperor, liked and respected by Alexander. Then why those severed

arms and legs and those dead men?... Then again he thought of Lzarev

rewarded and Densov punished and unpardoned. He caught himself

harboring such strange thoughts that he was frightened.



The smell of the food the Preobrazhnskis were eating and a sense of

hunger recalled him from these reflections he had to get something to

eat before going away. He went to a hotel he had noticed that morning.

There he found so many people, among them officers who, like himself,

had come in civilian clothes, that he had difficulty in getting a

dinner. Two officers of his own division joined him. The conversation

naturally turned on the peace. The officers, his comrades, like most of

the army, were dissatisfied with the peace concluded after the battle of

Friedland. They said that had we held out a little longer Napoleon would

have been done for, as his troops had neither provisions nor ammunition.

Nicholas ate and drank (chiefly the latter) in silence. He finished a

couple of bottles of wine by himself. The process in his mind went on

tormenting him without reaching a conclusion. He feared to give way to

his thoughts, yet could not get rid of them. Suddenly, on one of the

officers saying that it was humiliating to look at the French,

Rostv began shouting with uncalled-for wrath, and therefore much to

the surprise of the officers



How can you judge whats best? he cried, the blood suddenly

rushing to his face. How can you judge the Emperors actions? What

right have we to argue? We cannot comprehend either the Emperors aims

or his actions!



But I never said a word about the Emperor! said the officer,

justifying himself, and unable to understand Rostvs outburst,

except on the supposition that he was drunk.



But Rostv 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 were

punished, it means that we have deserved it, its not for us to judge.

If the Emperor pleases to recognize Bonaparte as Emperor and to conclude

an alliance with him, it means that that is the right thing to do. If

once we begin judging and arguing about everything, nothing sacred

will be left! That way we shall be saying there is no Godnothing!

shouted Nicholas, banging the tablevery little to the point as it

seemed to his listeners, but quite relevantly to the course of his own

thoughts.



Our business is to do our duty, to fight and not to think! Thats

all.... said he.



And to drink, said one of the officers, not wishing to quarrel.



Yes, and to drink, assented Nicholas. Hullo there! Another

bottle! he shouted.



In 1808 the Emperor Alexander went to Erfurt for a fresh interview with

the Emperor Napoleon, and in the upper circles of Petersburg there was

much talk of the grandeur of this important meeting.











CHAPTER XXII



In 1809 the intimacy between the worlds two arbiters, as

Napoleon and Alexander were called, was such that when Napoleon declared

war on Austria a Russian corps crossed the frontier to co-operate with

our old enemy Bonaparte against our old ally the Emperor of Austria, and

in court circles the possibility of marriage between Napoleon and one

of Alexanders sisters was spoken of. But besides considerations of

foreign policy, the attention of Russian society was at that time keenly

directed on the internal changes that were being undertaken in all the

departments of government.



Life meanwhilereal life, with its essential interests of health and

sickness, toil and rest, and its intellectual interests in thought,

science, poetry, music, love, friendship, hatred, and passionswent on

as usual, independently of and apart from political friendship or enmity

with Napoleon Bonaparte and from all the schemes of reconstruction.











BOOK SIX 1808 - 10











CHAPTER I



Prince Andrew had spent two years continuously in the country.



All the plans Pierre had attempted on his estatesand constantly

changing from one thing to another had never accomplishedwere carried

out by Prince Andrew without display and without perceptible difficulty.



He had in the highest degree a practical tenacity which Pierre lacked,

and without fuss or strain on his part this set things going.



On one of his estates the three hundred serfs were liberated and became

free agricultural laborersthis being one of the first examples of

the kind in Russia. On other estates the serfs compulsory labor was

commuted for a quitrent. A trained midwife was engaged for Boguchrovo

at his expense, and a priest was paid to teach reading and writing to

the children of the peasants and household serfs.



Prince Andrew spent half his time at Bald Hills with his father and his

son, who was still in the care of nurses. The other half he spent in

Boguchrovo Cloister, as his father called Prince Andrews

estate. Despite the indifference to the affairs of the world he had

expressed to Pierre, he diligently followed all that went on, received

many books, and to his surprise noticed that when he or his father had

visitors from Petersburg, the very vortex of life, these people lagged

behind himselfwho never left the countryin knowledge of what was

happening in home and foreign affairs.



Besides being occupied with his estates and reading a great variety of

books, Prince Andrew was at this time busy with a critical survey of

our last two unfortunate campaigns, and with drawing up a proposal for a

reform of the army rules and regulations.



In the spring of 1809 he went to visit the Ryazn estates which had

been inherited by his son, whose guardian he was.



Warmed by the spring sunshine he sat in the calche looking at the new

grass, the first leaves on the birches, and the first puffs of white

spring clouds floating across the clear blue sky. He was not thinking of

anything, but looked absent-mindedly and cheerfully from side to side.



They crossed the ferry where he had talked with Pierre the year before.

They went through the muddy village, past threshing floors and green

fields of winter rye, downhill where snow still lodged near the bridge,

uphill where the clay had been liquefied by the rain, past strips of

stubble land and bushes touched with green here and there, and into a

birch forest growing on both sides of the road. In the forest it was

almost hot, no wind could be felt. The birches with their sticky green

leaves were motionless, and lilac-colored flowers and the first blades

of green grass were pushing up and lifting last years leaves. The

coarse evergreen color of the small fir trees scattered here and there

among the birches was an unpleasant reminder of winter. On entering the

forest the horses began to snort and sweated visibly.



Peter the footman made some remark to the coachman the latter assented.

But apparently the coachmans sympathy was not enough for Peter, and

he turned on the box toward his master.



How pleasant it is, your excellency! he said with a respectful

smile.



What?



Its pleasant, your excellency!



What is he talking about? thought Prince Andrew. Oh, the

spring, I suppose, he thought as he turned round. Yes, really

everything is green already.... How early! The birches and cherry and

alders too are coming out.... But the oaks show no sign yet. Ah, here is

one oak!



At the edge of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times the age of the

birches that formed the forest, it was ten times as thick and twice as

tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its girth twice as great as a

man could embrace, and evidently long ago some of its branches had been

broken off and its bark scarred. With its huge ungainly limbs sprawling

unsymmetrically, and its gnarled hands and fingers, it stood an aged,

stern, and scornful monster among the smiling birch trees. Only the

dead-looking evergreen firs dotted about in the forest, and this oak,

refused to yield to the charm of spring or notice either the spring or

the sunshine.



Spring, love, happiness! this oak seemed to say. Are you not

weary of that stupid, meaningless, constantly repeated fraud? Always the

same and always a fraud? There is no spring, no sun, no happiness! Look

at those cramped dead firs, ever the same, and at me too, sticking out

my broken and barked fingers just where they have grown, whether from my

back or my sides as they have grown so I stand, and I do not believe in

your hopes and your lies.



As he passed through the forest Prince Andrew turned several times to

look at that oak, as if expecting something from it. Under the oak,

too, were flowers and grass, but it stood among them scowling, rigid,

misshapen, and grim as ever.



Yes, the oak is right, a thousand times right, thought Prince

Andrew. Let othersthe youngyield afresh to that fraud, but we

know life, our life is finished!



A whole sequence of new thoughts, hopeless but mournfully pleasant, rose

in his soul in connection with that tree. During this journey he, as

it were, considered his life afresh and arrived at his old conclusion,

restful in its hopelessness that it was not for him to begin anything

anewbut that he must live out his life, content to do no harm, and

not disturbing himself or desiring anything.











CHAPTER II



Prince Andrew had to see the Marshal of the Nobility for the district

in connection with the affairs of the Ryazn estate of which he was

trustee. This Marshal was Count Ily Rostv, and in the middle of May

Prince Andrew went to visit him.



It was now hot spring weather. The whole forest was already clothed in

green. It was dusty and so hot that on passing near water one longed to

bathe.



Prince Andrew, depressed and preoccupied with the business about which

he had to speak to the Marshal, was driving up the avenue in the grounds

of the Rostvs house at Otrdnoe. He heard merry girlish cries

behind some trees on the right and saw a group of girls running to cross

the path of his calche. Ahead of the rest and nearer to him ran a

dark-haired, remarkably slim, pretty girl in a yellow chintz dress, with

a white handkerchief on her head from under which loose locks of hair

escaped. The girl was shouting something but, seeing that he was a

stranger, ran back laughing without looking at him.



Suddenly, he did not know why, he felt a pang. The day was so beautiful,

the sun so bright, everything around so gay, but that slim pretty girl

did not know, or wish to know, of his existence and was contented and

cheerful in her own separateprobably foolishbut bright and happy

life. What is she so glad about? What is she thinking of? Not of

the military regulations or of the arrangement of the Ryazn serfs

quitrents. Of what is she thinking? Why is she so happy? Prince

Andrew asked himself with instinctive curiosity.



In 1809 Count Ily Rostv was living at Otrdnoe just as he had done

in former years, that is, entertaining almost the whole province with

hunts, theatricals, dinners, and music. He was glad to see Prince

Andrew, as he was to see any new visitor, and insisted on his staying

the night.



During the dull day, in the course of which he was entertained by

his elderly hosts and by the more important of the visitors (the old

counts house was crowded on account of an approaching name day),

Prince Andrew repeatedly glanced at Natsha, gay and laughing among the

younger members of the company, and asked himself each time, What is

she thinking about? Why is she so glad?



That night, alone in new surroundings, he was long unable to sleep. He

read awhile and then put out his candle, but relit it. It was hot in the

room, the inside shutters of which were closed. He was cross with the

stupid old man (as he called Rostv), who had made him stay by assuring

him that some necessary documents had not yet arrived from town, and he

was vexed with himself for having stayed.



He got up and went to the window to open it. As soon as he opened the

shutters the moonlight, as if it had long been watching for this, burst

into the room. He opened the casement. The night was fresh, bright, and

very still. Just before the window was a row of pollard trees, looking

black on one side and with a silvery light on the other. Beneath the

trees grew some kind of lush, wet, bushy vegetation with silver-lit

leaves and stems here and there. Farther back beyond the dark trees a

roof glittered with dew, to the right was a leafy tree with brilliantly

white trunk and branches, and above it shone the moon, nearly at its

full, in a pale, almost starless, spring sky. Prince Andrew leaned his

elbows on the window ledge and his eyes rested on that sky.



His room was on the first floor. Those in the rooms above were also

awake. He heard female voices overhead.



Just once more, said a girlish voice above him which Prince Andrew

recognized at once.



But when are you coming to bed? replied another voice.



I wont, I cant sleep, whats the use? Come now for the last

time.



Two girlish voices sang a musical passagethe end of some song.



Oh, how lovely! Now go to sleep, and theres an end of it.



You go to sleep, but I cant, said the first voice, coming

nearer to the window. She was evidently leaning right out, for the

rustle of her dress and even her breathing could be heard. Everything

was stone-still, like the moon and its light and the shadows. Prince

Andrew, too, dared not stir, for fear of betraying his unintentional

presence.



Snya! Snya! he again heard the first speaker. Oh, how can

you sleep? Only look how glorious it is! Ah, how glorious! Do wake up,

Snya! she said almost with tears in her voice. There never,

never was such a lovely night before!



Snya made some reluctant reply.



Do just come and see what a moon!... Oh, how lovely! Come here....

Darling, sweetheart, come here! There, you see? I feel like sitting down

on my heels, putting my arms round my knees like this, straining tight,

as tight as possible, and flying away! Like this....



Take care, youll fall out.



He heard the sound of a scuffle and Snyas disapproving voice

Its past one oclock.



Oh, you only spoil things for me. All right, go, go!



Again all was silent, but Prince Andrew knew she was still sitting

there. From time to time he heard a soft rustle and at times a sigh.



O God, O God! What does it mean? she suddenly exclaimed. To bed

then, if it must be! and she slammed the casement.



For her I might as well not exist! thought Prince Andrew while he

listened to her voice, for some reason expecting yet fearing that she

might say something about him. There she is again! As if it were on

purpose, thought he.



In his soul there suddenly arose such an unexpected turmoil of youthful

thoughts and hopes, contrary to the whole tenor of his life, that unable

to explain his condition to himself he lay down and fell asleep at once.











CHAPTER III



Next morning, having taken leave of no one but the count, and not

waiting for the ladies to appear, Prince Andrew set off for home.



It was already the beginning of June when on his return journey he drove

into the birch forest where the gnarled old oak had made so strange and

memorable an impression on him. In the forest the harness bells sounded

yet more muffled than they had done six weeks before, for now all was

thick, shady, and dense, and the young firs dotted about in the forest

did not jar on the general beauty but, lending themselves to the mood

around, were delicately green with fluffy young shoots.



The whole day had been hot. Somewhere a storm was gathering, but only

a small cloud had scattered some raindrops lightly, sprinkling the road

and the sappy leaves. The left side of the forest was dark in the shade,

the right side glittered in the sunlight, wet and shiny and scarcely

swayed by the breeze. Everything was in blossom, the nightingales

trilled, and their voices reverberated now near, now far away.



Yes, here in this forest was that oak with which I agreed, thought

Prince Andrew. But where is it? he again wondered, gazing at

the left side of the road, and without recognizing it he looked with

admiration at the very oak he sought. The old oak, quite transfigured,

spreading out a canopy of sappy dark-green foliage, stood rapt and

slightly trembling in the rays of the evening sun. Neither gnarled

fingers nor old scars nor old doubts and sorrows were any of them in

evidence now. Through the hard century-old bark, even where there were

no twigs, leaves had sprouted such as one could hardly believe the old

veteran could have produced.



Yes, it is the same oak, thought Prince Andrew, and all at once he

was seized by an unreasoning springtime feeling of joy and renewal. All

the best moments of his life suddenly rose to his memory. Austerlitz

with the lofty heavens, his wifes dead reproachful face, Pierre at

the ferry, that girl thrilled by the beauty of the night, and that night

itself and the moon, and... all this rushed suddenly to his mind.



No, life is not over at thirty-one! Prince Andrew suddenly decided

finally and decisively. It is not enough for me to know what I have

in meeveryone must know it Pierre, and that young girl who wanted to

fly away into the sky, everyone must know me, so that my life may not be

lived for myself alone while others live so apart from it, but so that

it may be reflected in them all, and they and I may live in harmony!





On reaching home Prince Andrew decided to go to Petersburg that autumn

and found all sorts of reasons for this decision. A whole series of

sensible and logical considerations showing it to be essential for him

to go to Petersburg, and even to re-enter the service, kept springing

up in his mind. He could not now understand how he could ever even have

doubted the necessity of taking an active share in life, just as a month

before he had not understood how the idea of leaving the quiet country

could ever enter his head. It now seemed clear to him that all his

experience of life must be senselessly wasted unless he applied it to

some kind of work and again played an active part in life. He did not

even remember how formerly, on the strength of similar wretched logical

arguments, it had seemed obvious that he would be degrading himself if

he now, after the lessons he had had in life, allowed himself to believe

in the possibility of being useful and in the possibility of happiness

or love. Now reason suggested quite the opposite. After that journey

to Ryazn he found the country dull his former pursuits no longer

interested him, and often when sitting alone in his study he got up,

went to the mirror, and gazed a long time at his own face. Then he would

turn away to the portrait of his dead Lise, who with hair curled  la

grecque looked tenderly and gaily at him out of the gilt frame. She

did not now say those former terrible words to him, but looked simply,

merrily, and inquisitively at him. And Prince Andrew, crossing his

arms behind him, long paced the room, now frowning, now smiling, as

he reflected on those irrational, inexpressible thoughts, secret as a

crime, which altered his whole life and were connected with Pierre, with

fame, with the girl at the window, the oak, and womans beauty

and love. And if anyone came into his room at such moments he was

particularly cold, stern, and above all unpleasantly logical.



My dear, Princess Mary entering at such a moment would say,

little Nicholas cant go out today, its very cold.



If it were hot, Prince Andrew would reply at such times very dryly

to his sister, he could go out in his smock, but as it is cold he

must wear warm clothes, which were designed for that purpose. That is

what follows from the fact that it is cold and not that a child who

needs fresh air should remain at home, he would add with extreme

logic, as if punishing someone for those secret illogical emotions that

stirred within him.



At such moments Princess Mary would think how intellectual work dries

men up.











CHAPTER IV



Prince Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the time

when the youthful Spernski was at the zenith of his fame and his

reforms were being pushed forward with the greatest energy. That same

August the Emperor was thrown from his calche, injured his leg, and

remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Spernski every day and no

one else. At that time the two famous decrees were being prepared

that so agitated societyabolishing court ranks and introducing

examinations to qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and

State Councilorand not merely these but a whole state constitution,

intended to change the existing order of government in Russia legal,

administrative, and financial, from the Council of State down to the

district tribunals. Now those vague liberal dreams with which the

Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, and which he had tried to put

into effect with the aid of his associates, Czartorski, Novosltsev,

Kochuby, and Strgonovwhom he himself in jest had called his

Comit de salut publicwere taking shape and being realized.



Now all these men were replaced by Spernski on the civil side, and

Arakchev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as a

gentleman of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The

Emperor, though he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word.

It had always seemed to Prince Andrew before that he was antipathetic

to the Emperor and that the latter disliked his face and personality

generally, and in the cold, repellent glance the Emperor gave him, he

now found further confirmation of this surmise. The courtiers explained

the Emperors neglect of him by His Majestys displeasure at

Bolknskis not having served since 1805.



I know myself that one cannot help ones sympathies and

antipathies, thought Prince Andrew, so it will not do to present

my proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperor

personally, but the project will speak for itself.



He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend

of his fathers. The field marshal made an appointment to see him,

received him graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few

days later Prince Andrew received notice that he was to go to see the

Minister of War, Count Arakchev.





On the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakchevs waiting

room at nine in the morning.



He did not know Arakchev personally, had never seen him, and all he

had heard of him inspired him with but little respect for the man.



He is Minister of War, a man trusted by the Emperor, and I need not

concern myself about his personal qualities he has been commissioned to

consider my project, so he alone can get it adopted, thought Prince

Andrew as he waited among a number of important and unimportant people

in Count Arakchevs waiting room.



During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seen the

anterooms of many important men, and the different types of such rooms

were well known to him. Count Arakchevs anteroom had quite a

special character. The faces of the unimportant people awaiting their

turn for an audience showed embarrassment and servility the faces of

those of higher rank expressed a common feeling of awkwardness, covered

by a mask of unconcern and ridicule of themselves, their situation, and

the person for whom they were waiting. Some walked thoughtfully up and

down, others whispered and laughed. Prince Andrew heard the nickname

Sla Andrevich and the words, Uncle will give it to us

hot, in reference to Count Arakchev. One general (an important

personage), evidently feeling offended at having to wait so long, sat

crossing and uncrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself.



But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all

facesthat of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked the

adjutant on duty to take in his name, but received an ironical look and

was told that his turn would come in due course. After some others had

been shown in and out of the ministers room by the adjutant on duty,

an officer who struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated and frightened air

was admitted at that terrible door. This officers audience lasted a

long time. Then suddenly the grating sound of a harsh voice was heard

from the other side of the door, and the officerwith pale face and

trembling lipscame out and passed through the waiting room, clutching

his head.



After this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officer on

duty said in a whisper, To the right, at the window.



Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a man of

forty with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrinkles,

scowling brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and an overhanging red

nose. Arakchev turned his head toward him without looking at him.



What is your petition? asked Arakchev.



I am not petitioning, your excellency, returned Prince Andrew

quietly.



Arakchevs eyes turned toward him.



Sit down, said he. Prince Bolknski?



I am not petitioning about anything. His Majesty the Emperor has

deigned to send your excellency a project submitted by me...



You see, my dear sir, I have read your project, interrupted

Arakchev, uttering only the first words amiably and thenagain

without looking at Prince Andrewrelapsing gradually into a tone of

grumbling contempt. You are proposing new military laws? There are

many laws but no one to carry out the old ones. Nowadays everybody

designs laws, it is easier writing than doing.



I came at His Majesty the Emperors wish to learn from your

excellency how you propose to deal with the memorandum I have

presented, said Prince Andrew politely.



I have endorsed a resolution on your memorandum and sent it to the

committee. I do not approve of it, said Arakchev, rising and taking

a paper from his writing table. Here! and he handed it to Prince

Andrew.



Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, without capital letters,

misspelled, and without punctuation Unsoundly constructed because

resembles an imitation of the French military code and from the Articles

of War needlessly deviating.



To what committee has the memorandum been referred? inquired

Prince Andrew.



To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have recommended that

your honor should be appointed a member, but without a salary.



Prince Andrew smiled.



I dont want one.



A member without salary, repeated Arakchev. I have the

honor... Eh! Call the next one! Who else is there? he shouted, bowing

to Prince Andrew.











CHAPTER V



While waiting for the announcement of his appointment to the committee

Prince Andrew looked up his former acquaintances, particularly those he

knew to be in power and whose aid he might need. In Petersburg he now

experienced the same feeling he had had on the eve of a battle, when

troubled by anxious curiosity and irresistibly attracted to the ruling

circles where the future, on which the fate of millions depended, was

being shaped. From the irritation of the older men, the curiosity of the

uninitiated, the reserve of the initiated, the hurry and preoccupation

of everyone, and the innumerable committees and commissions of whose

existence he learned every day, he felt that now, in 1809, here in

Petersburg a vast civil conflict was in preparation, the commander in

chief of which was a mysterious person he did not know, but who was

supposed to be a man of geniusSpernski. And this movement of

reconstruction of which Prince Andrew had a vague idea, and Spernski

its chief promoter, began to interest him so keenly that the question

of the army regulations quickly receded to a secondary place in his

consciousness.



Prince Andrew was most favorably placed to secure good reception in the

highest and most diverse Petersburg circles of the day. The reforming

party cordially welcomed and courted him, in the first place because

he was reputed to be clever and very well read, and secondly because by

liberating his serfs he had obtained the reputation of being a liberal.

The party of the old and dissatisfied, who censured the innovations,

turned to him expecting his sympathy in their disapproval of the

reforms, simply because he was the son of his father. The feminine

society world welcomed him gladly, because he was rich, distinguished, a

good match, and almost a newcomer, with a halo of romance on account

of his supposed death and the tragic loss of his wife. Besides this

the general opinion of all who had known him previously was that he had

greatly improved during these last five years, having softened and grown

more manly, lost his former affectation, pride, and contemptuous irony,

and acquired the serenity that comes with years. People talked about

him, were interested in him, and wanted to meet him.



The day after his interview with Count Arakchev, Prince Andrew spent

the evening at Count Kochubys. He told the count of his interview

with Sla Andrevich (Kochuby spoke of Arakchev by that nickname

with the same vague irony Prince Andrew had noticed in the Minister of

Wars anteroom).



Mon cher, even in this case you cant do without Michael

Mikhylovich Spernski. He manages everything. Ill speak to him. He

has promised to come this evening.



What has Spernski to do with the army regulations? asked Prince

Andrew.



Kochuby shook his head smilingly, as if surprised at Bolknskis

simplicity.



We were talking to him about you a few days ago, Kochuby

continued, and about your freed plowmen.



Oh, is it you, Prince, who have freed your serfs? said an old man

of Catherines day, turning contemptuously toward Bolknski.



It was a small estate that brought in no profit, replied Prince

Andrew, trying to extenuate his action so as not to irritate the old man

uselessly.



Afraid of being late... said the old man, looking at Kochuby.



Theres one thing I dont understand, he continued. Who

will plow the land if they are set free? It is easy to write laws, but

difficult to rule.... Just the same as nowI ask you, Countwho will

be heads of the departments when everybody has to pass examinations?



Those who pass the examinations, I suppose, replied Kochuby,

crossing his legs and glancing round.



Well, I have Prynichnikov serving under me, a splendid man, a

priceless man, but hes sixty. Is he to go up for examination?



Yes, thats a difficulty, as education is not at all general,

but...



Count Kochuby did not finish. He rose, took Prince Andrew by the arm,

and went to meet a tall, bald, fair man of about forty with a large open

forehead and a long face of unusual and peculiar whiteness, who was

just entering. The newcomer wore a blue swallow-tail coat with a

cross suspended from his neck and a star on his left breast. It was

Spernski. Prince Andrew recognized him at once, and felt a throb

within him, as happens at critical moments of life. Whether it was from

respect, envy, or anticipation, he did not know. Spernskis whole

figure was of a peculiar type that made him easily recognizable. In

the society in which Prince Andrew lived he had never seen anyone who

together with awkward and clumsy gestures possessed such calmness and

self-assurance he had never seen so resolute yet gentle an expression

as that in those half-closed, rather humid eyes, or so firm a smile that

expressed nothing nor had he heard such a refined, smooth, soft

voice above all he had never seen such delicate whiteness of face or

handshands which were broad, but very plump, soft, and white. Such

whiteness and softness Prince Andrew had only seen on the faces of

soldiers who had been long in hospital. This was Spernski, Secretary

of State, reporter to the Emperor and his companion at Erfurt, where he

had more than once met and talked with Napoleon.



Spernski did not shift his eyes from one face to another as people

involuntarily do on entering a large company and was in no hurry to

speak. He spoke slowly, with assurance that he would be listened to, and

he looked only at the person with whom he was conversing.



Prince Andrew followed Spernskis every word and movement with

particular attention. As happens to some people, especially to men

who judge those near to them severely, he always on meeting

anyone newespecially anyone whom, like Spernski, he knew by

reputationexpected to discover in him the perfection of human

qualities.



Spernski told Kochuby he was sorry he had been unable to come sooner

as he had been detained at the palace. He did not say that the Emperor

had kept him, and Prince Andrew noticed this affectation of modesty.

When Kochuby introduced Prince Andrew, Spernski slowly turned

his eyes to Bolknski with his customary smile and looked at him in

silence.



I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I had heard of you, as

everyone has, he said after a pause.



Kochuby said a few words about the reception Arakchev had given

Bolknski. Spernski smiled more markedly.



The chairman of the Committee on Army Regulations is my good friend

Monsieur Magntski, he said, fully articulating every word and

syllable, and if you like I can put you in touch with him. He

paused at the full stop. I hope you will find him sympathetic and

ready to co-operate in promoting all that is reasonable.



A circle soon formed round Spernski, and the old man who had talked

about his subordinate Prynichnikov addressed a question to him.



Prince Andrew without joining in the conversation watched every movement

of Spernskis this man, not long since an insignificant divinity

student, who now, Bolknski thought, held in his handsthose plump

white handsthe fate of Russia. Prince Andrew was struck by the

extraordinarily disdainful composure with which Spernski answered

the old man. He appeared to address condescending words to him from

an immeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too loud,

Spernski smiled and said he could not judge of the advantage or

disadvantage of what pleased the sovereign.



Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Spernski rose

and coming up to Prince Andrew took him along to the other end of the

room. It was clear that he thought it necessary to interest himself in

Bolknski.



I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animated

conversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me, he said

with a mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smile that he

and Prince Andrew understood the insignificance of the people with whom

he had just been talking. This flattered Prince Andrew. I have known

of you for a long time first from your action with regard to your

serfs, a first example, of which it is very desirable that there should

be more imitators and secondly because you are one of those gentlemen

of the chamber who have not considered themselves offended by the new

decree concerning the ranks allotted to courtiers, which is causing so

much gossip and tittle-tattle.



No, said Prince Andrew, my father did not wish me to take

advantage of the privilege. I began the service from the lower grade.



Your father, a man of the last century, evidently stands above our

contemporaries who so condemn this measure which merely re-establishes

natural justice.



I think, however, that these condemnations have some ground,

returned Prince Andrew, trying to resist Spernskis influence, of

which he began to be conscious. He did not like to agree with him in

everything and felt a wish to contradict. Though he usually spoke easily

and well, he felt a difficulty in expressing himself now while talking

with Spernski. He was too much absorbed in observing the famous

mans personality.



Grounds of personal ambition maybe, Spernski put in quietly.



And of state interest to some extent, said Prince Andrew.



What do you mean? asked Spernski quietly, lowering his eyes.



I am an admirer of Montesquieu, replied Prince Andrew, and

his idea that le principe des monarchies est lhonneur me parat

incontestable. Certains droits et privilges de la noblesse me

paraissent tre des moyens de soutenir ce sentiment. *



     * The principle of monarchies is honor seems to me

     incontestable. Certain rights and privileges for the

     aristocracy appear to me a means of maintaining that

     sentiment.





The smile vanished from Spernskis white face, which was much

improved by the change. Probably Prince Andrews thought interested

him.



Si vous envisagez la question sous ce point de vue, * he began,

pronouncing French with evident difficulty, and speaking even slower

than in Russian but quite calmly.



    * If you regard the question from that point of view.





Spernski went on to say that honor, lhonneur, cannot be upheld by

privileges harmful to the service that honor, lhonneur, is either a

negative concept of not doing what is blameworthy or it is a source of

emulation in pursuit of commendation and rewards, which recognize it.

His arguments were concise, simple, and clear.



An institution upholding honor, the source of emulation, is one

similar to the Lgion dhonneur of the great Emperor Napoleon, not

harmful but helpful to the success of the service, but not a class or

court privilege.



I do not dispute that, but it cannot be denied that court privileges

have attained the same end, returned Prince Andrew. Every courtier

considers himself bound to maintain his position worthily.



Yet you do not care to avail yourself of the privilege, Prince,

said Spernski, indicating by a smile that he wished to finish amiably

an argument which was embarrassing for his companion. If you will

do me the honor of calling on me on Wednesday, he added, I will,

after talking with Magntski, 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  la franaise, without taking leave, and

trying to attract as little attention as possible, he left the room.











CHAPTER VI



During the first weeks of his stay in Petersburg Prince Andrew felt the

whole trend of thought he had formed during his life of seclusion quite

overshadowed by the trifling cares that engrossed him in that city.



On returning home in the evening he would jot down in his notebook four

or five necessary calls or appointments for certain hours. The mechanism

of life, the arrangement of the day so as to be in time everywhere,

absorbed the greater part of his vital energy. He did nothing, did

not even think or find time to think, but only talked, and talked

successfully, of what he had thought while in the country.



He sometimes noticed with dissatisfaction that he repeated the same

remark on the same day in different circles. But he was so busy for

whole days together that he had no time to notice that he was thinking

of nothing.



As he had done on their first meeting at Kochubys, Spernski

produced a strong impression on Prince Andrew on the Wednesday, when he

received him tte--tte at his own house and talked to him long and

confidentially.



To Bolknski so many people appeared contemptible and insignificant

creatures, and he so longed to find in someone the living ideal of that

perfection toward which he strove, that he readily believed that in

Spernski he had found this ideal of a perfectly rational and virtuous

man. Had Spernski sprung from the same class as himself and possessed

the same breeding and traditions, Bolknski would soon have discovered

his weak, human, unheroic sides but as it was, Spernskis strange

and logical turn of mind inspired him with respect all the more because

he did not quite understand him. Moreover, Spernski, either because he

appreciated the others capacity or because he considered it necessary

to win him to his side, showed off his dispassionate calm reasonableness

before Prince Andrew and flattered him with that subtle flattery which

goes hand in hand with self-assurance and consists in a tacit assumption

that ones companion is the only man besides oneself capable of

understanding the folly of the rest of mankind and the reasonableness

and profundity of ones own ideas.



During their long conversation on Wednesday evening, Spernski more

than once remarked We regard everything that is above the common

level of rooted custom... or, with a smile But we want the wolves

to be fed and the sheep to be safe... or They cannot understand

this... and all in a way that seemed to say We, you and I,

understand what they are and who we are.



This first long conversation with Spernski only strengthened in Prince

Andrew the feeling he had experienced toward him at their first meeting.

He saw in him a remarkable, clear-thinking man of vast intellect who by

his energy and persistence had attained power, which he was using solely

for the welfare of Russia. In Prince Andrews eyes Spernski was the

man he would himself have wished to beone who explained all the facts

of life reasonably, considered important only what was rational, and

was capable of applying the standard of reason to everything. Everything

seemed so simple and clear in Spernskis exposition that Prince

Andrew involuntarily agreed with him about everything. If he replied and

argued, it was only because he wished to maintain his independence and

not submit to Spernskis opinions entirely. Everything was right

and everything was as it should be only one thing disconcerted Prince

Andrew. This was Spernskis cold, mirrorlike look, which did not

allow one to penetrate to his soul, and his delicate white hands, which

Prince Andrew involuntarily watched as one does watch the hands of

those who possess power. This mirrorlike gaze and those delicate hands

irritated Prince Andrew, he knew not why. He was unpleasantly

struck, too, by the excessive contempt for others that he observed in

Spernski, and by the diversity of lines of argument he used to

support his opinions. He made use of every kind of mental device, except

analogy, and passed too boldly, it seemed to Prince Andrew, from one

to another. Now he would take up the position of a practical man and

condemn dreamers now that of a satirist, and laugh ironically at his

opponents now grow severely logical, or suddenly rise to the realm of

metaphysics. (This last resource was one he very frequently employed.)

He would transfer a question to metaphysical heights, pass on to

definitions of space, time, and thought, and, having deduced the

refutation he needed, would again descend to the level of the original

discussion.



In general the trait of Spernskis mentality which struck Prince

Andrew most was his absolute and unshakable belief in the power and

authority of reason. It was evident that the thought could never occur

to him which to Prince Andrew seemed so natural, namely, that it is

after all impossible to express all one thinks and that he had never

felt the doubt, Is not all I think and believe nonsense? And

it was just this peculiarity of Spernskis mind that particularly

attracted Prince Andrew.



During the first period of their acquaintance Bolknski felt a

passionate admiration for him similar to that which he had once felt for

Bonaparte. The fact that Spernski was the son of a village priest,

and that stupid people might meanly despise him on account of his

humble origin (as in fact many did), caused Prince Andrew to cherish his

sentiment for him the more, and unconsciously to strengthen it.



On that first evening Bolknski spent with him, having mentioned the

Commission for the Revision of the Code of Laws, Spernski told him

sarcastically that the Commission had existed for a hundred and fifty

years, had cost millions, and had done nothing except that Rosenkampf

had stuck labels on the corresponding paragraphs of the different codes.



And that is all the state has for the millions it has spent, said

he. We want to give the Senate new juridical powers, but we have no

laws. That is why it is a sin for men like you, Prince, not to serve in

these times!



Prince Andrew said that for that work an education in jurisprudence was

needed which he did not possess.



But nobody possesses it, so what would you have? It is a vicious

circle from which we must break a way out.



A week later Prince Andrew was a member of the Committee on Army

Regulations andwhat he had not at all expectedwas chairman of a

section of the committee for the revision of the laws. At Spernskis

request he took the first part of the Civil Code that was being drawn up

and, with the aid of the Code Napolon and the Institutes of Justinian,

he worked at formulating the section on Personal Rights.











CHAPTER VII



Nearly two years before this, in 1808, Pierre on returning to Petersburg

after visiting his estates had involuntarily found himself in a leading

position among the Petersburg Freemasons. He arranged dining and funeral

lodge meetings, enrolled new members, and busied himself uniting various

lodges and acquiring authentic charters. He gave money for the erection

of temples and supplemented as far as he could the collection of alms,

in regard to which the majority of members were stingy and irregular.

He supported almost singlehanded a poorhouse the order had founded in

Petersburg.



His life meanwhile continued as before, with the same infatuations and

dissipations. He liked to dine and drink well, and though he considered

it immoral and humiliating could not resist the temptations of the

bachelor circles in which he moved.



Amid the turmoil of his activities and distractions, however, Pierre at

the end of a year began to feel that the more firmly he tried to rest

upon it, the more Masonic ground on which he stood gave way under him.

At the same time he felt that the deeper the ground sank under him the

closer bound he involuntarily became to the order. When he had joined

the Freemasons he had experienced the feeling of one who confidently

steps onto the smooth surface of a bog. When he put his foot down it

sank in. To make quite sure of the firmness of the ground, he put

his other foot down and sank deeper still, became stuck in it, and

involuntarily waded knee-deep in the bog.



Joseph Alexevich was not in Petersburghe had of late stood aside

from the affairs of the Petersburg lodges, and lived almost entirely in

Moscow. All the members of the lodges were men Pierre knew in ordinary

life, and it was difficult for him to regard them merely as Brothers in

Freemasonry and not as Prince B. or Ivn Vaslevich D., whom he knew

in society mostly as weak and insignificant men. Under the Masonic

aprons and insignia he saw the uniforms and decorations at which they

aimed in ordinary life. Often after collecting alms, and reckoning up

twenty to thirty rubles received for the most part in promises from a

dozen members, of whom half were as well able to pay as himself, Pierre

remembered the Masonic vow in which each Brother promised to devote

all his belongings to his neighbor, and doubts on which he tried not to

dwell arose in his soul.



He divided the Brothers he knew into four categories. In the first he

put those who did not take an active part in the affairs of the lodges

or in human affairs, but were exclusively occupied with the mystical

science of the order with questions of the threefold designation of

God, the three primordial elementssulphur, mercury, and saltor

the meaning of the square and all the various figures of the temple of

Solomon. Pierre respected this class of Brothers to which the elder ones

chiefly belonged, including, Pierre thought, Joseph Alexevich himself,

but he did not share their interests. His heart was not in the mystical

aspect of Freemasonry.



In the second category Pierre reckoned himself and others like him,

seeking and vacillating, who had not yet found in Freemasonry a straight

and comprehensible path, but hoped to do so.



In the third category he included those Brothers (the majority) who saw

nothing in Freemasonry but the external forms and ceremonies, and prized

the strict performance of these forms without troubling about their

purport or significance. Such were Willarski and even the Grand Master

of the principal lodge.



Finally, to the fourth category also a great many Brothers belonged,

particularly those who had lately joined. These according to Pierres

observations were men who had no belief in anything, nor desire for

anything, but joined the Freemasons merely to associate with the wealthy

young Brothers who were influential through their connections or rank,

and of whom there were very many in the lodge.



Pierre began to feel dissatisfied with what he was doing. Freemasonry,

at any rate as he saw it here, sometimes seemed to him based merely

on externals. He did not think of doubting Freemasonry itself, but

suspected that Russian Masonry had taken a wrong path and deviated

from its original principles. And so toward the end of the year he went

abroad to be initiated into the higher secrets of the order.



In the summer of 1809 Pierre returned to Petersburg. Our Freemasons knew

from correspondence with those abroad that Bezkhov had obtained the

confidence of many highly placed persons, had been initiated into many

mysteries, had been raised to a higher grade, and was bringing back with

him much that might conduce to the advantage of the Masonic cause

in Russia. The Petersburg Freemasons all came to see him, tried to

ingratiate themselves with him, and it seemed to them all that he was

preparing something for them and concealing it.



A solemn meeting of the lodge of the second degree was convened, at

which Pierre promised to communicate to the Petersburg Brothers what

he had to deliver to them from the highest leaders of their order. The

meeting was a full one. After the usual ceremonies Pierre rose and began

his address.



Dear Brothers, he began, blushing and stammering, with a written

speech in his hand, it is not sufficient to observe our mysteries in

the seclusion of our lodgewe must actact! We are drowsing, but we

must act. Pierre raised his notebook and began to read.



For the dissemination of pure truth and to secure the triumph of

virtue, he read, we must cleanse men from prejudice, diffuse

principles in harmony with the spirit of the times, undertake the

education of the young, unite ourselves in indissoluble bonds with the

wisest men, boldly yet prudently overcome superstitions, infidelity, and

folly, and form of those devoted to us a body linked together by unity

of purpose and possessed of authority and power.



To attain this end we must secure a preponderance of virtue over vice

and must endeavor to secure that the honest man may, even in this world,

receive a lasting reward for his virtue. But in these great endeavors we

are gravely hampered by the political institutions of today. What is

to be done in these circumstances? To favor revolutions, overthrow

everything, repel force by force?... No! We are very far from that.

Every violent reform deserves censure, for it quite fails to remedy

evil while men remain what they are, and also because wisdom needs no

violence.



The whole plan of our order should be based on the idea of

preparing men of firmness and virtue bound together by unity of

convictionaiming at the punishment of vice and folly, and patronizing

talent and virtue raising worthy men from the dust and attaching

them to our Brotherhood. Only then will our order have the power

unobtrusively to bind the hands of the protectors of disorder and to

control them without their being aware of it. In a word, we must found a

form of government holding universal sway, which should be diffused over

the whole world without destroying the bonds of citizenship, and beside

which all other governments can continue in their customary course and

do everything except what impedes the great aim of our order, which

is to obtain for virtue the victory over vice. This aim was that of

Christianity itself. It taught men to be wise and good and for their

own benefit to follow the example and instruction of the best and wisest

men.



At that time, when everything was plunged in darkness, preaching

alone was of course sufficient. The novelty of Truth endowed her with

special strength, but now we need much more powerful methods. It is

now necessary that man, governed by his senses, should find in virtue

a charm palpable to those senses. It is impossible to eradicate the

passions but we must strive to direct them to a noble aim, and it is

therefore necessary that everyone should be able to satisfy his passions

within the limits of virtue. Our order should provide means to that end.



As soon as we have a certain number of worthy men in every state,

each of them again training two others and all being closely united,

everything will be possible for our order, which has already in secret

accomplished much for the welfare of mankind.



This speech not only made a strong impression, but created excitement in

the lodge. The majority of the Brothers, seeing in it dangerous designs

of Illuminism, * met it with a coldness that surprised Pierre. The Grand

Master began answering him, and Pierre began developing his views with

more and more warmth. It was long since there had been so stormy a

meeting. Parties were formed, some accusing Pierre of Illuminism, others

supporting him. At that meeting he was struck for the first time by

the endless variety of mens minds, which prevents a truth from ever

presenting itself identically to two persons. Even those members

who seemed to be on his side understood him in their own way with

limitations and alterations he could not agree to, as what he always

wanted most was to convey his thought to others just as he himself

understood it.



     * The Illuminati sought to substitute republican for

     monarchical institutions.



At the end of the meeting the Grand Master with irony and ill-will

reproved Bezkhov for his vehemence and said it was not love of virtue

alone, but also a love of strife that had moved him in the dispute.

Pierre did not answer him and asked briefly whether his proposal would

be accepted. He was told that it would not, and without waiting for the

usual formalities he left the lodge and went home.











CHAPTER VIII



Again Pierre was overtaken by the depression he so dreaded. For three

days after the delivery of his speech at the lodge he lay on a sofa at

home receiving no one and going nowhere.



It was just then that he received a letter from his wife, who implored

him to see her, telling him how grieved she was about him and how she

wished to devote her whole life to him.



At the end of the letter she informed him that in a few days she would

return to Petersburg from abroad.



Following this letter one of the Masonic Brothers whom Pierre respected

less than the others forced his way in to see him and, turning the

conversation upon Pierres matrimonial affairs, by way of fraternal

advice expressed the opinion that his severity to his wife was wrong

and that he was neglecting one of the first rules of Freemasonry by not

forgiving the penitent.



At the same time his mother-in-law, Prince Vaslis wife, sent to

him imploring him to come if only for a few minutes to discuss a most

important matter. Pierre saw that there was a conspiracy against him and

that they wanted to reunite him with his wife, and in the mood he then

was, this was not even unpleasant to him. Nothing mattered to him.

Nothing in life seemed to him of much importance, and under the

influence of the depression that possessed him he valued neither his

liberty nor his resolution to punish his wife.



No one is right and no one is to blame so she too is not to

blame, he thought.



If he did not at once give his consent to a reunion with his wife, it

was only because in his state of depression he did not feel able to take

any step. Had his wife come to him, he would not have turned her away.

Compared to what preoccupied him, was it not a matter of indifference

whether he lived with his wife or not?



Without replying either to his wife or his mother-in-law, Pierre late

one night prepared for a journey and started for Moscow to see Joseph

Alexevich. This is what he noted in his diary



Moscow, 17th November



I have just returned from my benefactor, and hasten to write down what I

have experienced. Joseph Alexevich is living poorly and has for three

years been suffering from a painful disease of the bladder. No one has

ever heard him utter a groan or a word of complaint. From morning till

late at night, except when he eats his very plain food, he is working

at science. He received me graciously and made me sit down on the bed

on which he lay. I made the sign of the Knights of the East and of

Jerusalem, and he responded in the same manner, asking me with a mild

smile what I had learned and gained in the Prussian and Scottish lodges.

I told him everything as best I could, and told him what I had proposed

to our Petersburg lodge, of the bad reception I had encountered, and of

my rupture with the Brothers. Joseph Alexevich, having remained silent

and thoughtful for a good while, told me his view of the matter, which

at once lit up for me my whole past and the future path I should follow.

He surprised me by asking whether I remembered the threefold aim of

the order (1) The preservation and study of the mystery. (2) The

purification and reformation of oneself for its reception, and (3) The

improvement of the human race by striving for such purification. Which

is the principal aim of these three? Certainly self-reformation and

self-purification. Only to this aim can we always strive independently

of circumstances. But at the same time just this aim demands the

greatest efforts of us and so, led astray by pride, losing sight of

this aim, we occupy ourselves either with the mystery which in our

impurity we are unworthy to receive, or seek the reformation of

the human race while ourselves setting an example of baseness and

profligacy. Illuminism is not a pure doctrine, just because it is

attracted by social activity and puffed up by pride. On this ground

Joseph Alexevich condemned my speech and my whole activity, and in the

depth of my soul I agreed with him. Talking of my family affairs he said

to me, the chief duty of a true Mason, as I have told you, lies in

perfecting himself. We often think that by removing all the difficulties

of our life we shall more quickly reach our aim, but on the contrary,

my dear sir, it is only in the midst of worldly cares that we can attain

our three chief aims (1) Self-knowledgefor man can only know himself

by comparison, (2) Self-perfecting, which can only be attained by

conflict, and (3) The attainment of the chief virtuelove of death.

Only the vicissitudes of life can show us its vanity and develop our

innate love of death or of rebirth to a new life. These words are all

the more remarkable because, in spite of his great physical sufferings,

Joseph Alexevich is never weary of life though he loves death, for

whichin spite of the purity and loftiness of his inner manhe does

not yet feel himself sufficiently prepared. My benefactor then explained

to me fully the meaning of the Great Square of creation and pointed out

to me that the numbers three and seven are the basis of everything. He

advised me not to avoid intercourse with the Petersburg Brothers, but

to take up only second-grade posts in the lodge, to try, while

diverting the Brothers from pride, to turn them toward the true path

self-knowledge and self-perfecting. Besides this he advised me for

myself personally above all to keep a watch over myself, and to that end

he gave me a notebook, the one I am now writing in and in which I will

in future note down all my actions.



Petersburg, 23rd November



I am again living with my wife. My mother-in-law came to me in tears and

said that Hlne was here and that she implored me to hear her that

she was innocent and unhappy at my desertion, and much more. I knew

that if I once let myself see her I should not have strength to go on

refusing what she wanted. In my perplexity I did not know whose aid and

advice to seek. Had my benefactor been here he would have told me what

to do. I went to my room and reread Joseph Alexevichs letters and

recalled my conversations with him, and deduced from it all that I

ought not to refuse a supplicant, and ought to reach a helping hand to

everyoneespecially to one so closely bound to meand that I must

bear my cross. But if I forgive her for the sake of doing right, then

let union with her have only a spiritual aim. That is what I decided,

and what I wrote to Joseph Alexevich. I told my wife that I begged her

to forget the past, to forgive me whatever wrong I may have done her,

and that I had nothing to forgive. It gave me joy to tell her this. She

need not know how hard it was for me to see her again. I have settled on

the upper floor of this big house and am experiencing a happy feeling of

regeneration.











CHAPTER IX



At that time, as always happens, the highest society that met at court

and at the grand balls was divided into several circles, each with its

own particular tone. The largest of these was the French circle of the

Napoleonic alliance, the circle of Count Rumyntsev and Caulaincourt.

In this group Hlne, as soon as she had settled in Petersburg with

her husband, took a very prominent place. She was visited by the members

of the French embassy and by many belonging to that circle and noted for

their intellect and polished manners.



Hlne had been at Erfurt during the famous meeting of the Emperors

and had brought from there these connections with the Napoleonic

notabilities. At Erfurt her success had been brilliant. Napoleon himself

had noticed her in the theater and said of her Cest un superbe

animal. * Her success as a beautiful and elegant woman did not

surprise Pierre, for she had become even handsomer than before. What did

surprise him was that during these last two years his wife had succeeded

in gaining the reputation d une femme charmante, aussi spirituelle

que belle. *(2) The distinguished Prince de Ligne wrote her

eight-page letters. Bilbin saved up his epigrams to produce them

in Countess Bezkhovas presence. To be received in the Countess

Bezkhovas salon was regarded as a diploma of intellect. Young men

read books before attending Hlnes evenings, to have something to

say in her salon, and secretaries of the embassy, and even ambassadors,

confided diplomatic secrets to her, so that in a way Hlne was a

power. Pierre, who knew she was very stupid, sometimes attended, with a

strange feeling of perplexity and fear, her evenings and dinner parties,

where politics, poetry, and philosophy were discussed. At these parties

his feelings were like those of a conjuror who always expects his trick

to be found out at any moment. But whether because stupidity was just

what was needed to run such a salon, or because those who were deceived

found pleasure in the deception, at any rate it remained unexposed and

Hlne Bezkhovas reputation as a lovely and clever woman became

so firmly established that she could say the emptiest and stupidest

things and everybody would go into raptures over every word of hers

and look for a profound meaning in it of which she herself had no

conception.



     * Thats a superb animal.



     * (2) Of a charming woman, as witty as she is lovely.





Pierre was just the husband needed for a brilliant society woman. He was

that absent-minded crank, a grand seigneur husband who was in no ones

way, and far from spoiling the high tone and general impression of the

drawing room, he served, by the contrast he presented to her, as an

advantageous background to his elegant and tactful wife. Pierre during

the last two years, as a result of his continual absorption in abstract

interests and his sincere contempt for all else, had acquired in his

wifes circle, which did not interest him, that air of unconcern,

indifference, and benevolence toward all, which cannot be acquired

artificially and therefore inspires involuntary respect. He entered

his wifes drawing room as one enters a theater, was acquainted with

everybody, equally pleased to see everyone, and equally indifferent to

them all. Sometimes he joined in a conversation which interested him

and, regardless of whether any gentlemen of the embassy were

present or not, lispingly expressed his views, which were sometimes not

at all in accord with the accepted tone of the moment. But the general

opinion concerning the queer husband of the most distinguished woman

in Petersburg was so well established that no one took his freaks

seriously.



Among the many young men who frequented her house every day, Bors

Drubetsky, who had already achieved great success in the service, was

the most intimate friend of the Bezkhov household since Hlnes

return from Erfurt. Hlne spoke of him as mon page and treated

him like a child. Her smile for him was the same as for everybody,

but sometimes that smile made Pierre uncomfortable. Toward him Bors

behaved with a particularly dignified and sad deference. This shade

of deference also disturbed Pierre. He had suffered so painfully three

years before from the mortification to which his wife had subjected him

that he now protected himself from the danger of its repetition, first

by not being a husband to his wife, and secondly by not allowing himself

to suspect.



No, now that she has become a bluestocking she has finally renounced

her former infatuations, he told himself. There has never been

an instance of a bluestocking being carried away by affairs of the

hearta statement which, though gathered from an unknown source,

he believed implicitly. Yet strange to say Bors presence in his

wifes drawing room (and he was almost always there) had a physical

effect upon Pierre it constricted his limbs and destroyed the

unconsciousness and freedom of his movements.



What a strange antipathy, thought Pierre, yet I used to like

him very much.



In the eyes of the world Pierre was a great gentleman, the rather blind

and absurd husband of a distinguished wife, a clever crank who did

nothing but harmed nobody and was a first-rate, good-natured fellow. But

a complex and difficult process of internal development was taking place

all this time in Pierres soul, revealing much to him and causing him

many spiritual doubts and joys.











CHAPTER X



Pierre went on with his diary, and this is what he wrote in it during

that time





24th November



Got up at eight, read the Scriptures, then went to my duties. (By Joseph

Alexevichs advice Pierre had entered the service of the state and

served on one of the committees.) Returned home for dinner and dined

alonethe countess had many visitors I do not like. I ate and drank

moderately and after dinner copied out some passages for the Brothers.

In the evening I went down to the countess and told a funny story about

B., and only remembered that I ought not to have done so when everybody

laughed loudly at it.



I am going to bed with a happy and tranquil mind. Great God, help me to

walk in Thy paths, (1) to conquer anger by calmness and deliberation,

(2) to vanquish lust by self-restraint and repulsion, (3) to withdraw

from worldliness, but not avoid (a) the service of the state, (b) family

duties, (c) relations with my friends, and the management of my affairs.





27th November



I got up late. On waking I lay long in bed yielding to sloth. O God,

help and strengthen me that I may walk in Thy ways! Read the Scriptures,

but without proper feeling. Brother Ursov came and we talked about

worldly vanities. He told me of the Emperors new projects. I began

to criticize them, but remembered my rules and my benefactors

wordsthat a true Freemason should be a zealous worker for the state

when his aid is required and a quiet onlooker when not called on to

assist. My tongue is my enemy. Brothers G. V. and O. visited me and we

had a preliminary talk about the reception of a new Brother. They laid

on me the duty of Rhetor. I feel myself weak and unworthy. Then our

talk turned to the interpretation of the seven pillars and steps of the

Temple, the seven sciences, the seven virtues, the seven vices, and the

seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Brother O. was very eloquent. In the

evening the admission took place. The new decoration of the Premises

contributed much to the magnificence of the spectacle. It was Bors

Drubetsky who was admitted. I nominated him and was the Rhetor. A

strange feeling agitated me all the time I was alone with him in the

dark chamber. I caught myself harboring a feeling of hatred toward him

which I vainly tried to overcome. That is why I should really like

to save him from evil and lead him into the path of truth, but evil

thoughts of him did not leave me. It seemed to me that his object in

entering the Brotherhood was merely to be intimate and in favor with

members of our lodge. Apart from the fact that he had asked me several

times whether N. and S. were members of our lodge (a question to which I

could not reply) and that according to my observation he is incapable of

feeling respect for our holy order and is too preoccupied and satisfied

with the outer man to desire spiritual improvement, I had no cause to

doubt him, but he seemed to me insincere, and all the time I stood

alone with him in the dark temple it seemed to me that he was smiling

contemptuously at my words, and I wished really to stab his bare breast

with the sword I held to it. I could not be eloquent, nor could I

frankly mention my doubts to the Brothers and to the Grand Master. Great

Architect of Nature, help me to find the true path out of the labyrinth

of lies!





After this, three pages were left blank in the diary, and then the

following was written





I have had a long and instructive talk alone with Brother V., who

advised me to hold fast by Brother A. Though I am unworthy, much was

revealed to me. Adonai is the name of the creator of the world. Elohim

is the name of the ruler of all. The third name is the name unutterable

which means the All. Talks with Brother V. strengthen, refresh, and

support me in the path of virtue. In his presence doubt has no place.

The distinction between the poor teachings of mundane science and our

sacred all-embracing teaching is clear to me. Human sciences dissect

everything to comprehend it, and kill everything to examine it. In the

holy science of our order all is one, all is known in its entirety and

life. The Trinitythe three elements of matterare sulphur, mercury,

and salt. Sulphur is of an oily and fiery nature in combination with

salt by its fiery nature it arouses a desire in the latter by means

of which it attracts mercury, seizes it, holds it, and in combination

produces other bodies. Mercury is a fluid, volatile, spiritual essence.

Christ, the Holy Spirit, Him!...





3rd December



Awoke late, read the Scriptures but was apathetic. Afterwards went and

paced up and down the large hall. I wished to meditate, but instead my

imagination pictured an occurrence of four years ago, when Dlokhov,

meeting me in Moscow after our duel, said he hoped I was enjoying

perfect peace of mind in spite of my wifes absence. At the time I

gave him no answer. Now I recalled every detail of that meeting and in

my mind gave him the most malevolent and bitter replies. I recollected

myself and drove away that thought only when I found myself glowing with

anger, but I did not sufficiently repent. Afterwards Bors Drubetsky

came and began relating various adventures. His coming vexed me from the

first, and I said something disagreeable to him. He replied. I flared

up and said much that was unpleasant and even rude to him. He became

silent, and I recollected myself only when it was too late. My God, I

cannot get on with him at all. The cause of this is my egotism. I set

myself above him and so become much worse than he, for he is lenient

to my rudeness while I on the contrary nourish contempt for him. O God,

grant that in his presence I may rather see my own vileness, and behave

so that he too may benefit. After dinner I fell asleep and as I was

drowsing off I clearly heard a voice saying in my left ear, Thy

day!



I dreamed that I was walking in the dark and was suddenly surrounded by

dogs, but I went on undismayed. Suddenly a smallish dog seized my left

thigh with its teeth and would not let go. I began to throttle it with

my hands. Scarcely had I torn it off before another, a bigger one, began

biting me. I lifted it up, but the higher I lifted it the bigger and

heavier it grew. And suddenly Brother A. came and, taking my arm, led

me to a building to enter which we had to pass along a narrow plank.

I stepped on it, but it bent and gave way and I began to clamber up a

fence which I could scarcely reach with my hands. After much effort I

dragged myself up, so that my leg hung down on one side and my body on

the other. I looked round and saw Brother A. standing on the fence and

pointing me to a broad avenue and garden, and in the garden was a large

and beautiful building. I woke up. O Lord, great Architect of Nature,

help me to tear from myself these dogsmy passions especially the

last, which unites in itself the strength of all the former ones, and

aid me to enter that temple of virtue to a vision of which I attained in

my dream.





7th December



I dreamed that Joseph Alexevich was sitting in my house, and that I

was very glad and wished to entertain him. It seemed as if I chattered

incessantly with other people and suddenly remembered that this could

not please him, and I wished to come close to him and embrace him. But

as soon as I drew near I saw that his face had changed and grown young,

and he was quietly telling me something about the teaching of our order,

but so softly that I could not hear it. Then it seemed that we all left

the room and something strange happened. We were sitting or lying on

the floor. He was telling me something, and I wished to show him my

sensibility, and not listening to what he was saying I began picturing

to myself the condition of my inner man and the grace of God sanctifying

me. And tears came into my eyes, and I was glad he noticed this. But he

looked at me with vexation and jumped up, breaking off his remarks. I

felt abashed and asked whether what he had been saying did not concern

me but he did not reply, gave me a kind look, and then we suddenly

found ourselves in my bedroom where there is a double bed. He lay down

on the edge of it and I burned with longing to caress him and lie down

too. And he said, Tell me frankly what is your chief temptation? Do

you know it? I think you know it already. Abashed by this question,

I replied that sloth was my chief temptation. He shook his head

incredulously and even more abashed, I said that though I was living

with my wife as he advised, I was not living with her as her husband. To

this he replied that one should not deprive a wife of ones embraces

and gave me to understand that that was my duty. But I replied that

I should be ashamed to do it, and suddenly everything vanished. And I

awoke and found in my mind the text from the Gospel The life was

the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness and the darkness

comprehended it not. Joseph Alexevichs face had looked young

and bright. That day I received a letter from my benefactor in which he

wrote about conjugal duties.





9th December



I had a dream from which I awoke with a throbbing heart. I saw that

I was in Moscow in my house, in the big sitting room, and Joseph

Alexevich came in from the drawing room. I seemed to know at once that

the process of regeneration had already taken place in him, and I rushed

to meet him. I embraced him and kissed his hands, and he said, Hast

thou noticed that my face is different? I looked at him, still

holding him in my arms, and saw that his face was young, but that he

had no hair on his head and his features were quite changed. And I said,

I should have known you had I met you by chance, and I thought to

myself, Am I telling the truth? And suddenly I saw him lying like

a dead body then he gradually recovered and went with me into my study

carrying a large book of sheets of drawing paper I said, I drew

that, and he answered by bowing his head. I opened the book, and on

all the pages there were excellent drawings. And in my dream I knew

that these drawings represented the love adventures of the soul with its

beloved. And on its pages I saw a beautiful representation of a maiden

in transparent garments and with a transparent body, flying up to the

clouds. And I seemed to know that this maiden was nothing else than a

representation of the Song of Songs. And looking at those drawings I

dreamed I felt that I was doing wrong, but could not tear myself away

from them. Lord, help me! My God, if Thy forsaking me is Thy doing, Thy

will be done but if I am myself the cause, teach me what I should do! I

shall perish of my debauchery if Thou utterly desertest me!











CHAPTER XI



The Rostvs monetary affairs had not improved during the two years

they had spent in the country.



Though Nicholas Rostv had kept firmly to his resolution and was still

serving modestly in an obscure regiment, spending comparatively little,

the way of life at OtrdnoeMtenkas management of affairs, in

particularwas such that the debts inevitably increased every year.

The only resource obviously presenting itself to the old count was to

apply for an official post, so he had come to Petersburg to look for one

and also, as he said, to let the lassies enjoy themselves for the last

time.



Soon after their arrival in Petersburg Berg proposed to Vra and was

accepted.



Though in Moscow the Rostvs belonged to the best society without

themselves giving it a thought, yet in Petersburg their circle of

acquaintances was a mixed and indefinite one. In Petersburg they were

provincials, and the very people they had entertained in Moscow without

inquiring to what set they belonged, here looked down on them.



The Rostvs lived in the same hospitable way in Petersburg as in

Moscow, and the most diverse people met at their suppers. Country

neighbors from Otrdnoe, impoverished old squires and their daughters,

Pernskaya a maid of honor, Pierre Bezkhov, and the son of their

district postmaster who had obtained a post in Petersburg. Among the

men who very soon became frequent visitors at the Rostvs house in

Petersburg were Bors, Pierre whom the count had met in the street and

dragged home with him, and Berg who spent whole days at the Rostvs

and paid the eldest daughter, Countess Vra, the attentions a young man

pays when he intends to propose.



Not in vain had Berg shown everybody his right hand wounded at

Austerlitz and held a perfectly unnecessary sword in his left. He

narrated that episode so persistently and with so important an air that

everyone believed in the merit and usefulness of his deed, and he had

obtained two decorations for Austerlitz.



In the Finnish war he also managed to distinguish himself. He had picked

up the scrap of a grenade that had killed an aide-de-camp standing near

the commander in chief and had taken it to his commander. Just as he had

done after Austerlitz, he related this occurrence at such length and

so insistently that everyone again believed it had been necessary to do

this, and he received two decorations for the Finnish war also. In

1809 he was a captain in the Guards, wore medals, and held some special

lucrative posts in Petersburg.



Though some skeptics smiled when told of Bergs merits, it could not

be denied that he was a painstaking and brave officer, on excellent

terms with his superiors, and a moral young man with a brilliant career

before him and an assured position in society.



Four years before, meeting a German comrade in the stalls of a Moscow

theater, Berg had pointed out Vra Rostva to him and had said in

German, das soll mein Weib werden, * and from that moment had

made up his mind to marry her. Now in Petersburg, having considered the

Rostvs position and his own, he decided that the time had come to

propose.



    * That girl shall be my wife.





Bergs proposal was at first received with a perplexity that was not

flattering to him. At first it seemed strange that the son of an obscure

Livonian gentleman should propose marriage to a Countess Rostva but

Bergs chief characteristic was such a nave and good natured egotism

that the Rostvs involuntarily came to think it would be a good thing,

since he himself was so firmly convinced that it was good, indeed

excellent. Moreover, the Rostvs affairs were seriously embarrassed,

as the suitor could not but know and above all, Vra was twenty-four,

had been taken out everywhere, and though she was certainly good-looking

and sensible, no one up to now had proposed to her. So they gave their

consent.



You see, said Berg to his comrade, whom he called friend

only because he knew that everyone has friends, you see, I have

considered it all, and should not marry if I had not thought it all out

or if it were in any way unsuitable. But on the contrary, my papa and

mamma are now provided forI have arranged that rent for them in the

Baltic Provincesand I can live in Petersburg on my pay, and with

her fortune and my good management we can get along nicely. I am not

marrying for moneyI consider that dishonorablebut a wife should

bring her share and a husband his. I have my position in the service,

she has connections and some means. In our times that is worth

something, isnt it? But above all, she is a handsome, estimable girl,

and she loves me....



Berg blushed and smiled.



And I love her, because her character is sensible and very good.

Now the other sister, though they are the same family, is quite

differentan unpleasant character and has not the same intelligence.

She is so... you know?... Unpleasant... But my fiance!... Well, you

will be coming, he was going to say, to dine, but changed his

mind and said to take tea with us, and quickly doubling up his

tongue he blew a small round ring of tobacco smoke, perfectly embodying

his dream of happiness.



After the first feeling of perplexity aroused in the parents by Bergs

proposal, the holiday tone of joyousness usual at such times took

possession of the family, but the rejoicing was external and insincere.

In the familys feeling toward this wedding a certain awkwardness

and constraint was evident, as if they were ashamed of not having loved

Vra sufficiently and of being so ready to get her off their hands. The

old count felt this most. He would probably have been unable to state

the cause of his embarrassment, but it resulted from the state of his

affairs. He did not know at all how much he had, what his debts amounted

to, or what dowry he could give Vra. When his daughters were born

he had assigned to each of them, for her dowry, an estate with three

hundred serfs but one of these estates had already been sold, and the

other was mortgaged and the interest so much in arrears that it would

have to be sold, so that it was impossible to give it to Vra. Nor had

he any money.



Berg had already been engaged a month, and only a week remained before

the wedding, but the count had not yet decided in his own mind the

question of the dowry, nor spoken to his wife about it. At one time the

count thought of giving her the Ryazn estate or of selling a forest,

at another time of borrowing money on a note of hand. A few days before

the wedding Berg entered the counts study early one morning and, with

a pleasant smile, respectfully asked his future father-in-law to let

him know what Vras dowry would be. The count was so disconcerted by

this long-foreseen inquiry that without consideration he gave the first

reply that came into his head. I like your being businesslike about

it.... I like it. You shall be satisfied....



And patting Berg on the shoulder he got up, wishing to end the

conversation. But Berg, smiling pleasantly, explained that if he did not

know for certain how much Vra would have and did not receive at least

part of the dowry in advance, he would have to break matters off.



Because, consider, Countif I allowed myself to marry now

without having definite means to maintain my wife, I should be acting

badly....



The conversation ended by the count, who wished to be generous and to

avoid further importunity, saying that he would give a note of hand

for eighty thousand rubles. Berg smiled meekly, kissed the count on the

shoulder, and said that he was very grateful, but that it was impossible

for him to arrange his new life without receiving thirty thousand in

ready money. Or at least twenty thousand, Count, he added, and

then a note of hand for only sixty thousand.



Yes, yes, all right! said the count hurriedly. Only excuse me,

my dear fellow, Ill give you twenty thousand and a note of hand for

eighty thousand as well. Yes, yes! Kiss me.











CHAPTER XII



Natsha was sixteen and it was the year 1809, the very year to which

she had counted on her fingers with Bors after they had kissed four

years ago. Since then she had not seen him. Before Snya and her

mother, if Bors happened to be mentioned, she spoke quite freely of

that episode as of some childish, long-forgotten matter that was not

worth mentioning. But in the secret depths of her soul the question

whether her engagement to Bors was a jest or an important, binding

promise tormented her.



Since Bors left Moscow in 1805 to join the army he had not seen the

Rostvs. He had been in Moscow several times, and had passed near

Otrdnoe, but had never been to see them.



Sometimes it occurred to Natsha that he did not wish to see her, and

this conjecture was confirmed by the sad tone in which her elders spoke

of him.



Nowadays old friends are not remembered, the countess would say

when Bors was mentioned.



Anna Mikhylovna also had of late visited them less frequently, seemed

to hold herself with particular dignity, and always spoke rapturously

and gratefully of the merits of her son and the brilliant career on

which he had entered. When the Rostvs came to Petersburg Bors called

on them.



He drove to their house in some agitation. The memory of Natsha was

his most poetic recollection. But he went with the firm intention of

letting her and her parents feel that the childish relations between

himself and Natsha could not be binding either on her or on him. He

had a brilliant position in society thanks to his intimacy with Countess

Bezkhova, a brilliant position in the service thanks to the patronage

of an important personage whose complete confidence he enjoyed, and he

was beginning to make plans for marrying one of the richest heiresses in

Petersburg, plans which might very easily be realized. When he entered

the Rostvs drawing room Natsha was in her own room. When she

heard of his arrival she almost ran into the drawing room, flushed and

beaming with a more than cordial smile.



Bors remembered Natsha in a short dress, with dark eyes shining from

under her curls and boisterous, childish laughter, as he had known her

four years before and so he was taken aback when quite a different

Natsha entered, and his face expressed rapturous astonishment. This

expression on his face pleased Natsha.



Well, do you recognize your little madcap playmate? asked the

countess.



Bors kissed Natshas hand and said that he was astonished at the

change in her.



How handsome you have grown!



I should think so! replied Natshas laughing eyes.



And is Papa older? she asked.



Natsha sat down and, without joining in Bors conversation with

the countess, silently and minutely studied her childhoods suitor. He

felt the weight of that resolute and affectionate scrutiny and glanced

at her occasionally.



Bors uniform, spurs, tie, and the way his hair was brushed were all

comme il faut and in the latest fashion. This Natsha noticed at once.

He sat rather sideways in the armchair next to the countess, arranging

with his right hand the cleanest of gloves that fitted his left hand

like a skin, and he spoke with a particularly refined compression of his

lips about the amusements of the highest Petersburg society, recalling

with mild irony old times in Moscow and Moscow acquaintances. It was

not accidentally, Natsha felt, that he alluded, when speaking of the

highest aristocracy, to an ambassadors ball he had attended, and to

invitations he had received from N.N. and S.S.



All this time Natsha sat silent, glancing up at him from under her

brows. This gaze disturbed and confused Bors more and more. He looked

round more frequently toward her, and broke off in what he was saying.

He did not stay more than ten minutes, then rose and took his leave. The

same inquisitive, challenging, and rather mocking eyes still looked

at him. After his first visit Bors said to himself that Natsha

attracted him just as much as ever, but that he must not yield to that

feeling, because to marry her, a girl almost without fortune, would

mean ruin to his career, while to renew their former relations without

intending to marry her would be dishonorable. Bors made up his mind

to avoid meeting Natsha, but despite that resolution he called again

a few days later and began calling often and spending whole days at the

Rostvs. It seemed to him that he ought to have an explanation with

Natsha and tell her that the old times must be forgotten, that in

spite of everything... she could not be his wife, that he had no means,

and they would never let her marry him. But he failed to do so and felt

awkward about entering on such an explanation. From day to day he

became more and more entangled. It seemed to her mother and Snya that

Natsha was in love with Bors as of old. She sang him his favorite

songs, showed him her album, making him write in it, did not allow him

to allude to the past, letting it be understood how delightful was the

present and every day he went away in a fog, without having said what

he meant to, and not knowing what he was doing or why he came, or how

it would all end. He left off visiting Hlne and received reproachful

notes from her every day, and yet he continued to spend whole days with

the Rostvs.











CHAPTER XIII



One night when the old countess, in nightcap and dressing jacket,

without her false curls, and with her poor little knob of hair showing

under her white cotton cap, knelt sighing and groaning on a rug and

bowing to the ground in prayer, her door creaked and Natsha, also in

a dressing jacket with slippers on her bare feet and her hair in

curlpapers, ran in. The countessher prayerful mood dispelledlooked

round and frowned. She was finishing her last prayer Can it be that

this couch will be my grave? Natsha, flushed and eager, seeing

her mother in prayer, suddenly checked her rush, half sat down, and

unconsciously put out her tongue as if chiding herself. Seeing that

her mother was still praying she ran on tiptoe to the bed and, rapidly

slipping one little foot against the other, pushed off her slippers and

jumped onto the bed the countess had feared might become her grave. This

couch was high, with a feather bed and five pillows each smaller than

the one below. Natsha jumped on it, sank into the feather bed, rolled

over to the wall, and began snuggling up the bedclothes as she settled

down, raising her knees to her chin, kicking out and laughing almost

inaudibly, now covering herself up head and all, and now peeping at her

mother. The countess finished her prayers and came to the bed with a

stern face, but seeing, that Natshas head was covered, she smiled

in her kind, weak way.



Now then, now then! said she.



Mamma, can we have a talk? Yes? said Natsha. Now, just one on

your throat and another... thatll do! And seizing her mother round

the neck, she kissed her on the throat. In her behavior to her mother

Natsha seemed rough, but she was so sensitive and tactful that however

she clasped her mother she always managed to do it without hurting her

or making her feel uncomfortable or displeased.



Well, what is it tonight? said the mother, having arranged her

pillows and waited until Natsha, after turning over a couple of times,

had settled down beside her under the quilt, spread out her arms, and

assumed a serious expression.



These visits of Natshas at night before the count returned from his

club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, and daughter.



What is it tonight?But I have to tell you...



Natsha put her hand on her mothers mouth.



About Bors... I know, she said seriously thats what I

have come about. Dont say itI know. No, do tell me! and she

removed her hand. Tell me, Mamma! Hes nice?



Natsha, you are sixteen. At your age I was married. You say Bors

is nice. He is very nice, and I love him like a son. But what then?...

What are you thinking about? You have quite turned his head, I can see

that....



As she said this the countess looked round at her daughter. Natsha

was lying looking steadily straight before her at one of the mahogany

sphinxes carved on the corners of the bedstead, so that the countess

only saw her daughters face in profile. That face struck her by its

peculiarly serious and concentrated expression.



Natsha 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 cant marry him.



Why not? said Natsha, without changing her position.



Because he is young, because he is poor, because he is a relation...

and because you yourself dont love him.



How do you know?



I know. It is not right, darling!



But if I want to... said Natsha.



Leave off talking nonsense, said the countess.



But if I want to...



Natsha, I am in earnest...



Natsha did not let her finish. She drew the countess large hand to

her, kissed it on the back and then on the palm, then again turned it

over and began kissing first one knuckle, then the space between the

knuckles, then the next knuckle, whispering, January, February,

March, April, May. Speak, Mamma, why dont you say anything? Speak!

said she, turning to her mother, who was tenderly gazing at her daughter

and in that contemplation seemed to have forgotten all she had wished to

say.



It wont do, my love! Not everyone will understand this friendship

dating from your childish days, and to see him so intimate with you may

injure you in the eyes of other young men who visit us, and above all

it torments him for nothing. He may already have found a suitable and

wealthy match, and now hes half crazy.



Crazy? repeated Natsha.



Ill tell you some things about myself. I had a cousin...



I know! Cyril Matvich... but he is old.



He was not always old. But this is what Ill do, Natsha, Ill

have a talk with Bors. 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, dont speak to him! What nonsense!

said Natsha in the tone of one being deprived of her property.

Well, I wont marry, but let him come if he enjoys it and I enjoy

it. Natsha smiled and looked at her mother. Not to marry, but

just so, she added.



How so, my pet?



Just so. Theres no need for me to marry him. But... just so.



Just so, just so, repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she

went off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh.



Dont laugh, stop! cried Natsha. Youre shaking the whole

bed! Youre awfully like me, just such another giggler.... Wait...

and she seized the countess hands and kissed a knuckle of the little

finger, saying, June, and continued, kissing, July, August,

on the other hand. But, Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you

think? Was anybody ever so much in love with you? And hes very nice,

very, very nice. Only not quite my tastehe is so narrow, like the

dining-room clock.... Dont you understand? Narrow, you knowgray,

light gray...



What rubbish youre talking! said the countess.



Natsha continued Dont you really understand? Nicholas would

understand.... Bezkhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and he is

square.



You flirt with him too, said the countess, laughing.



No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. He is fine, dark-blue and

red.... How can I explain it to you?



Little countess! the counts voice called from behind the door.

Youre not asleep? Natsha jumped up, snatched up her slippers,

and ran barefoot to her own room.



It was a long time before she could sleep. She kept thinking that no one

could understand all that she understood and all there was in her.



Snya? she thought, glancing at that curled-up, sleeping little

kitten with her enormous plait of hair. No, how could she? Shes

virtuous. She fell in love with Nicholas and does not wish to know

anything more. Even Mamma does not understand. It is wonderful how

clever I am and how... charming she is, she went on, speaking

of herself in the third person, and imagining it was some very wise

manthe wisest and best of menwho was saying it of her. There

is everything, everything in her, continued this man. She is

unusually intelligent, charming... and then she is pretty, uncommonly

pretty, and agileshe swims and rides splendidly... and her voice! One

can really say its a wonderful voice!



She hummed a scrap from her favorite opera by Cherubini, threw herself

on her bed, laughed at the pleasant thought that she would immediately

fall asleep, called Dunysha the maid to put out the candle, and before

Dunysha had left the room had already passed into yet another happier

world of dreams, where everything was as light and beautiful as in

reality, and even more so because it was different.



Next day the countess called Bors aside and had a talk with him, after

which he ceased coming to the Rostvs.











CHAPTER XIV



On the thirty-first of December, New Years Eve, 1809 - 10 an old

grandee of Catherines day was giving a ball and midnight supper. The

diplomatic corps and the Emperor himself were to be present.



The grandees well-known mansion on the English Quay glittered with

innumerable lights. Police were stationed at the brightly lit entrance

which was carpeted with red baize, and not only gendarmes but dozens of

police officers and even the police master himself stood at the porch.

Carriages kept driving away and fresh ones arriving, with red-liveried

footmen and footmen in plumed hats. From the carriages emerged men

wearing uniforms, stars, and ribbons, while ladies in satin and ermine

cautiously descended the carriage steps which were let down for them

with a clatter, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize

at the entrance.



Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran through the

crowd and caps were doffed.



The Emperor?... No, a minister... prince... ambassador. Dont you

see the plumes?... was whispered among the crowd.



One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and

mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.



A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostvs, who were

to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed.



There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the

Rostv family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive, that

the dresses would not be ready, or that something would not be arranged

as it should be.



Mrya Igntevna Pernskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor at

the court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation of the

countess and piloted the provincial Rostvs in Petersburg high society,

was to accompany them to the ball.



They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens at ten

oclock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the girls were

not yet dressed.



Natsha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eight that

morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity all day. All

her powers since morning had been concentrated on ensuring that they

allshe herself, Mamma, and Snyashould be as well dressed as

possible. Snya and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands.

The countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and the two

girls white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices and

their hair dressed  la grecque.



Everything essential had already been done feet, hands, necks, and

ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball the openwork

silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were already on the

hairdressing was almost done. Snya was finishing dressing and so was

the countess, but Natsha, who had bustled about helping them all, was

behindhand. She was still sitting before a looking-glass with a dressing

jacket thrown over her slender shoulders. Snya stood ready dressed in

the middle of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her

dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went

through it.



Thats not the way, thats not the way, Snya! cried Natsha

turning her head and clutching with both hands at her hair which the

maid who was dressing it had not time to release. That bow is not

right. Come here!



Snya sat down and Natsha pinned the ribbon on differently.



Allow me, Miss! I cant do it like that, said the maid who was

holding Natshas hair.



Oh, dear! Well then, wait. Thats right, Snya.



Arent you ready? It is nearly ten, came the countess voice.



Directly! Directly! And you, Mamma?



I have only my cap to pin on.



Dont do it without me! called Natsha. You wont do it

right.



But its already ten.



They had decided to be at the ball by half-past ten, and Natsha had

still to get dressed and they had to call at the Taurida Gardens.



When her hair was done, Natsha, in her short petticoat from under

which her dancing shoes showed, and in her mothers dressing jacket,

ran up to Snya, scrutinized her, and then ran to her mother. Turning

her mothers head this way and that, she fastened on the cap and,

hurriedly kissing her gray hair, ran back to the maids who were turning

up the hem of her skirt.



The cause of the delay was Natshas skirt, which was too long.

Two maids were turning up the hem and hurriedly biting off the ends of

thread. A third with pins in her mouth was running about between the

countess and Snya, and a fourth held the whole of the gossamer garment

up high on one uplifted hand.



Mvra, quicker, darling!



Give me my thimble, Miss, from there...



Whenever will you be ready? asked the count coming to the door.

Here is some scent. Pernskaya must be tired of waiting.



Its ready, Miss, said the maid, holding up the shortened gauze

dress with two fingers, and blowing and shaking something off it, as if

by this to express a consciousness of the airiness and purity of what

she held.



Natsha began putting on the dress.



In a minute! In a minute! Dont come in, Papa! she cried to her

father as he opened the doorspeaking from under the filmy skirt which

still covered her whole face.



Snya slammed the door to. A minute later they let the count in. He was

wearing a blue swallow-tail coat, shoes and stockings, and was perfumed

and his hair pomaded.



Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming! cried Natsha, as she

stood in the middle of the room smoothing out the folds of the gauze.



If you please, Miss! allow me, said the maid, who on her knees was

pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her

mouth to the other with her tongue.



Say what you like, exclaimed Snya, in a despairing voice as she

looked at Natsha, say what you like, its still too long.



Natsha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress

was too long.



Really, madam, it is not at all too long, said Mvra, crawling on

her knees after her young lady.



Well, if its too long well tack it up... well tack it up

in one minute, said the resolute Dunysha taking a needle that was

stuck on the front of her little shawl and, still kneeling on the floor,

set to work once more.



At that moment, with soft steps, the countess came in shyly, in her cap

and velvet gown.



Oo-oo, my beauty! exclaimed the count, she looks better than

any of you!



He would have embraced her but, blushing, she stepped aside fearing to

be rumpled.



Mamma, your cap, more to this side, said Natsha. Ill

arrange it, and she rushed forward so that the maids who were tacking

up her skirt could not move fast enough and a piece of gauze was torn

off.



Oh goodness! What has happened? Really it was not my fault!



Never mind, Ill run it up, it wont show, said Dunysha.



What a beautya very queen! said the nurse as she came to the

door. And Snya! They are lovely!



At a quarter past ten they at last got into their carriages and started.

But they had still to call at the Taurida Gardens.



Pernskaya was quite ready. In spite of her age and plainness she

had gone through the same process as the Rostvs, but with less

flurryfor to her it was a matter of routine. Her ugly old body was

washed, perfumed, and powdered in just the same way. She had washed

behind her ears just as carefully, and when she entered her drawing

room in her yellow dress, wearing her badge as maid of honor, her old

ladys maid was as full of rapturous admiration as the Rostvs

servants had been.



She praised the Rostvs toilets. They praised her taste and toilet,

and at eleven oclock, careful of their coiffures and dresses, they

settled themselves in their carriages and drove off.











CHAPTER XV



Natsha had not had a moment free since early morning and had not once

had time to think of what lay before her.



In the damp chill air and crowded closeness of the swaying carriage, she

for the first time vividly imagined what was in store for her there at

the ball, in those brightly lighted roomswith music, flowers, dances,

the Emperor, and all the brilliant young people of Petersburg. The

prospect was so splendid that she hardly believed it would come true,

so out of keeping was it with the chill darkness and closeness of the

carriage. She understood all that awaited her only when, after stepping

over the red baize at the entrance, she entered the hall, took off her

fur cloak, and, beside Snya and in front of her mother, mounted the

brightly illuminated stairs between the flowers. Only then did she

remember how she must behave at a ball, and tried to assume the majestic

air she considered indispensable for a girl on such an occasion. But,

fortunately for her, she felt her eyes growing misty, she saw nothing

clearly, her pulse beat a hundred to the minute, and the blood throbbed

at her heart. She could not assume that pose, which would have made her

ridiculous, and she moved on almost fainting from excitement and trying

with all her might to conceal it. And this was the very attitude that

became her best. Before and behind them other visitors were entering,

also talking in low tones and wearing ball dresses. The mirrors on the

landing reflected ladies in white, pale-blue, and pink dresses, with

diamonds and pearls on their bare necks and arms.



Natsha looked in the mirrors and could not distinguish her reflection

from the others. All was blended into one brilliant procession.

On entering the ballroom the regular hum of voices, footsteps, and

greetings deafened Natsha, and the light and glitter dazzled her still

more. The host and hostess, who had already been standing at the door

for half an hour repeating the same words to the various arrivals,

Charm de vous voir, * greeted the Rostvs and Pernskaya in

the same manner.



    * Delighted to see you.





The two girls in their white dresses, each with a rose in her

black hair, both curtsied in the same way, but the hostess eye

involuntarily rested longer on the slim Natsha. She looked at her

and gave her alone a special smile in addition to her usual smile as

hostess. Looking at her she may have recalled the golden, irrecoverable

days of her own girlhood and her own first ball. The host also followed

Natsha with his eyes and asked the count which was his daughter.



Charming! said he, kissing the tips of his fingers.



In the ballroom guests stood crowding at the entrance doors awaiting

the Emperor. The countess took up a position in one of the front rows

of that crowd. Natsha heard and felt that several people were asking

about her and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked

her, and this observation helped to calm her.



There are some like ourselves and some worse, she thought.



Pernskaya was pointing out to the countess the most important people

at the ball.



That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? That gray-haired man,

she said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly

hair, who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said.



Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezkhova,

said Pernskaya, indicating Hlne who had just entered. How

lovely! She is quite equal to Mrya Antnovna. See how the men, young

and old, pay court to her. Beautiful and clever... they say Prince

 is quite mad about her. But see, those two, though not

good-looking, are even more run after.



She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain

daughter.



She is a splendid match, a millionairess, said Pernskaya. And

look, here come her suitors.



That is Bezkhovas brother, Anatole Kurgin, she said,

indicating a handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them

with head erect, looking at something over the heads of the ladies.

Hes handsome, isnt he? I hear they will marry him to that rich

girl. But your cousin, Drubetsky, is also very attentive to her. They

say she has millions. Oh yes, thats the French ambassador himself!

she replied to the countess inquiry about Caulaincourt. Looks as

if he were a king! All the same, the French are charming, very charming.

No one more charming in society. Ah, here she is! Yes, she is still the

most beautiful of them all, our Mrya Antnovna! And how simply she

is dressed! Lovely! And that stout one in spectacles is the universal

Freemason, she went on, indicating Pierre. Put him beside his wife

and he looks a regular buffoon!



Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd

and nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedly as if he

were passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through, evidently

looking for someone.



Natsha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, the

buffoon, as Pernskaya had called him, and knew he was looking for

them, and for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and

introduce partners to her.



But before he reached them Pierre stopped beside a very handsome, dark

man of middle height, and in a white uniform, who stood by a window

talking to a tall man wearing stars and a ribbon. Natsha at once

recognized the shorter and younger man in the white uniform it was

Bolknski, who seemed to her to have grown much younger, happier, and

better-looking.



Theres someone else we knowBolknski, do you see, Mamma?

said Natsha, pointing out Prince Andrew. You remember, he stayed a

night with us at Otrdnoe.



Oh, you know him? said Pernskaya. I cant bear him. Il fait

 prsent la pluie et le beau temps. * Hes too proud for anything.

Takes after his father. And hes hand in glove with Spernski,

writing some project or other. Just look how he treats the ladies!

Theres one talking to him and he has turned away, she said,

pointing at him. Id give it to him if he treated me as he does

those ladies.



    * He is all the rage just now.













CHAPTER XVI



Suddenly everybody stirred, began talking, and pressed forward and then

back, and between the two rows, which separated, the Emperor entered to

the sounds of music that had immediately struck up. Behind him walked

his host and hostess. He walked in rapidly, bowing to right and left

as if anxious to get the first moments of the reception over. The band

played the polonaise in vogue at that time on account of the words that

had been set to it, beginning Alexander, Elisaveta, all our hearts

you ravish quite... The Emperor passed on to the drawing room, the

crowd made a rush for the doors, and several persons with excited faces

hurried there and back again. Then the crowd hastily retired from

the drawing room door, at which the Emperor reappeared talking to the

hostess. A young man, looking distraught, pounced down on the ladies,

asking them to move aside. Some ladies, with faces betraying complete

forgetfulness of all the rules of decorum, pushed forward to the

detriment of their toilets. The men began to choose partners and take

their places for the polonaise.



Everyone moved back, and the Emperor came smiling out of the drawing

room leading his hostess by the hand but not keeping time to the

music. The host followed with Mrya Antnovna Narshkina then

came ambassadors, ministers, and various generals, whom Pernskaya

diligently named. More than half the ladies already had partners

and were taking up, or preparing to take up, their positions for the

polonaise. Natsha felt that she would be left with her mother and

Snya among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, not having

been invited to dance. She stood with her slender arms hanging down,

her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with

bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straight before

her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery. She was

not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great people whom

Pernskaya was pointing outshe had but one thought Is it

possible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first to

dance? Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me?

They do not even seem to see me, or if they do they look as if they

were saying, Ah, shes not the one Im after, so its not worth

looking at her! No, its impossible, she thought. They must

know how I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they would

enjoy dancing with me.



The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable

time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natshas ears.

She wanted to cry. Pernskaya had left them. The count was at the

other end of the room. She and the countess and Snya were standing by

themselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd of strangers,

with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone. Prince Andrew

with a lady passed by, evidently not recognizing them. The handsome

Anatole was smilingly talking to a partner on his arm and looked at

Natsha as one looks at a wall. Bors passed them twice and each time

turned away. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came up to them.



This family gathering seemed humiliating to Natshaas if there were

nowhere else for the family to talk but here at the ball. She did not

listen to or look at Vra, who was telling her something about her own

green dress.



At last the Emperor stopped beside his last partner (he had danced

with three) and the music ceased. A worried aide-de-camp ran up to the

Rostvs requesting them to stand farther back, though as it was they

were already close to the wall, and from the gallery resounded the

distinct, precise, enticingly rhythmical strains of a waltz. The Emperor

looked smilingly down the room. A minute passed but no one had yet begun

dancing. An aide-de-camp, the Master of Ceremonies, went up to Countess

Bezkhova and asked her to dance. She smilingly raised her hand and

laid it on his shoulder without looking at him. The aide-de-camp, an

adept in his art, grasping his partner firmly round her waist, with

confident deliberation started smoothly, gliding first round the edge of

the circle, then at the corner of the room he caught Hlnes

left hand and turned her, the only sound audible, apart from the

ever-quickening music, being the rhythmic click of the spurs on his

rapid, agile feet, while at every third beat his partners velvet

dress spread out and seemed to flash as she whirled round. Natsha

gazed at them and was ready to cry because it was not she who was

dancing that first turn of the waltz.



Prince Andrew, in the white uniform of a cavalry colonel, wearing

stockings and dancing shoes, stood looking animated and bright in the

front row of the circle not far from the Rostvs. Baron Firhoff was

talking to him about the first sitting of the Council of State to be

held next day. Prince Andrew, as one closely connected with Spernski

and participating in the work of the legislative commission, could give

reliable information about that sitting, concerning which various rumors

were current. But not listening to what Firhoff was saying, he was

gazing now at the sovereign and now at the men intending to dance who

had not yet gathered courage to enter the circle.



Prince Andrew was watching these men abashed by the Emperors

presence, and the women who were breathlessly longing to be asked to

dance.



Pierre came up to him and caught him by the arm.



You always dance. I have a protge, the young Rostva, here. Ask

her, he said.



Where is she? asked Bolknski. Excuse me! he added, turning

to the baron, we will finish this conversation elsewhereat a ball

one must dance. He stepped forward in the direction Pierre indicated.

The despairing, dejected expression of Natshas face caught his eye.

He recognized her, guessed her feelings, saw that it was her dbut,

remembered her conversation at the window, and with an expression of

pleasure on his face approached Countess Rostva.



Allow me to introduce you to my daughter, said the countess, with

heightened color.



I have the pleasure of being already acquainted, if the countess

remembers me, said Prince Andrew with a low and courteous bow quite

belying Pernskayas remarks about his rudeness, and approaching

Natsha he held out his arm to grasp her waist before he had completed

his invitation. He asked her to waltz. That tremulous expression on

Natshas face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly

brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.



I have long been waiting for you, that frightened happy little

girl seemed to say by the smile that replaced the threatened tears, as

she raised her hand to Prince Andrews shoulder. They were the second

couple to enter the circle. Prince Andrew was one of the best dancers of

his day and Natsha danced exquisitely. Her little feet in their white

satin dancing shoes did their work swiftly, lightly, and independently

of herself, while her face beamed with ecstatic happiness. Her slender

bare arms and neck were not beautifulcompared to Hlnes her

shoulders looked thin and her bosom undeveloped. But Hlne seemed, as

it were, hardened by a varnish left by the thousands of looks that had

scanned her person, while Natsha was like a girl exposed for the first

time, who would have felt very much ashamed had she not been assured

that this was absolutely necessary.



Prince Andrew liked dancing, and wishing to escape as quickly as

possible from the political and clever talk which everyone addressed

to him, wishing also to break up the circle of restraint he disliked,

caused by the Emperors presence, he danced, and had chosen Natsha

because Pierre pointed her out to him and because she was the first

pretty girl who caught his eye but scarcely had he embraced that

slender supple figure and felt her stirring so close to him and smiling

so near him than the wine of her charm rose to his head, and he

felt himself revived and rejuvenated when after leaving her he stood

breathing deeply and watching the other dancers.











CHAPTER XVII



After Prince Andrew, Bors came up to ask Natsha for a dance, and

then the aide-de-camp who had opened the ball, and several other young

men, so that, flushed and happy, and passing on her superfluous partners

to Snya, she did not cease dancing all the evening. She noticed and

saw nothing of what occupied everyone else. Not only did she fail to

notice that the Emperor talked a long time with the French ambassador,

and how particularly gracious he was to a certain lady, or that Prince

So-and-so and So-and-so did and said this and that, and that Hlne

had great success and was honored by the special attention of So-and-so,

but she did not even see the Emperor, and only noticed that he had gone

because the ball became livelier after his departure. For one of the

merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrew was again her partner. He

reminded her of their first encounter in the Otrdnoe avenue, and how

she had been unable to sleep that moonlight night, and told her how he

had involuntarily overheard her. Natsha blushed at that recollection

and tried to excuse herself, as if there had been something to be

ashamed of in what Prince Andrew had overheard.



Like all men who have grown up in society, Prince Andrew liked meeting

someone there not of the conventional society stamp. And such was

Natsha, with her surprise, her delight, her shyness, and even her

mistakes in speaking French. With her he behaved with special care and

tenderness, sitting beside her and talking of the simplest and most

unimportant matters he admired her shy grace. In the middle of the

cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natsha, still out of

breath, was returning to her seat when another dancer chose her. She was

tired and panting and evidently thought of declining, but immediately

put her hand gaily on the mans shoulder, smiling at Prince Andrew.



Id be glad to sit beside you and rest Im tired but you see

how they keep asking me, and Im glad of it, Im happy and I love

everybody, and you and I understand it all, and much, much more was

said in her smile. When her partner left her Natsha ran across the

room to choose two ladies for the figure.



If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, she will be

my wife, said Prince Andrew to himself quite to his own surprise, as

he watched her. She did go first to her cousin.



What rubbish sometimes enters ones head! thought Prince Andrew,

but what is certain is that that girl is so charming, so original,

that she wont be dancing here a month before she will be married....

Such as she are rare here, he thought, as Natsha, readjusting a

rose that was slipping on her bodice, settled herself beside him.



When the cotillion was over the old count in his blue coat came up to

the dancers. He invited Prince Andrew to come and see them, and asked

his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natsha did not answer

at once but only looked up with a smile that said reproachfully How

can you ask such a question?



I have never enjoyed myself so much before! she said, and Prince

Andrew noticed how her thin arms rose quickly as if to embrace her

father and instantly dropped again. Natsha was happier than she had

ever been in her life. She was at that height of bliss when one becomes

completely kind and good and does not believe in the possibility of

evil, unhappiness, or sorrow.



At that ball Pierre for the first time felt humiliated by the position

his wife occupied in court circles. He was gloomy and absent-minded. A

deep furrow ran across his forehead, and standing by a window he stared

over his spectacles seeing no one.



On her way to supper Natsha passed him.



Pierres gloomy, unhappy look struck her. She stopped in front of him.

She wished to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance of her own

happiness.



How delightful it is, Count! said she. Isnt 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 Natsha.

Especially such a capital fellow as Bezkhov! In Natshas

eyes all the people at the ball alike were good, kind, and splendid

people, loving one another none of them capable of injuring

anotherand so they ought all to be happy.











CHAPTER XVIII



Next day Prince Andrew thought of the ball, but his mind did not dwell

on it long. Yes, it was a very brilliant ball, and then... Yes,

that little Rostva is very charming. Theres something fresh,

original, un-Petersburg-like about her that distinguishes her. That

was all he thought about yesterdays ball, and after his morning tea

he set to work.



But either from fatigue or want of sleep he was ill-disposed for work

and could get nothing done. He kept criticizing his own work, as he

often did, and was glad when he heard someone coming.



The visitor was Btski, who served on various committees, frequented

all the societies in Petersburg, and a passionate devotee of the new

ideas and of Spernski, and a diligent Petersburg newsmongerone of

those men who choose their opinions like their clothes according to

the fashion, but who for that very reason appear to be the warmest

partisans. Hardly had he got rid of his hat before he ran into Prince

Andrews room with a preoccupied air and at once began talking. He

had just heard particulars of that mornings sitting of the Council

of State opened by the Emperor, and he spoke of it enthusiastically. The

Emperors speech had been extraordinary. It had been a speech such as

only constitutional monarchs deliver. The Sovereign plainly said

that the Council and Senate are estates of the realm, he said that the

government must rest not on authority but on secure bases. The Emperor

said that the fiscal system must be reorganized and the accounts

published, recounted Btski, emphasizing certain words and opening

his eyes significantly.



Ah, yes! Todays events mark an epoch, the greatest epoch in our

history, he concluded.



Prince Andrew listened to the account of the opening of the Council of

State, which he had so impatiently awaited and to which he had attached

such importance, and was surprised that this event, now that it had

taken place, did not affect him, and even seemed quite insignificant. He

listened with quiet irony to Btskis enthusiastic account of it. A

very simple thought occurred to him What does it matter to me or to

Btski what the Emperor was pleased to say at the Council? Can all that

make me any happier or better?



And this simple reflection suddenly destroyed all the interest Prince

Andrew had felt in the impending reforms. He was going to dine that

evening at Spernskis, with only a few friends, as the host

had said when inviting him. The prospect of that dinner in the intimate

home circle of the man he so admired had greatly interested Prince

Andrew, especially as he had not yet seen Spernski in his domestic

surroundings, but now he felt disinclined to go to it.



At the appointed hour, however, he entered the modest house Spernski

owned in the Taurida Gardens. In the parqueted dining room this small

house, remarkable for its extreme cleanliness (suggesting that of a

monastery), Prince Andrew, who was rather late, found the friendly

gathering of Spernskis intimate acquaintances already assembled

at five oclock. There were no ladies present except Spernskis

little daughter (long-faced like her father) and her governess. The

other guests were Gervais, Magntski, and Stolpin. While still in

the anteroom Prince Andrew heard loud voices and a ringing staccato

laugha laugh such as one hears on the stage. Someoneit sounded

like Spernskiwas distinctly ejaculating ha-ha-ha. Prince Andrew

had never before heard Spernskis famous laugh, and this ringing,

high-pitched laughter from a statesman made a strange impression on him.



He entered the dining room. The whole company were standing between two

windows at a small table laid with hors-doeuvres. Spernski, wearing

a gray swallow-tail coat with a star on the breast, and evidently still

the same waistcoat and high white stock he had worn at the meeting of

the Council of State, stood at the table with a beaming countenance. His

guests surrounded him. Magntski, addressing himself to Spernski,

was relating an anecdote, and Spernski was laughing in advance at

what Magntski was going to say. When Prince Andrew entered the room

Magntskis words were again crowned by laughter. Stolpin gave

a deep bass guffaw as he munched a piece of bread and cheese. Gervais

laughed softly with a hissing chuckle, and Spernski in a high-pitched

staccato manner.



Still laughing, Spernski held out his soft white hand to Prince

Andrew.



Very pleased to see you, Prince, he said. One moment... he

went on, turning to Magntski and interrupting his story. We have

agreed that this is a dinner for recreation, with not a word about

business! and turning again to the narrator he began to laugh afresh.



Prince Andrew looked at the laughing Spernski with astonishment,

regret, and disillusionment. It seemed to him that this was not

Spernski but someone else. Everything that had formerly appeared

mysterious and fascinating in Spernski suddenly became plain and

unattractive.



At dinner the conversation did not cease for a moment and seemed to

consist of the contents of a book of funny anecdotes. Before Magntski

had finished his story someone else was anxious to relate something

still funnier. Most of the anecdotes, if not relating to the state

service, related to people in the service. It seemed that in this

company the insignificance of those people was so definitely accepted

that the only possible attitude toward them was one of good humored

ridicule. Spernski related how at the Council that morning a deaf

dignitary, when asked his opinion, replied that he thought so too.

Gervais gave a long account of an official revision, remarkable for the

stupidity of everybody concerned. Stolpin, stuttering, broke into

the conversation and began excitedly talking of the abuses that existed

under the former order of thingsthreatening to give a serious turn

to the conversation. Magntski starting quizzing Stolpin about his

vehemence. Gervais intervened with a joke, and the talk reverted to its

former lively tone.



Evidently Spernski liked to rest after his labors and find amusement

in a circle of friends, and his guests, understanding his wish, tried

to enliven him and amuse themselves. But their gaiety seemed to Prince

Andrew mirthless and tiresome. Spernskis high-pitched voice struck

him unpleasantly, and the incessant laughter grated on him like a false

note. Prince Andrew did not laugh and feared that he would be a damper

on the spirits of the company, but no one took any notice of his being

out of harmony with the general mood. They all seemed very gay.



He tried several times to join in the conversation, but his remarks were

tossed aside each time like a cork thrown out of the water, and he could

not jest with them.



There was nothing wrong or unseemly in what they said, it was witty and

might have been funny, but it lacked just that something which is the

salt of mirth, and they were not even aware that such a thing existed.



After dinner Spernskis daughter and her governess rose. He patted

the little girl with his white hand and kissed her. And that gesture,

too, seemed unnatural to Prince Andrew.



The men remained at table over their portEnglish fashion. In the

midst of a conversation that was started about Napoleons Spanish

affairs, which they all agreed in approving, Prince Andrew began to

express a contrary opinion. Spernski smiled and, with an evident wish

to prevent the conversation from taking an unpleasant course, told a

story that had no connection with the previous conversation. For a few

moments all were silent.



Having sat some time at table, Spernski corked a bottle of wine and,

remarking, Nowadays good wine rides in a carriage and pair, passed

it to the servant and got up. All rose and continuing to talk loudly

went into the drawing room. Two letters brought by a courier were handed

to Spernski and he took them to his study. As soon as he had left

the room the general merriment stopped and the guests began to converse

sensibly and quietly with one another.



Now for the recitation! said Spernski on returning from

his study. A wonderful talent! he said to Prince Andrew, and

Magntski immediately assumed a pose and began reciting some humorous

verses in French which he had composed about various well-known

Petersburg people. He was interrupted several times by applause. When

the verses were finished Prince Andrew went up to Spernski and took

his leave.



Where are you off to so early? asked Spernski.



I promised to go to a reception.



They said no more. Prince Andrew looked closely into those mirrorlike,

impenetrable eyes, and felt that it had been ridiculous of him to have

expected anything from Spernski and from any of his own activities

connected with him, or ever to have attributed importance to what

Spernski was doing. That precise, mirthless laughter rang in Prince

Andrews ears long after he had left the house.



When he reached home Prince Andrew began thinking of his life in

Petersburg during those last four months as if it were something new. He

recalled his exertions and solicitations, and the history of his project

of army reform, which had been accepted for consideration and which they

were trying to pass over in silence simply because another, a very poor

one, had already been prepared and submitted to the Emperor. He thought

of the meetings of a committee of which Berg was a member. He remembered

how carefully and at what length everything relating to form and

procedure was discussed at those meetings, and how sedulously and

promptly all that related to the gist of the business was evaded. He

recalled his labors on the Legal Code, and how painstakingly he had

translated the articles of the Roman and French codes into Russian,

and he felt ashamed of himself. Then he vividly pictured to himself

Boguchrovo, his occupations in the country, his journey to Ryazn

he remembered the peasants and Dron the village elder, and mentally

applying to them the Personal Rights he had divided into paragraphs, he

felt astonished that he could have spent so much time on such useless

work.











CHAPTER XIX



Next day Prince Andrew called at a few houses he had not visited before,

and among them at the Rostvs with whom he had renewed acquaintance

at the ball. Apart from considerations of politeness which demanded the

call, he wanted to see that original, eager girl who had left such a

pleasant impression on his mind, in her own home.



Natsha was one of the first to meet him. She was wearing a dark-blue

house dress in which Prince Andrew thought her even prettier than in

her ball dress. She and all the Rostv family welcomed him as an old

friend, simply and cordially. The whole family, whom he had formerly

judged severely, now seemed to him to consist of excellent, simple,

and kindly people. The old counts hospitality and good nature, which

struck one especially in Petersburg as a pleasant surprise, were such

that Prince Andrew could not refuse to stay to dinner. Yes,

he thought, they are capital people, who of course have not the

slightest idea what a treasure they possess in Natsha but they are

kindly folk and form the best possible setting for this strikingly

poetic, charming girl, overflowing with life!



In Natsha Prince Andrew was conscious of a strange world completely

alien to him and brimful of joys unknown to him, a different world,

that in the Otrdnoe avenue and at the window that moonlight night

had already begun to disconcert him. Now this world disconcerted him no

longer and was no longer alien to him, but he himself having entered it

found in it a new enjoyment.



After dinner Natsha, at Prince Andrews request, went to the

clavichord and began singing. Prince Andrew stood by a window talking

to the ladies and listened to her. In the midst of a phrase he ceased

speaking and suddenly felt tears choking him, a thing he had thought

impossible for him. He looked at Natsha as she sang, and something new

and joyful stirred in his soul. He felt happy and at the same time sad.

He had absolutely nothing to weep about yet he was ready to weep. What

about? His former love? The little princess? His disillusionments?...

His hopes for the future?... Yes and no. The chief reason was a sudden,

vivid sense of the terrible contrast between something infinitely great

and illimitable within him and that limited and material something that

he, and even she, was. This contrast weighed on and yet cheered him

while she sang.



As soon as Natsha had finished she went up to him and asked how he

liked her voice. She asked this and then became confused, feeling that

she ought not to have asked it. He smiled, looking at her, and said he

liked her singing as he liked everything she did.



Prince Andrew left the Rostvs late in the evening. He went to bed

from habit, but soon realized that he could not sleep. Having lit his

candle he sat up in bed, then got up, then lay down again not at all

troubled by his sleeplessness his soul was as fresh and joyful as if he

had stepped out of a stuffy room into Gods own fresh air. It did not

enter his head that he was in love with Natsha he was not thinking

about her, but only picturing her to himself, and in consequence all

life appeared in a new light. Why do I strive, why do I toil in this

narrow, confined frame, when life, all life with all its joys, is open

to me? said he to himself. And for the first time for a very long

while he began making happy plans for the future. He decided that he

must attend to his sons education by finding a tutor and putting

the boy in his charge, then he ought to retire from the service and go

abroad, and see England, Switzerland and Italy. I must use my freedom

while I feel so much strength and youth in me, he said to himself.

Pierre was right when he said one must believe in the possibility of

happiness in order to be happy, and now I do believe in it. Let the dead

bury their dead, but while one has life one must live and be happy!

thought he.











CHAPTER XX



One morning Colonel Berg, whom Pierre knew as he knew everybody in

Moscow and Petersburg, came to see him. Berg arrived in an immaculate

brand-new uniform, with his hair pomaded and brushed forward over his

temples as the Emperor Alexander wore his hair.



I have just been to see the countess, your wife. Unfortunately she

could not grant my request, but I hope, Count, I shall be more fortunate

with you, he said with a smile.



What is it you wish, Colonel? I am at your service.



I have now quite settled in my new rooms, Count (Berg said

this with perfect conviction that this information could not but be

agreeable), and so I wish to arrange just a small party for my own

and my wifes friends. (He smiled still more pleasantly.) I

wished to ask the countess and you to do me the honor of coming to tea

and to supper.



Only Countess Hlne, considering the society of such people as the

Bergs beneath her, could be cruel enough to refuse such an invitation.

Berg explained so clearly why he wanted to collect at his house a small

but select company, and why this would give him pleasure, and why though

he grudged spending money on cards or anything harmful, he was prepared

to run into some expense for the sake of good societythat Pierre

could not refuse, and promised to come.



But dont be late, Count, if I may venture to ask about ten

minutes to eight, please. We shall make up a rubber. Our general is

coming. He is very good to me. We shall have supper, Count. So you will

do me the favor.



Contrary to his habit of being late, Pierre on that day arrived at the

Bergs house, not at ten but at fifteen minutes to eight.



Having prepared everything necessary for the party, the Bergs were ready

for their guests arrival.



In their new, clean, and light study with its small busts and pictures

and new furniture sat Berg and his wife. Berg, closely buttoned up in

his new uniform, sat beside his wife explaining to her that one always

could and should be acquainted with people above one, because only then

does one get satisfaction from acquaintances.



You can get to know something, you can ask for something. See how I

managed from my first promotion. (Berg measured his life not by years

but by promotions.) My comrades are still nobodies, while I am only

waiting for a vacancy to command a regiment, and have the happiness to

be your husband. (He rose and kissed Vras hand, and on the way

to her straightened out a turned-up corner of the carpet.) And

how have I obtained all this? Chiefly by knowing how to choose my

aquaintances. It goes without saying that one must be conscientious and

methodical.



Berg smiled with a sense of his superiority over a weak woman, and

paused, reflecting that this dear wife of his was after all but a weak

woman who could not understand all that constitutes a mans dignity,

what it was ein Mann zu sein. * Vra at the same time smiling with a

sense of superiority over her good, conscientious husband, who all the

same understood life wrongly, as according to Vra all men did. Berg,

judging by his wife, thought all women weak and foolish. Vra, judging

only by her husband and generalizing from that observation, supposed

that all men, though they understand nothing and are conceited and

selfish, ascribe common sense to themselves alone.



    * To be a man.



Berg rose and embraced his wife carefully, so as not to crush her lace

fichu for which he had paid a good price, kissing her straight on the

lips.



The only thing is, we mustnt have children too soon, he

continued, following an unconscious sequence of ideas.



Yes, answered Vra, I dont at all want that. We must live

for society.



Princess Yuspova wore one exactly like this, said Berg, pointing

to the fichu with a happy and kindly smile.



Just then Count Bezkhov was announced. Husband and wife glanced at one

another, both smiling with self-satisfaction, and each mentally claiming

the honor of this visit.



This is what comes of knowing how to make acquaintances, thought

Berg. This is what comes of knowing how to conduct oneself.



But please dont interrupt me when I am entertaining the guests,

said Vra, because I know what interests each of them and what to

say to different people.



Berg smiled again.



It cant be helped men must sometimes have masculine

conversation, said he.



They received Pierre in their small, new drawing room, where it was

impossible to sit down anywhere without disturbing its symmetry,

neatness, and order so it was quite comprehensible and not strange that

Berg, having generously offered to disturb the symmetry of an armchair

or of the sofa for his dear guest, but being apparently painfully

undecided on the matter himself, eventually left the visitor to settle

the question of selection. Pierre disturbed the symmetry by moving a

chair for himself, and Berg and Vra immediately began their evening

party, interrupting each other in their efforts to entertain their

guest.



Vra, having decided in her own mind that Pierre ought to be

entertained with conversation about the French embassy, at once began

accordingly. Berg, having decided that masculine conversation was

required, interrupted his wifes remarks and touched on the question

of the war with Austria, and unconsciously jumped from the general

subject to personal considerations as to the proposals made him to take

part in the Austrian campaign and the reasons why he had declined them.

Though the conversation was very incoherent and Vra was angry at the

intrusion of the masculine element, both husband and wife felt with

satisfaction that, even if only one guest was present, their evening had

begun very well and was as like as two peas to every other evening party

with its talk, tea, and lighted candles.



Before long Bors, Bergs old comrade, arrived. There was a shade of

condescension and patronage in his treatment of Berg and Vra. After

Bors came a lady with the colonel, then the general himself, then the

Rostvs, and the party became unquestionably exactly like all other

evening parties. Berg and Vra could not repress their smiles of

satisfaction at the sight of all this movement in their drawing room,

at the sound of the disconnected talk, the rustling of dresses, and the

bowing and scraping. Everything was just as everybody always has it,

especially so the general, who admired the apartment, patted Berg on the

shoulder, and with parental authority superintended the setting out of

the table for boston. The general sat down by Count Ily Rostv, who

was next to himself the most important guest. The old people sat with

the old, the young with the young, and the hostess at the tea table, on

which stood exactly the same kind of cakes in a silver cake basket as

the Panins had at their party. Everything was just as it was everywhere

else.











CHAPTER XXI



Pierre, as one of the principal guests, had to sit down to boston

with Count Rostv, the general, and the colonel. At the card table he

happened to be directly facing Natsha, and was struck by a curious

change that had come over her since the ball. She was silent, and not

only less pretty than at the ball, but only redeemed from plainness by

her look of gentle indifference to everything around.



Whats the matter with her? thought Pierre, glancing at her.

She was sitting by her sister at the tea table, and reluctantly, without

looking at him, made some reply to Bors who sat down beside her. After

playing out a whole suit and to his partners delight taking five

tricks, Pierre, hearing greetings and the steps of someone who had

entered the room while he was picking up his tricks, glanced again at

Natsha.



What has happened to her? he asked himself with still greater

surprise.



Prince Andrew was standing before her, saying something to her with a

look of tender solicitude. She, having raised her head, was looking up

at him, flushed and evidently trying to master her rapid breathing. And

the bright glow of some inner fire that had been suppressed was again

alight in her. She was completely transformed and from a plain girl had

again become what she had been at the ball.



Prince Andrew went up to Pierre, and the latter noticed a new and

youthful expression in his friends face.



Pierre changed places several times during the game, sitting now with

his back to Natsha and now facing her, but during the whole of the six

rubbers he watched her and his friend.



Something very important is happening between them, thought

Pierre, and a feeling that was both joyful and painful agitated him and

made him neglect the game.



After six rubbers the general got up, saying that it was no use playing

like that, and Pierre was released. Natsha on one side was talking

with Snya and Bors, and Vra with a subtle smile was saying

something to Prince Andrew. Pierre went up to his friend and, asking

whether they were talking secrets, sat down beside them. Vra, having

noticed Prince Andrews attentions to Natsha, decided that at a

party, a real evening party, subtle allusions to the tender passion were

absolutely necessary and, seizing a moment when Prince Andrew was alone,

began a conversation with him about feelings in general and about her

sister. With so intellectual a guest as she considered Prince Andrew to

be, she felt that she had to employ her diplomatic tact.



When Pierre went up to them he noticed that Vra was being carried away

by her self-satisfied talk, but that Prince Andrew seemed embarrassed, a

thing that rarely happened with him.



What do you think? Vra was saying with an arch smile. You are

so discerning, Prince, and understand peoples characters so well at

a glance. What do you think of Natalie? Could she be constant in her

attachments? Could she, like other women (Vra meant herself),

love a man once for all and remain true to him forever? That is what

I consider true love. What do you think, Prince?



I know your sister too little, replied Prince Andrew, with a

sarcastic smile under which he wished to hide his embarrassment, to

be able to solve so delicate a question, and then I have noticed that

the less attractive a woman is the more constant she is likely to be,

he added, and looked up at Pierre who was just approaching them.



Yes, that is true, Prince. In our days, continued

Vramentioning 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 timesin our days a girl has so much freedom that the

pleasure of being courted often stifles real feeling in her. And it must

be confessed that Natalie is very susceptible. This return to

the subject of Natalie caused Prince Andrew to knit his brows with

discomfort he was about to rise, but Vra continued with a still more

subtle smile



I think no one has been more courted than she, she went on, but

till quite lately she never cared seriously for anyone. Now you know,

Count, she said to Pierre, even our dear cousin Bors, 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 Bors, arent you? asked Vra.



Yes, I know him....



I expect he has told you of his childish love for Natsha?



Oh, there was childish love? suddenly asked Prince Andrew,

blushing unexpectedly.



Yes, you know between cousins intimacy often leads to love. Le

cousinage est un dangereux voisinage. * Dont you think so?



    * Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.





Oh, undoubtedly! said Prince Andrew, and with sudden and unnatural

liveliness he began chaffing Pierre about the need to be very careful

with his fifty-year-old Moscow cousins, and in the midst of these

jesting remarks he rose, taking Pierre by the arm, and drew him aside.



Well? asked Pierre, seeing his friends strange animation with

surprise, and noticing the glance he turned on Natsha as he rose.



I must... I must have a talk with you, said Prince Andrew. You

know that pair of womens gloves? (He referred to the Masonic

gloves given to a newly initiated Brother to present to the woman he

loved.) I... but no, I will talk to you later on, and with a

strange light in his eyes and restlessness in his movements, Prince

Andrew approached Natsha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how

Prince Andrew asked her something and how she flushed as she replied.



But at that moment Berg came to Pierre and began insisting that he

should take part in an argument between the general and the colonel on

the affairs in Spain.



Berg was satisfied and happy. The smile of pleasure never left his face.

The party was very successful and quite like other parties he had

seen. Everything was similar the ladies subtle talk, the cards, the

general raising his voice at the card table, and the samovar and the tea

cakes only one thing was lacking that he had always seen at the evening

parties he wished to imitate. They had not yet had a loud conversation

among the men and a dispute about something important and clever. Now

the general had begun such a discussion and so Berg drew Pierre to it.











CHAPTER XXII



Next day, having been invited by the count, Prince Andrew dined with the

Rostvs 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 Natsha all day. Not only in

the soul of the frightened yet happy and enraptured Natsha, but in the

whole house, there was a feeling of awe at something important that was

bound to happen. The countess looked with sad and sternly serious eyes

at Prince Andrew when he talked to Natsha and timidly started some

artificial conversation about trifles as soon as he looked her way.

Snya was afraid to leave Natsha and afraid of being in the way when

she was with them. Natsha grew pale, in a panic of expectation, when

she remained alone with him for a moment. Prince Andrew surprised her by

his timidity. She felt that he wanted to say something to her but could

not bring himself to do so.



In the evening, when Prince Andrew had left, the countess went up to

Natsha and whispered Well, what?



Mamma! For heavens sake dont ask me anything now! One cant

talk about that, said Natsha.



But all the same that night Natsha, now agitated and now frightened,

lay a long time in her mothers bed gazing straight before her. She

told her how he had complimented her, how he told her he was going

abroad, asked her where they were going to spend the summer, and then

how he had asked her about Bors.



But such a... such a... never happened to me before! she said.

Only I feel afraid in his presence. I am always afraid when Im

with him. What does that mean? Does it mean that its the real thing?

Yes? Mamma, are you asleep?



No, my love I am frightened myself, answered her mother. Now

go!



All the same I shant sleep. What silliness, to sleep! Mummy!

Mummy! such a thing never happened to me before, she said, surprised

and alarmed at the feeling she was aware of in herself. And could we

ever have thought!...



It seemed to Natsha that even at the time she first saw Prince Andrew

at Otrdnoe she had fallen in love with him. It was as if she feared

this strange, unexpected happiness of meeting again the very man she had

then chosen (she was firmly convinced she had done so) and of finding

him, as it seemed, not indifferent to her.



And it had to happen that he should come specially to Petersburg

while we are here. And it had to happen that we should meet at that

ball. It is fate. Clearly it is fate that everything led up to this!

Already then, directly I saw him I felt something peculiar.



What else did he say to you? What are those verses? Read them...

said her mother, thoughtfully, referring to some verses Prince Andrew

had written in Natshas album.



Mamma, one need not be ashamed of his being a widower?



Dont, Natsha! Pray to God. Marriages are made in

heaven, said her mother.



Darling Mummy, how I love you! How happy I am! cried Natsha,

shedding tears of joy and excitement and embracing her mother.



At that very time Prince Andrew was sitting with Pierre and telling him

of his love for Natsha and his firm resolve to make her his wife.



That day Countess Hlne had a reception at her house. The French

ambassador was there, and a foreign prince of the blood who had of

late become a frequent visitor of hers, and many brilliant ladies and

gentlemen. Pierre, who had come downstairs, walked through the rooms and

struck everyone by his preoccupied, absent-minded, and morose air.



Since the ball he had felt the approach of a fit of nervous depression

and had made desperate efforts to combat it. Since the intimacy of

his wife with the royal prince, Pierre had unexpectedly been made a

gentleman of the bedchamber, and from that time he had begun to feel

oppressed and ashamed in court society, and dark thoughts of the vanity

of all things human came to him oftener than before. At the same time

the feeling he had noticed between his protge Natsha and Prince

Andrew accentuated his gloom by the contrast between his own position

and his friends. He tried equally to avoid thinking about his wife,

and about Natsha and Prince Andrew and again everything seemed to him

insignificant in comparison with eternity again the question for what?

presented itself and he forced himself to work day and night at Masonic

labors, hoping to drive away the evil spirit that threatened him. Toward

midnight, after he had left the countess apartments, he was sitting

upstairs in a shabby dressing gown, copying out the original transaction

of the Scottish lodge of Freemasons at a table in his low room cloudy

with tobacco smoke, when someone came in. It was Prince Andrew.



Ah, its you! said Pierre with a preoccupied, dissatisfied air.

And I, you see, am hard at it. He pointed to his manuscript book

with that air of escaping from the ills of life with which unhappy

people look at their work.



Prince Andrew, with a beaming, ecstatic expression of renewed life on

his face, paused in front of Pierre and, not noticing his sad look,

smiled at him with the egotism of joy.



Well, dear heart, said he, I wanted to tell you about it

yesterday and I have come to do so today. I never experienced anything

like it before. I am in love, my friend!



Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and dumped his heavy person down on

the sofa beside Prince Andrew.



With Natsha Rostva, yes? said he.



Yes, yes! Who else should it be? I should never have believed it,

but the feeling is stronger than I. Yesterday I tormented myself and

suffered, but I would not exchange even that torment for anything in

the world, I have not lived till now. At last I live, but I cant

live without her! But can she love me?... I am too old for her.... Why

dont you speak?



I? I? What did I tell you? said Pierre suddenly, rising and

beginning to pace up and down the room. I always thought it.... That

girl is such a treasure... she is a rare girl.... My dear friend,

I entreat you, dont philosophize, dont doubt, marry, marry,

marry.... And I am sure there will not be a happier man than you.



But what of her?



She loves you.



Dont talk rubbish... said Prince Andrew, smiling and looking

into Pierres eyes.



She does, I know, Pierre cried fiercely.



But do listen, returned Prince Andrew, holding him by the

arm. Do you know the condition I am in? I must talk about it to

someone.



Well, go on, go on. I am very glad, said Pierre, and his face

really changed, his brow became smooth, and he listened gladly to Prince

Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, quite a different, quite

a new man. Where was his spleen, his contempt for life, his

disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom he made up his mind

to speak openly and to him he told all that was in his soul. Now he

boldly and lightly made plans for an extended future, said he could not

sacrifice his own happiness to his fathers caprice, and spoke of how

he would either make his father consent to this marriage and love her,

or would do without his consent then he marveled at the feeling that

had mastered him as at something strange, apart from and independent of

himself.



I should not have believed anyone who told me that I was capable of

such love, said Prince Andrew. It is not at all the same feeling

that I knew in the past. The whole world is now for me divided into two

halves one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light the

other half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloom and

darkness....



Darkness and gloom, reiterated Pierre yes, yes, I understand

that.



I cannot help loving the light, it is not my fault. And I am very

happy! You understand me? I know you are glad for my sake.



Yes, yes, Pierre assented, looking at his friend with a touched

and sad expression in his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrews lot

appeared to him, the gloomier seemed his own.











CHAPTER XXIII



Prince Andrew needed his fathers consent to his marriage, and to

obtain this he started for the country next day.



His father received his sons communication with external composure,

but inward wrath. He could not comprehend how anyone could wish to

alter his life or introduce anything new into it, when his own life

was already ending. If only they would let me end my days as I want

to, thought the old man, then they might do as they please.

With his son, however, he employed the diplomacy he reserved for

important occasions and, adopting a quiet tone, discussed the whole

matter.



In the first place the marriage was not a brilliant one as regards

birth, wealth, or rank. Secondly, Prince Andrew was no longer as young

as he had been and his health was poor (the old man laid special stress

on this), while she was very young. Thirdly, he had a son whom it would

be a pity to entrust to a chit of a girl. Fourthly and finally,

the father said, looking ironically at his son, I beg you to put it

off for a year go abroad, take a cure, look out as you wanted to for

a German tutor for Prince Nicholas. Then if your love or passion or

obstinacyas you pleaseis still as great, marry! And thats my

last word on it. Mind, the last... concluded the prince, in a tone

which showed that nothing would make him alter his decision.



Prince Andrew saw clearly that the old man hoped that his feelings, or

his fiances, would not stand a years test, or that he (the old

prince himself) would die before then, and he decided to conform to his

fathers wishto propose, and postpone the wedding for a year.



Three weeks after the last evening he had spent with the Rostvs,

Prince Andrew returned to Petersburg.





Next day after her talk with her mother Natsha expected Bolknski all

day, but he did not come. On the second and third day it was the same.

Pierre did not come either and Natsha, not knowing that Prince Andrew

had gone to see his father, could not explain his absence to herself.



Three weeks passed in this way. Natsha had no desire to go out

anywhere and wandered from room to room like a shadow, idle and

listless she wept secretly at night and did not go to her mother in the

evenings. She blushed continually and was irritable. It seemed to her

that everybody knew about her disappointment and was laughing at her and

pitying her. Strong as was her inward grief, this wound to her vanity

intensified her misery.



Once she came to her mother, tried to say something, and suddenly began

to cry. Her tears were those of an offended child who does not know why

it is being punished.



The countess began to soothe Natsha, who after first listening to her

mothers words, suddenly interrupted her



Leave off, Mamma! I dont think, and dont want to think about

it! He just came and then left off, left off....



Her voice trembled, and she again nearly cried, but recovered and went

on quietly



And I dont at all want to get married. And I am afraid of him I

have now become quite calm, quite calm.



The day after this conversation Natsha put on the old dress which

she knew had the peculiar property of conducing to cheerfulness in the

mornings, and that day she returned to the old way of life which she had

abandoned since the ball. Having finished her morning tea she went to

the ballroom, which she particularly liked for its loud resonance, and

began singing her solfeggio. When she had finished her first exercise

she stood still in the middle of the room and sang a musical phrase that

particularly pleased her. She listened joyfully (as though she had not

expected it) to the charm of the notes reverberating, filling the

whole empty ballroom, and slowly dying away and all at once she felt

cheerful. Whats the good of making so much of it? Things are nice

as it is, she said to herself, and she began walking up and down the

room, not stepping simply on the resounding parquet but treading with

each step from the heel to the toe (she had on a new and favorite pair

of shoes) and listening to the regular tap of the heel and creak of

the toe as gladly as she had to the sounds of her own voice. Passing a

mirror she glanced into it. There, thats me! the expression of

her face seemed to say as she caught sight of herself. Well, and very

nice too! I need nobody.



A footman wanted to come in to clear away something in the room but she

would not let him, and having closed the door behind him continued her

walk. That morning she had returned to her favorite moodlove of,

and delight in, herself. How charming that Natsha is! she said

again, speaking as some third, collective, male person. Pretty,

a good voice, young, and in nobodys way if only they leave her in

peace. But however much they left her in peace she could not now be

at peace, and immediately felt this.



In the hall the porch door opened, and someone asked, At home? and

then footsteps were heard. Natsha was looking at the mirror, but did

not see herself. She listened to the sounds in the hall. When she saw

herself, her face was pale. It was he. She knew this for certain, though

she hardly heard his voice through the closed doors.



Pale and agitated, Natsha ran into the drawing room.



Mamma! Bolknski has come! she said. Mamma, it is awful, it is

unbearable! I dont want... to be tormented? What am I to do?...



Before the countess could answer, Prince Andrew entered the room with

an agitated and serious face. As soon as he saw Natsha his face

brightened. He kissed the countess hand and Natshas, and sat

down beside the sofa.



It is long since we had the pleasure... began the countess,

but Prince Andrew interrupted her by answering her intended question,

obviously in haste to say what he had to.



I have not been to see you all this time because I have been at my

fathers. I had to talk over a very important matter with him. I only

got back last night, he said glancing at Natsha I want to have

a talk with you, Countess, he added after a moments pause.



The countess lowered her eyes, sighing deeply.



I am at your disposal, she murmured.



Natsha knew that she ought to go away, but was unable to do so

something gripped her throat, and regardless of manners she stared

straight at Prince Andrew with wide-open eyes.



At once? This instant!... No, it cant be! she thought.



Again he glanced at her, and that glance convinced her that she was not

mistaken. Yes, at once, that very instant, her fate would be decided.



Go, Natsha! I will call you, said the countess in a whisper.



Natsha glanced with frightened imploring eyes at Prince Andrew and at

her mother and went out.



I have come, Countess, to ask for your daughters hand, said

Prince Andrew.



The countess face flushed hotly, but she said nothing.



Your offer... she began at last sedately. He remained silent,

looking into her eyes. Your offer... (she grew confused) is

agreeable to us, and I accept your offer. I am glad. And my husband... I

hope... but it will depend on her....



I will speak to her when I have your consent.... Do you give it to

me? said Prince Andrew.



Yes, replied the countess. She held out her hand to him, and with

a mixed feeling of estrangement and tenderness pressed her lips to his

forehead as he stooped to kiss her hand. She wished to love him as a

son, but felt that to her he was a stranger and a terrifying man. I

am sure my husband will consent, said the countess, but your

father...



My father, to whom I have told my plans, has made it an express

condition of his consent that the wedding is not to take place for a

year. And I wished to tell you of that, said Prince Andrew.



It is true that Natsha is still young, butso 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.



Snya said that Natsha was in her bedroom. Natsha was sitting on

the bed, pale and dry-eyed, and was gazing at the icons and whispering

something as she rapidly crossed herself. Seeing her mother she jumped

up and flew to her.



Well, Mamma?... Well?...



Go, go to him. He is asking for your hand, said the countess,

coldly it seemed to Natsha. Go... go, said the mother, sadly and

reproachfully, with a deep sigh, as her daughter ran away.



Natsha never remembered how she entered the drawing room. When she

came in and saw him she paused. Is it possible that this stranger

has now become everything to me? she asked herself, and immediately

answered, Yes, everything! He alone is now dearer to me than

everything in the world. Prince Andrew came up to her with downcast

eyes.



I have loved you from the very first moment I saw you. May I hope?



He looked at her and was struck by the serious impassioned expression of

her face. Her face said Why ask? Why doubt what you cannot but know?

Why speak, when words cannot express what one feels?



She drew near to him and stopped. He took her hand and kissed it.



Do you love me?



Yes, yes! Natsha murmured as if in vexation. Then she sighed

loudly and, catching her breath more and more quickly, began to sob.



What is it? Whats the matter?



Oh, I am so happy! she replied, smiled through her tears, bent

over closer to him, paused for an instant as if asking herself whether

she might, and then kissed him.



Prince Andrew held her hands, looked into her eyes, and did not find

in his heart his former love for her. Something in him had suddenly

changed there was no longer the former poetic and mystic charm of

desire, but there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness, fear

at her devotion and trustfulness, and an oppressive yet joyful sense of

the duty that now bound him to her forever. The present feeling, though

not so bright and poetic as the former, was stronger and more serious.



Did your mother tell you that it cannot be for a year? asked

Prince Andrew, still looking into her eyes.



Is it possible that Ithe chit of a girl, as everybody called

me, thought Natshais it possible that I am now to be the

wife and the equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom even my father

looks up to? Can it be true? Can it be true that there can be no

more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that on me now lies

a responsibility for my every word and deed? Yes, but what did he ask

me?



No, she replied, but she had not understood his question.



Forgive me! he said. But you are so young, and I have already

been through so much in life. I am afraid for you, you do not yet know

yourself.



Natsha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failing to

take in the meaning of his words.



Hard as this year which delays my happiness will be, continued

Prince Andrew, it will give you time to be sure of yourself. I ask

you to make me happy in a year, but you are free our engagement shall

remain a secret, and should you find that you do not love me, or should

you come to love... said Prince Andrew with an unnatural smile.



Why do you say that? Natsha interrupted him. You know that

from the very day you first came to Otrdnoe I have loved you, she

cried, quite convinced that she spoke the truth.



In a year you will learn to know yourself....



A whole year! Natsha repeated suddenly, only now realizing that

the marriage was to be postponed for a year. But why a year? Why a

year?...



Prince Andrew began to explain to her the reasons for this delay.

Natsha did not hear him.



And cant it be helped? she asked. Prince Andrew did not reply,

but his face expressed the impossibility of altering that decision.



Its awful! Oh, its awful! awful! Natsha suddenly cried,

and again burst into sobs. I shall die, waiting a year its

impossible, its awful! She looked into her lovers face and saw

in it a look of commiseration and perplexity.



No, no! Ill do anything! she said, suddenly checking her tears.

I am so happy.



The father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple

their blessing.



From that day Prince Andrew began to frequent the Rostvs as

Natshas affianced lover.











CHAPTER XXIV



No betrothal ceremony took place and Natshas engagement to

Bolknski was not announced Prince Andrew insisted on that. He said

that as he was responsible for the delay he ought to bear the whole

burden of it that he had given his word and bound himself forever, but

that he did not wish to bind Natsha and gave her perfect freedom. If

after six months she felt that she did not love him she would have full

right to reject him. Naturally neither Natsha nor her parents wished

to hear of this, but Prince Andrew was firm. He came every day to the

Rostvs, but did not behave to Natsha as an affianced lover he

did not use the familiar thou, but said you to her, and kissed only her

hand. After their engagement, quite different, intimate, and natural

relations sprang up between them. It was as if they had not known each

other till now. Both liked to recall how they had regarded each other

when as yet they were nothing to one another they felt themselves

now quite different beings then they were artificial, now natural and

sincere. At first the family felt some constraint in intercourse with

Prince Andrew he seemed a man from another world, and for a long time

Natsha trained the family to get used to him, proudly assuring them

all that he only appeared to be different, but was really just like all

of them, and that she was not afraid of him and no one else ought to be.

After a few days they grew accustomed to him, and without restraint in

his presence pursued their usual way of life, in which he took his part.

He could talk about rural economy with the count, fashions with the

countess and Natsha, and about albums and fancywork with Snya.

Sometimes the household both among themselves and in his presence

expressed their wonder at how it had all happened, and at the evident

omens there had been of it Prince Andrews coming to Otrdnoe and

their coming to Petersburg, and the likeness between Natsha and Prince

Andrew which her nurse had noticed on his first visit, and Andrews

encounter with Nicholas in 1805, and many other incidents betokening

that it had to be.



In the house that poetic dullness and quiet reigned which always

accompanies the presence of a betrothed couple. Often when all sitting

together everyone kept silent. Sometimes the others would get up and

go away and the couple, left alone, still remained silent. They rarely

spoke of their future life. Prince Andrew was afraid and ashamed to

speak of it. Natsha shared this as she did all his feelings, which she

constantly divined. Once she began questioning him about his son. Prince

Andrew blushed, as he often did nowNatsha particularly liked it in

himand said that his son would not live with them.



Why not? asked Natsha in a frightened tone.



I cannot take him away from his grandfather, and besides...



How I should have loved him! said Natsha, immediately guessing

his thought but I know you wish to avoid any pretext for finding

fault with us.



Sometimes the old count would come up, kiss Prince Andrew, and ask

his advice about Ptyas education or Nicholas service. The

old countess sighed as she looked at them Snya was always getting

frightened lest she should be in the way and tried to find excuses for

leaving them alone, even when they did not wish it. When Prince Andrew

spoke (he could tell a story very well), Natsha listened to him

with pride when she spoke she noticed with fear and joy that he gazed

attentively and scrutinizingly at her. She asked herself in perplexity

What does he look for in me? He is trying to discover something by

looking at me! What if what he seeks in me is not there? Sometimes

she fell into one of the mad, merry moods characteristic of her, and

then she particularly loved to hear and see how Prince Andrew laughed.

He seldom laughed, but when he did he abandoned himself entirely to his

laughter, and after such a laugh she always felt nearer to him. Natsha

would have been completely happy if the thought of the separation

awaiting her and drawing near had not terrified her, just as the mere

thought of it made him turn pale and cold.



On the eve of his departure from Petersburg Prince Andrew brought with

him Pierre, who had not been to the Rostvs once since the ball.

Pierre seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. He was talking to the

countess, and Natsha sat down beside a little chess table with Snya,

thereby inviting Prince Andrew to come too. He did so.



You have known Bezkhov a long time? he asked. Do you like

him?



Yes, hes a dear, but very absurd.



And as usual when speaking of Pierre, she began to tell anecdotes of his

absent-mindedness, some of which had even been invented about him.



Do you know I have entrusted him with our secret? I have known him

from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natalie, Prince

Andrew said with sudden seriousnessI am going away and heaven

knows what may happen. You may cease to... all right, I know I am not

to say that. Only this, then whatever may happen to you when I am not

here...



What can happen?



Whatever trouble may come, Prince Andrew continued, I beg

you, Mademoiselle Sophie, whatever may happen, to turn to him alone for

advice and help! He is a most absent-minded and absurd fellow, but he

has a heart of gold.



Neither her father, nor her mother, nor Snya, nor Prince Andrew

himself could have foreseen how the separation from her lover would act

on Natsha. Flushed and agitated she went about the house all that day,

dry-eyed, occupied with most trivial matters as if not understanding

what awaited her. She did not even cry when, on taking leave, he kissed

her hand for the last time. Dont go! she said in a tone

that made him wonder whether he really ought not to stay and which he

remembered long afterwards. Nor did she cry when he was gone but

for several days she sat in her room dry-eyed, taking no interest in

anything and only saying now and then, Oh, why did he go away?



But a fortnight after his departure, to the surprise of those around

her, she recovered from her mental sickness just as suddenly and became

her old self again, but with a change in her moral physiognomy, as a

child gets up after a long illness with a changed expression of face.











CHAPTER XXV



During that year after his sons departure, Prince Nicholas

Bolknskis health and temper became much worse. He grew still more

irritable, and it was Princess Mary who generally bore the brunt of his

frequent fits of unprovoked anger. He seemed carefully to seek out

her tender spots so as to torture her mentally as harshly as possible.

Princess Mary had two passions and consequently two joysher nephew,

little Nicholas, and religionand these were the favorite subjects

of the princes attacks and ridicule. Whatever was spoken of he would

bring round to the superstitiousness of old maids, or the petting

and spoiling of children. You want to make himlittle

Nicholasinto an old maid like yourself! A pity! Prince Andrew

wants a son and not an old maid, he would say. Or, turning to

Mademoiselle Bourienne, he would ask her in Princess Marys presence

how she liked our village priests and icons and would joke about them.



He continually hurt Princess Marys feelings and tormented her, but it

cost her no effort to forgive him. Could he be to blame toward her, or

could her father, whom she knew loved her in spite of it all, be unjust?

And what is justice? The princess never thought of that proud word

justice. All the complex laws of man centered for her in one clear

and simple lawthe law of love and self-sacrifice taught us by Him who

lovingly suffered for mankind though He Himself was God. What had she to

do with the justice or injustice of other people? She had to endure and

love, and that she did.



During the winter Prince Andrew had come to Bald Hills and had been gay,

gentle, and more affectionate than Princess Mary had known him for a

long time past. She felt that something had happened to him, but he said

nothing to her about his love. Before he left he had a long talk with

his father about something, and Princess Mary noticed that before his

departure they were dissatisfied with one another.



Soon after Prince Andrew had gone, Princess Mary wrote to her friend

Julie Kargina in Petersburg, whom she had dreamed (as all girls dream)

of marrying to her brother, and who was at that time in mourning for her

own brother, killed in Turkey.



Sorrow, it seems, is our common lot, my dear, tender friend Julie.



Your loss is so terrible that I can only explain it to myself as a

special providence of God who, loving you, wishes to try you and your

excellent mother. Oh, my friend! Religion, and religion alone, canI

will not say comfort usbut save us from despair. Religion alone can

explain to us what without its help man cannot comprehend why, for what

cause, kind and noble beings able to find happiness in lifenot merely

harming no one but necessary to the happiness of othersare called

away to God, while cruel, useless, harmful persons, or such as are a

burden to themselves and to others, are left living. The first death I

saw, and one I shall never forgetthat of my dear sister-in-lawleft

that impression on me. Just as you ask destiny why your splendid brother

had to die, so I asked why that angel Lise, who not only never wronged

anyone, but in whose soul there were never any unkind thoughts, had to

die. And what do you think, dear friend? Five years have passed since

then, and already I, with my petty understanding, begin to see clearly

why she had to die, and in what way that death was but an expression

of the infinite goodness of the Creator, whose every action, though

generally incomprehensible to us, is but a manifestation of His infinite

love for His creatures. Perhaps, I often think, she was too angelically

innocent to have the strength to perform all a mothers duties. As a

young wife she was irreproachable perhaps she could not have been so

as a mother. As it is, not only has she left us, and particularly Prince

Andrew, with the purest regrets and memories, but probably she will

there receive a place I dare not hope for myself. But not to speak of

her alone, that early and terrible death has had the most beneficent

influence on me and on my brother in spite of all our grief. Then, at

the moment of our loss, these thoughts could not occur to me I should

then have dismissed them with horror, but now they are very clear and

certain. I write all this to you, dear friend, only to convince you

of the Gospel truth which has become for me a principle of life not

a single hair of our heads will fall without His will. And His will is

governed only by infinite love for us, and so whatever befalls us is for

our good.



You ask whether we shall spend next winter in Moscow. In spite of my

wish to see you, I do not think so and do not want to do so. You will

be surprised to hear that the reason for this is Buonaparte! The case is

this my fathers health is growing noticeably worse, he cannot stand

any contradiction and is becoming irritable. This irritability is, as

you know, chiefly directed to political questions. He cannot endure

the notion that Buonaparte is negotiating on equal terms with all the

sovereigns of Europe and particularly with our own, the grandson of the

Great Catherine! As you know, I am quite indifferent to politics, but

from my fathers remarks and his talks with Michael Ivnovich I know

all that goes on in the world and especially about the honors conferred

on Buonaparte, who only at Bald Hills in the whole world, it seems, is

not accepted as a great man, still less as Emperor of France. And my

father cannot stand this. It seems to me that it is chiefly because of

his political views that my father is reluctant to speak of going to

Moscow for he foresees the encounters that would result from his way

of expressing his views regardless of anybody. All the benefit he might

derive from a course of treatment he would lose as a result of the

disputes about Buonaparte which would be inevitable. In any case it will

be decided very shortly.



Our family life goes on in the old way except for my brother Andrews

absence. He, as I wrote you before, has changed very much of late. After

his sorrow he only this year quite recovered his spirits. He has again

become as I used to know him when a child kind, affectionate, with that

heart of gold to which I know no equal. He has realized, it seems to me,

that life is not over for him. But together with this mental change

he has grown physically much weaker. He has become thinner and more

nervous. I am anxious about him and glad he is taking this trip abroad

which the doctors recommended long ago. I hope it will cure him. You

write that in Petersburg he is spoken of as one of the most active,

cultivated, and capable of the young men. Forgive my vanity as a

relation, but I never doubted it. The good he has done to everybody

here, from his peasants up to the gentry, is incalculable. On his

arrival in Petersburg he received only his due. I always wonder at the

way rumors fly from Petersburg to Moscow, especially such false ones as

that you write aboutI mean the report of my brothers betrothal to

the little Rostva. I do not think my brother will ever marry again,

and certainly not her and this is why first, I know that though he

rarely speaks about the wife he has lost, the grief of that loss

has gone too deep in his heart for him ever to decide to give her a

successor and our little angel a stepmother. Secondly because, as far

as I know, that girl is not the kind of girl who could please Prince

Andrew. I do not think he would choose her for a wife, and frankly I do

not wish it. But I am running on too long and am at the end of my second

sheet. Good-by, my dear friend. May God keep you in His holy and mighty

care. My dear friend, Mademoiselle Bourienne, sends you kisses.



MARY











CHAPTER XXVI



In the middle of the summer Princess Mary received an unexpected letter

from Prince Andrew in Switzerland in which he gave her strange and

surprising news. He informed her of his engagement to Natsha Rostva.

The whole letter breathed loving rapture for his betrothed and tender

and confiding affection for his sister. He wrote that he had never loved

as he did now and that only now did he understand and know what life

was. He asked his sister to forgive him for not having told her of his

resolve when he had last visited Bald Hills, though he had spoken of it

to his father. He had not done so for fear Princess Mary should ask her

father to give his consent, irritating him and having to bear the brunt

of his displeasure without attaining her object. Besides, he

wrote, the matter was not then so definitely settled as it is now.

My father then insisted on a delay of a year and now already six months,

half of that period, have passed, and my resolution is firmer than ever.

If the doctors did not keep me here at the spas I should be back in

Russia, but as it is I have to postpone my return for three months. You

know me and my relations with Father. I want nothing from him. I have

been and always shall be independent but to go against his will and

arouse his anger, now that he may perhaps remain with us such a short

time, would destroy half my happiness. I am now writing to him about

the same question, and beg you to choose a good moment to hand him the

letter and to let me know how he looks at the whole matter and whether

there is hope that he may consent to reduce the term by four months.



After long hesitations, doubts, and prayers, Princess Mary gave the

letter to her father. The next day the old prince said to her quietly



Write and tell your brother to wait till I am dead.... It wont be

longI shall soon set him free.



The princess was about to reply, but her father would not let her speak

and, raising his voice more and more, cried



Marry, marry, my boy!... A good family!... Clever people, eh? Rich,

eh? Yes, a nice stepmother little Nicholas will have! Write and tell him

that he may marry tomorrow if he likes. She will be little Nicholas

stepmother and Ill marry Bourienne!... Ha, ha, ha! He mustnt be

without a stepmother either! Only one thing, no more women are wanted

in my houselet him marry and live by himself. Perhaps you will go

and live with him too? he added, turning to Princess Mary. Go in

heavens name! Go out into the frost... the frost... the frost!



After this outburst the prince did not speak any more about the matter.

But repressed vexation at his sons poor-spirited behavior found

expression in his treatment of his daughter. To his former pretexts

for irony a fresh one was now addedallusions to stepmothers and

amiabilities to Mademoiselle Bourienne.



Why shouldnt I marry her? he asked his daughter. Shell

make a splendid princess!



And latterly, to her surprise and bewilderment, Princess Mary

noticed that her father was really associating more and more with the

Frenchwoman. She wrote to Prince Andrew about the reception of his

letter, but comforted him with hopes of reconciling their father to the

idea.



Little Nicholas and his education, her brother Andrew, and religion

were Princess Marys joys and consolations but besides that, since

everyone must have personal hopes, Princess Mary in the profoundest

depths of her heart had a hidden dream and hope that supplied the chief

consolation of her life. This comforting dream and hope were given her

by Gods folkthe half-witted and other pilgrims who visited

her without the princes knowledge. The longer she lived, the more

experience and observation she had of life, the greater was her wonder

at the short-sightedness of men who seek enjoyment and happiness here

on earth toiling, suffering, struggling, and harming one another, to

obtain that impossible, visionary, sinful happiness. Prince Andrew had

loved his wife, she died, but that was not enough he wanted to bind

his happiness to another woman. Her father objected to this because he

wanted a more distinguished and wealthier match for Andrew. And they

all struggled and suffered and tormented one another and injured their

souls, their eternal souls, for the attainment of benefits which endure

but for an instant. Not only do we know this ourselves, but Christ, the

Son of God, came down to earth and told us that this life is but for

a moment and is a probation yet we cling to it and think to find

happiness in it. How is it that no one realizes this? thought

Princess Mary. No one except these despised Gods folk who, wallet

on back, come to me by the back door, afraid of being seen by the

prince, not for fear of ill-usage by him but for fear of causing him

to sin. To leave family, home, and all the cares of worldly welfare, in

order without clinging to anything to wander in hempen rags from place

to place under an assumed name, doing no one any harm but praying for

allfor those who drive one away as well as for those who protect one

higher than that life and truth there is no life or truth!



There was one pilgrim, a quiet pockmarked little woman of fifty called

Theodosia, who for over thirty years had gone about barefoot and worn

heavy chains. Princess Mary was particularly fond of her. Once, when in

a room with a lamp dimly lit before the icon Theodosia was talking of

her life, the thought that Theodosia alone had found the true path of

life suddenly came to Princess Mary with such force that she resolved to

become a pilgrim herself. When Theodosia had gone to sleep Princess Mary

thought about this for a long time, and at last made up her mind that,

strange as it might seem, she must go on a pilgrimage. She disclosed

this thought to no one but to her confessor, Father Aknfi, the monk,

and he approved of her intention. Under guise of a present for the

pilgrims, Princess Mary prepared a pilgrims complete costume for

herself a coarse smock, bast shoes, a rough coat, and a black kerchief.

Often, approaching the chest of drawers containing this secret treasure,

Princess Mary paused, uncertain whether the time had not already come to

put her project into execution.



Often, listening to the pilgrims tales, she was so stimulated by

their simple speech, mechanical to them but to her so full of deep

meaning, that several times she was on the point of abandoning

everything and running away from home. In imagination she already

pictured herself by Theodosias side, dressed in coarse rags, walking

with a staff, a wallet on her back, along the dusty road, directing her

wanderings from one saints shrine to another, free from envy, earthly

love, or desire, and reaching at last the place where there is no more

sorrow or sighing, but eternal joy and bliss.



I shall come to a place and pray there, and before having time to get

used to it or getting to love it, I shall go farther. I will go on till

my legs fail, and Ill lie down and die somewhere, and shall at last

reach that eternal, quiet haven, where there is neither sorrow nor

sighing... thought Princess Mary.



But afterwards, when she saw her father and especially little Koko

(Nicholas), her resolve weakened. She wept quietly, and felt that she

was a sinner who loved her father and little nephew more than God.











BOOK SEVEN 1810 - 11











CHAPTER I



The Bible legend tells us that the absence of laboridlenesswas a

condition of the first mans blessedness before the Fall. Fallen man

has retained a love of idleness, but the curse weighs on the race not

only because we have to seek our bread in the sweat of our brows, but

because our moral nature is such that we cannot be both idle and at

ease. An inner voice tells us we are in the wrong if we are idle. If man

could find a state in which he felt that though idle he was fulfilling

his duty, he would have found one of the conditions of mans primitive

blessedness. And such a state of obligatory and irreproachable idleness

is the lot of a whole classthe military. The chief attraction of

military service has consisted and will consist in this compulsory and

irreproachable idleness.



Nicholas Rostv experienced this blissful condition to the full when,

after 1807, he continued to serve in the Pvlograd regiment, in which

he already commanded the squadron he had taken over from Densov.



Rostv had become a bluff, good-natured fellow, whom his Moscow

acquaintances would have considered rather bad form, but who was liked

and respected by his comrades, subordinates, and superiors, and was well

contented with his life. Of late, in 1809, he found in letters from home

more frequent complaints from his mother that their affairs were falling

into greater and greater disorder, and that it was time for him to come

back to gladden and comfort his old parents.



Reading these letters, Nicholas felt a dread of their wanting to

take him away from surroundings in which, protected from all the

entanglements of life, he was living so calmly and quietly. He felt that

sooner or later he would have to re-enter that whirlpool of life, with

its embarrassments and affairs to be straightened out, its accounts

with stewards, quarrels, and intrigues, its ties, society, and with

Snyas love and his promise to her. It was all dreadfully difficult

and complicated and he replied to his mother in cold, formal letters

in French, beginning My dear Mamma, and ending Your obedient

son, which said nothing of when he would return. In 1810 he received

letters from his parents, in which they told him of Natshas

engagement to Bolknski, and that the wedding would be in a years

time because the old prince made difficulties. This letter grieved and

mortified Nicholas. In the first place he was sorry that Natsha, for

whom he cared more than for anyone else in the family, should be lost to

the home and secondly, from his hussar point of view, he regretted not

to have been there to show that fellow Bolknski that connection with

him was no such great honor after all, and that if he loved Natsha he

might dispense with permission from his dotard father. For a moment he

hesitated whether he should not apply for leave in order to see Natsha

before she was married, but then came the maneuvers, and considerations

about Snya and about the confusion of their affairs, and Nicholas

again put it off. But in the spring of that year, he received a letter

from his mother, written without his fathers knowledge, and that

letter persuaded him to return. She wrote that if he did not come and

take matters in hand, their whole property would be sold by auction and

they would all have to go begging. The count was so weak, and trusted

Mtenka so much, and was so good-natured, that everybody took advantage

of him and things were going from bad to worse. For Gods sake, I

implore you, come at once if you do not wish to make me and the whole

family wretched, wrote the countess.



This letter touched Nicholas. He had that common sense of a

matter-of-fact man which showed him what he ought to do.



The right thing now was, if not to retire from the service, at any rate

to go home on leave. Why he had to go he did not know but after his

after-dinner nap he gave orders to saddle Mars, an extremely vicious

gray stallion that had not been ridden for a long time, and when

he returned with the horse all in a lather, he informed Lavrshka

(Densovs servant who had remained with him) and his comrades who

turned up in the evening that he was applying for leave and was going

home. Difficult and strange as it was for him to reflect that he would

go away without having heard from the staffand this interested him

extremelywhether he was promoted to a captaincy or would receive the

Order of St. Anne for the last maneuvers strange as it was to think

that he would go away without having sold his three roans to the Polish

Count Golukhovski, who was bargaining for the horses Rostv had betted

he would sell for two thousand rubles incomprehensible as it

seemed that the ball the hussars were giving in honor of the Polish

Mademoiselle Przazdziecka (out of rivalry to the Uhlans who had given

one in honor of their Polish Mademoiselle Borzozowska) would take place

without himhe knew he must go away from this good, bright world to

somewhere where everything was stupid and confused. A week later he

obtained his leave. His hussar comradesnot only those of his own

regiment, but the whole brigadegave Rostv a dinner to which the

subscription was fifteen rubles a head, and at which there were two

bands and two choirs of singers. Rostv danced the Trepk with Major

Bsov the tipsy officers tossed, embraced, and dropped Rostv the

soldiers of the third squadron tossed him too, and shouted hurrah!

and then they put him in his sleigh and escorted him as far as the first

post station.



During the first half of the journeyfrom Kremenchg to Kievall

Rostvs thoughts, as is usual in such cases, were behind him, with

the squadron but when he had gone more than halfway he began to forget

his three roans and Dozhoyvyko, his quartermaster, and to wonder

anxiously how things would be at Otrdnoe and what he would find

there. Thoughts of home grew stronger the nearer he approached itfar

stronger, as though this feeling of his was subject to the law by which

the force of attraction is in inverse proportion to the square of the

distance. At the last post station before Otrdnoe he gave the driver a

three-ruble tip, and on arriving he ran breathlessly, like a boy, up the

steps of his home.



After the rapture of meeting, and after that odd feeling of unsatisfied

expectationthe feeling that everything is just the same, so why

did I hurry?Nicholas began to settle down in his old home world.

His father and mother were much the same, only a little older. What was

new in them was a certain uneasiness and occasional discord, which there

used not to be, and which, as Nicholas soon found out, was due to the

bad state of their affairs. Snya was nearly twenty she had stopped

growing prettier and promised nothing more than she was already, but

that was enough. She exhaled happiness and love from the time Nicholas

returned, and the faithful, unalterable love of this girl had a

gladdening effect on him. Ptya and Natsha surprised Nicholas

most. Ptya was a big handsome boy of thirteen, merry, witty, and

mischievous, with a voice that was already breaking. As for Natsha,

for a long while Nicholas wondered and laughed whenever he looked at

her.



Youre not the same at all, he said.



How? Am I uglier?



On the contrary, but what dignity? A princess! he whispered to

her.



Yes, yes, yes! cried Natsha, joyfully.



She told him about her romance with Prince Andrew and of his visit to

Otrdnoe and showed him his last letter.



Well, are you glad? Natsha asked. I am so tranquil and happy

now.



Very glad, answered Nicholas. He is an excellent fellow.... And

are you very much in love?



How shall I put it? replied Natsha. I was in love with

Bors, with my teacher, and with Densov, but this is quite different.

I feel at peace and settled. I know that no better man than he exists,

and I am calm and contented now. Not at all as before.



Nicholas expressed his disapproval of the postponement of the marriage

for a year but Natsha attacked her brother with exasperation, proving

to him that it could not be otherwise, and that it would be a bad thing

to enter a family against the fathers will, and that she herself

wished it so.



You dont at all understand, she said.



Nicholas was silent and agreed with her.



Her brother often wondered as he looked at her. She did not seem at

all like a girl in love and parted from her affianced husband. She was

even-tempered and calm and quite as cheerful as of old. This amazed

Nicholas and even made him regard Bolknskis courtship skeptically.

He could not believe that her fate was sealed, especially as he had

not seen her with Prince Andrew. It always seemed to him that there was

something not quite right about this intended marriage.



Why this delay? Why no betrothal? he thought. Once, when he had

touched on this topic with his mother, he discovered, to his surprise

and somewhat to his satisfaction, that in the depth of her soul she too

had doubts about this marriage.



You see he writes, said she, showing her son a letter of Prince

Andrews, with that latent grudge a mother always has in regard to a

daughters future married happiness, he writes that he wont come

before December. What can be keeping him? Illness, probably! His health

is very delicate. Dont tell Natsha. And dont attach importance

to her being so bright thats because shes living through the last

days of her girlhood, but I know what she is like every time we receive

a letter from him! However, God grant that everything turns out well!

(She always ended with these words.) He is an excellent man!











CHAPTER II



After reaching home Nicholas was at first serious and even dull. He was

worried by the impending necessity of interfering in the stupid business

matters for which his mother had called him home. To throw off this

burden as quickly as possible, on the third day after his arrival he

went, angry and scowling and without answering questions as to where he

was going, to Mtenkas lodge and demanded an account of everything.

But what an account of everything might be Nicholas knew even less

than the frightened and bewildered Mtenka. The conversation and the

examination of the accounts with Mtenka did not last long. The village

elder, a peasant delegate, and the village clerk, who were waiting in

the passage, heard with fear and delight first the young counts voice

roaring and snapping and rising louder and louder, and then words of

abuse, dreadful words, ejaculated one after the other.



Robber!... Ungrateful wretch!... Ill hack the dog to pieces! Im

not my father!... Robbing us!... and so on.



Then with no less fear and delight they saw how the young count, red in

the face and with bloodshot eyes, dragged Mtenka out by the scruff of

the neck and applied his foot and knee to his behind with great agility

at convenient moments between the words, shouting, Be off! Never let

me see your face here again, you villain!



Mtenka flew headlong down the six steps and ran away into the

shrubbery. (This shrubbery was a well-known haven of refuge for culprits

at Otrdnoe. Mtenka himself, returning tipsy from the town, used

to hide there, and many of the residents at Otrdnoe, hiding from

Mtenka, knew of its protective qualities.)



Mtenkas wife and sisters-in-law thrust their heads and frightened

faces out of the door of a room where a bright samovar was boiling and

where the stewards high bedstead stood with its patchwork quilt.



The young count paid no heed to them, but, breathing hard, passed by

with resolute strides and went into the house.



The countess, who heard at once from the maids what had happened at the

lodge, was calmed by the thought that now their affairs would certainly

improve, but on the other hand felt anxious as to the effect this

excitement might have on her son. She went several times to his door on

tiptoe and listened, as he lighted one pipe after another.



Next day the old count called his son aside and, with an embarrassed

smile, said to him



But you know, my dear boy, its a pity you got excited! Mtenka

has told me all about it.



I knew, thought Nicholas, that I should never understand

anything in this crazy world.



You were angry that he had not entered those 700 rubles. But they

were carried forwardand you did not look at the other page.



Papa, he is a blackguard and a thief! I know he is! And what I have

done, I have done but, if you like, I wont speak to him again.



No, my dear boy (the count, too, felt embarrassed. He knew he had

mismanaged his wifes property and was to blame toward his children,

but he did not know how to remedy it). No, I beg you to attend to the

business. I am old. I...



No, Papa. Forgive me if I have caused you unpleasantness. I

understand it all less than you do.



Devil take all these peasants, and money matters, and carryings

forward from page to page, he thought. I used to understand what

a corner and the stakes at cards meant, but carrying forward to

another page I dont understand at all, said he to himself, and

after that he did not meddle in business affairs. But once the countess

called her son and informed him that she had a promissory note from Anna

Mikhylovna for two thousand rubles, and asked him what he thought of

doing with it.



This, answered Nicholas. You say it rests with me. Well, I

dont like Anna Mikhylovna and I dont like Bors, but they were

our friends and poor. Well then, this! and he tore up the note, and

by so doing caused the old countess to weep tears of joy. After that,

young Rostv took no further part in any business affairs, but

devoted himself with passionate enthusiasm to what was to him a new

pursuitthe chasefor which his father kept a large establishment.











CHAPTER III



The weather was already growing wintry and morning frosts congealed

an earth saturated by autumn rains. The verdure had thickened and its

bright green stood out sharply against the brownish strips of winter rye

trodden down by the cattle, and against the pale-yellow stubble of the

spring buckwheat. The wooded ravines and the copses, which at the end of

August had still been green islands amid black fields and stubble, had

become golden and bright-red islands amid the green winter rye. The

hares had already half changed their summer coats, the fox cubs were

beginning to scatter, and the young wolves were bigger than dogs. It was

the best time of the year for the chase. The hounds of that ardent young

sportsman Rostv had not merely reached hard winter condition, but were

so jaded that at a meeting of the huntsmen it was decided to give them

a three days rest and then, on the sixteenth of September, to go on

a distant expedition, starting from the oak grove where there was an

undisturbed litter of wolf cubs.



All that day the hounds remained at home. It was frosty and the air was

sharp, but toward evening the sky became overcast and it began to thaw.

On the fifteenth, when young Rostv, in his dressing gown, looked out

of the window, he saw it was an unsurpassable morning for hunting it

was as if the sky were melting and sinking to the earth without any

wind. The only motion in the air was that of the dripping, microscopic

particles of drizzling mist. The bare twigs in the garden were hung with

transparent drops which fell on the freshly fallen leaves. The earth in

the kitchen garden looked wet and black and glistened like poppy seed

and at a short distance merged into the dull, moist veil of mist.

Nicholas went out into the wet and muddy porch. There was a smell of

decaying leaves and of dog. Mlka, a black-spotted, broad-haunched

bitch with prominent black eyes, got up on seeing her master, stretched

her hind legs, lay down like a hare, and then suddenly jumped up and

licked him right on his nose and mustache. Another borzoi, a dog,

catching sight of his master from the garden path, arched his back

and, rushing headlong toward the porch with lifted tail, began rubbing

himself against his legs.



O-hoy! came at that moment, that inimitable huntsmans call

which unites the deepest bass with the shrillest tenor, and round

the corner came Daniel the head huntsman and head kennelman, a gray,

wrinkled old man with hair cut straight over his forehead, Ukrainian

fashion, a long bent whip in his hand, and that look of independence

and scorn of everything that is only seen in huntsmen. He doffed his

Circassian cap to his master and looked at him scornfully. This scorn

was not offensive to his master. Nicholas knew that this Daniel,

disdainful of everybody and who considered himself above them, was all

the same his serf and huntsman.



Daniel! Nicholas said timidly, conscious at the sight of the

weather, the hounds, and the huntsman that he was being carried away

by that irresistible passion for sport which makes a man forget all

his previous resolutions, as a lover forgets in the presence of his

mistress.



What orders, your excellency? said the huntsman in his deep bass,

deep as a proto-deacons and hoarse with hallooingand two flashing

black eyes gazed from under his brows at his master, who was silent.

Can you resist it? those eyes seemed to be asking.



Its a good day, eh? For a hunt and a gallop, eh? asked

Nicholas, scratching Mlka behind the ears.



Daniel did not answer, but winked instead.



I sent Uvrka at dawn to listen, his bass boomed out after a

minutes pause. He says shes moved them into the Otrdnoe

enclosure. They were howling there. (This meant that the she-wolf,

about whom they both knew, had moved with her cubs to the Otrdnoe

copse, a small place a mile and a half from the house.)



We ought to go, dont you think so? said Nicholas. Come to me

with Uvrka.



As you please.



Then put off feeding them.



Yes, sir.



Five minutes later Daniel and Uvrka were standing in Nicholas big

study. Though Daniel was not a big man, to see him in a room was

like seeing a horse or a bear on the floor among the furniture and

surroundings of human life. Daniel himself felt this, and as usual stood

just inside the door, trying to speak softly and not move, for fear of

breaking something in the masters apartment, and he hastened to say

all that was necessary so as to get from under that ceiling, out into

the open under the sky once more.



Having finished his inquiries and extorted from Daniel an opinion that

the hounds were fit (Daniel himself wished to go hunting), Nicholas

ordered the horses to be saddled. But just as Daniel was about to

go Natsha came in with rapid steps, not having done up her hair or

finished dressing and with her old nurses big shawl wrapped round

her. Ptya ran in at the same time.



You are going? asked Natsha. I knew you would! Snya said

you wouldnt go, but I knew that today is the sort of day when you

couldnt help going.



Yes, we are going, replied Nicholas reluctantly, for today, as he

intended to hunt seriously, he did not want to take Natsha and Ptya.

We are going, but only wolf hunting it would be dull for you.



You know it is my greatest pleasure, said Natsha. Its not

fair you are going by yourself, are having the horses saddled and said

nothing to us about it.



No barrier bars a Russians pathwell go! shouted

Ptya.



But you cant. Mamma said you mustnt, said Nicholas to

Natsha.



Yes, Ill go. I shall certainly go, said Natsha decisively.

Daniel, tell them to saddle for us, and Michael must come with my

dogs, she added to the huntsman.



It seemed to Daniel irksome and improper to be in a room at all, but to

have anything to do with a young lady seemed to him impossible. He

cast down his eyes and hurried out as if it were none of his business,

careful as he went not to inflict any accidental injury on the young

lady.











CHAPTER IV



The old count, who had always kept up an enormous hunting establishment

but had now handed it all completely over to his sons care, being

in very good spirits on this fifteenth of September, prepared to go out

with the others.



In an hours time the whole hunting party was at the porch. Nicholas,

with a stern and serious air which showed that now was no time for

attending to trifles, went past Natsha and Ptya who were trying to

tell him something. He had a look at all the details of the hunt, sent

a pack of hounds and huntsmen on ahead to find the quarry, mounted his

chestnut Donts, and whistling to his own leash of borzois, set off

across the threshing ground to a field leading to the Otrdnoe wood.

The old counts horse, a sorrel gelding called Viflynka, was led by

the groom in attendance on him, while the count himself was to drive in

a small trap straight to a spot reserved for him.



They were taking fifty-four hounds, with six hunt attendants and

whippers-in. Besides the family, there were eight borzoi kennelmen

and more than forty borzois, so that, with the borzois on the leash

belonging to members of the family, there were about a hundred and

thirty dogs and twenty horsemen.



Each dog knew its master and its call. Each man in the hunt knew his

business, his place, what he had to do. As soon as they had passed the

fence they all spread out evenly and quietly, without noise or talk,

along the road and field leading to the Otrdnoe covert.



The horses stepped over the field as over a thick carpet, now and then

splashing into puddles as they crossed a road. The misty sky still

seemed to descend evenly and imperceptibly toward the earth, the air

was still, warm, and silent. Occasionally the whistle of a huntsman,

the snort of a horse, the crack of a whip, or the whine of a straggling

hound could be heard.



When they had gone a little less than a mile, five more riders with

dogs appeared out of the mist, approaching the Rostvs. In front rode a

fresh-looking, handsome old man with a large gray mustache.



Good morning, Uncle! said Nicholas, when the old man drew near.



Thats it. Come on!... I was sure of it, began Uncle. (He

was a distant relative of the Rostvs, a man of small means, and

their neighbor.) I knew you wouldnt be able to resist it and

its a good thing youre going. Thats it! Come on! (This was

Uncles favorite expression.) Take the covert at once, for my

Grchik says the Ilgins are at Kornik with their hounds. Thats

it. Come on!... Theyll take the cubs from under your very nose.



Thats where Im going. Shall we join up our packs? asked

Nicholas.



The hounds were joined into one pack, and Uncle and Nicholas rode

on side by side. Natsha, muffled up in shawls which did not hide her

eager face and shining eyes, galloped up to them. She was followed by

Ptya who always kept close to her, by Michael, a huntsman, and by a

groom appointed to look after her. Ptya, who was laughing, whipped and

pulled at his horse. Natsha sat easily and confidently on her black

Arbchik and reined him in without effort with a firm hand.



Uncle looked round disapprovingly at Ptya and Natsha. He did

not like to combine frivolity with the serious business of hunting.



Good morning, Uncle! We are going too! shouted Ptya.



Good morning, good morning! But dont go overriding the hounds,

said Uncle sternly.



Nicholas, what a fine dog Trunla is! He knew me, said Natsha,

referring to her favorite hound.



In the first place, Trunla is not a dog, but a harrier,

thought Nicholas, and looked sternly at his sister, trying to make her

feel the distance that ought to separate them at that moment. Natsha

understood it.



You mustnt think well be in anyones way, Uncle, she said.

Well go to our places and wont budge.



A good thing too, little countess, said Uncle, only mind

you dont fall off your horse, he added, becausethats it,

come on!youve nothing to hold on to.



The oasis of the Otrdnoe covert came in sight a few hundred yards off,

the huntsmen were already nearing it. Rostv, having finally settled

with Uncle where they should set on the hounds, and having shown

Natsha where she was to standa spot where nothing could possibly

run outwent round above the ravine.



Well, nephew, youre going for a big wolf, said Uncle.

Mind and dont let her slip!



Thats as may happen, answered Rostv. Kary, here! he

shouted, answering Uncles remark by this call to his borzoi.

Kary was a shaggy old dog with a hanging jowl, famous for having

tackled a big wolf unaided. They all took up their places.



The old count, knowing his sons ardor in the hunt, hurried so as not

to be late, and the huntsmen had not yet reached their places when Count

Ily Rostv, cheerful, flushed, and with quivering cheeks, drove up

with his black horses over the winter rye to the place reserved for him,

where a wolf might come out. Having straightened his coat and fastened

on his hunting knives and horn, he mounted his good, sleek, well-fed,

and comfortable horse, Viflynka, which was turning gray, like himself.

His horses and trap were sent home. Count Ily Rostv, though not at

heart a keen sportsman, knew the rules of the hunt well, and rode to

the bushy edge of the road where he was to stand, arranged his reins,

settled himself in the saddle, and, feeling that he was ready, looked

about with a smile.



Beside him was Simon Chekmr, his personal attendant, an old horseman

now somewhat stiff in the saddle. Chekmr held in leash three

formidable wolfhounds, who had, however, grown fat like their master

and his horse. Two wise old dogs lay down unleashed. Some hundred paces

farther along the edge of the wood stood Mtka, the counts other

groom, a daring horseman and keen rider to hounds. Before the hunt, by

old custom, the count had drunk a silver cupful of mulled brandy, taken

a snack, and washed it down with half a bottle of his favorite Bordeaux.



He was somewhat flushed with the wine and the drive. His eyes were

rather moist and glittered more than usual, and as he sat in his saddle,

wrapped up in his fur coat, he looked like a child taken out for an

outing.



The thin, hollow-cheeked Chekmr, having got everything ready, kept

glancing at his master with whom he had lived on the best of terms for

thirty years, and understanding the mood he was in expected a pleasant

chat. A third person rode up circumspectly through the wood (it was

plain that he had had a lesson) and stopped behind the count. This

person was a gray-bearded old man in a womans cloak, with a tall

peaked cap on his head. He was the buffoon, who went by a womans

name, Nastsya Ivnovna.



Well, Nastsya Ivnovna! whispered the count, winking at him.

If you scare away the beast, Danielll give it you!



I know a thing or two myself! said Nastsya Ivnovna.



Hush! whispered the count and turned to Simon. Have you seen

the young countess? he asked. Where is she?



With young Count Peter, by the Zhrov rank grass, answered Simon,

smiling. Though shes a lady, shes very fond of hunting.



And youre surprised at the way she rides, Simon, eh? said the

count. Shes as good as many a man!



Of course! Its marvelous. So bold, so easy!



And Nicholas? Where is he? By the Lydov upland, isnt he?



Yes, sir. He knows where to stand. He understands the matter so well

that Daniel and I are often quite astounded, said Simon, well knowing

what would please his master.



Rides well, eh? And how well he looks on his horse, eh?



A perfect picture! How he chased a fox out of the rank grass by the

Zavrzinsk thicket the other day! Leaped a fearful place what a sight

when they rushed from the covert... the horse worth a thousand rubles

and the rider beyond all price! Yes, one would have to search far to

find another as smart.



To search far... repeated the count, evidently sorry Simon had not

said more. To search far, he said, turning back the skirt of his

coat to get at his snuffbox.



The other day when he came out from Mass in full uniform, Michael

Sidrych... Simon did not finish, for on the still air he had

distinctly caught the music of the hunt with only two or three hounds

giving tongue. He bent down his head and listened, shaking a warning

finger at his master. They are on the scent of the cubs... he

whispered, straight to the Lydov uplands.



The count, forgetting to smooth out the smile on his face, looked into

the distance straight before him, down the narrow open space, holding

the snuffbox in his hand but not taking any. After the cry of the hounds

came the deep tones of the wolf call from Daniels hunting horn the

pack joined the first three hounds and they could be heard in full cry,

with that peculiar lift in the note that indicates that they are after

a wolf. The whippers-in no longer set on the hounds, but changed to the

cry of ulyulyu, and above the others rose Daniels voice, now a deep

bass, now piercingly shrill. His voice seemed to fill the whole wood and

carried far beyond out into the open field.



After listening a few moments in silence, the count and his attendant

convinced themselves that the hounds had separated into two packs the

sound of the larger pack, eagerly giving tongue, began to die away in

the distance, the other pack rushed by the wood past the count, and

it was with this that Daniels voice was heard calling ulyulyu.

The sounds of both packs mingled and broke apart again, but both were

becoming more distant.



Simon sighed and stooped to straighten the leash a young borzoi had

entangled the count too sighed and, noticing the snuffbox in his hand,

opened it and took a pinch. Back! cried Simon to a borzoi that

was pushing forward out of the wood. The count started and dropped the

snuffbox. Nastsya Ivnovna dismounted to pick it up. The count and

Simon were looking at him.



Then, unexpectedly, as often happens, the sound of the hunt suddenly

approached, as if the hounds in full cry and Daniel ulyulyuing were just

in front of them.



The count turned and saw on his right Mtka staring at him with eyes

starting out of his head, raising his cap and pointing before him to the

other side.



Look out! he shouted, in a voice plainly showing that he had long

fretted to utter that word, and letting the borzois slip he galloped

toward the count.



The count and Simon galloped out of the wood and saw on their left a

wolf which, softly swaying from side to side, was coming at a quiet

lope farther to the left to the very place where they were standing.

The angry borzois whined and getting free of the leash rushed past the

horses feet at the wolf.



The wolf paused, turned its heavy forehead toward the dogs awkwardly,

like a man suffering from the quinsy, and, still slightly swaying

from side to side, gave a couple of leaps and with a swish of its tail

disappeared into the skirt of the wood. At the same instant, with a cry

like a wail, first one hound, then another, and then another, sprang

helter-skelter from the wood opposite and the whole pack rushed across

the field toward the very spot where the wolf had disappeared. The hazel

bushes parted behind the hounds and Daniels chestnut horse appeared,

dark with sweat. On its long back sat Daniel, hunched forward, capless,

his disheveled gray hair hanging over his flushed, perspiring face.



Ulyulyulyu! ulyulyu!... he cried. When he caught sight of the

count his eyes flashed lightning.



Blast you! he shouted, holding up his whip threateningly at the

count.



Youve let the wolf go!... What sportsmen! and as if scorning to

say more to the frightened and shamefaced count, he lashed the heaving

flanks of his sweating chestnut gelding with all the anger the count

had aroused and flew off after the hounds. The count, like a punished

schoolboy, looked round, trying by a smile to win Simons sympathy for

his plight. But Simon was no longer there. He was galloping round by the

bushes while the field was coming up on both sides, all trying to head

the wolf, but it vanished into the wood before they could do so.











CHAPTER V



Nicholas Rostv meanwhile remained at his post, waiting for the wolf.

By the way the hunt approached and receded, by the cries of the dogs

whose notes were familiar to him, by the way the voices of the huntsmen

approached, receded, and rose, he realized what was happening at the

copse. He knew that young and old wolves were there, that the hounds had

separated into two packs, that somewhere a wolf was being chased, and

that something had gone wrong. He expected the wolf to come his way any

moment. He made thousands of different conjectures as to where and

from what side the beast would come and how he would set upon it. Hope

alternated with despair. Several times he addressed a prayer to God

that the wolf should come his way. He prayed with that passionate and

shamefaced feeling with which men pray at moments of great excitement

arising from trivial causes. What would it be to Thee to do this for

me? he said to God. I know Thou art great, and that it is a sin to

ask this of Thee, but for Gods sake do let the old wolf come my way

and let Kary spring at itin sight of Uncle who is watching

from over thereand seize it by the throat in a death grip! A

thousand times during that half-hour Rostv cast eager and restless

glances over the edge of the wood, with the two scraggy oaks rising

above the aspen undergrowth and the gully with its water-worn side and

Uncles cap just visible above the bush on his right.



No, I shant have such luck, thought Rostv, yet what

wouldnt it be worth! It is not to be! Everywhere, at cards and in

war, I am always unlucky. Memories of Austerlitz and of Dlokhov

flashed rapidly and clearly through his mind. Only once in my life

to get an old wolf, I want only that! thought he, straining eyes and

ears and looking to the left and then to the right and listening to the

slightest variation of note in the cries of the dogs.



Again he looked to the right and saw something running toward him across

the deserted field. No, it cant be! thought Rostv, taking a

deep breath, as a man does at the coming of something long hoped for.

The height of happiness was reachedand so simply, without warning, or

noise, or display, that Rostv could not believe his eyes and remained

in doubt for over a second. The wolf ran forward and jumped heavily over

a gully that lay in her path. She was an old animal with a gray back and

big reddish belly. She ran without hurry, evidently feeling sure that no

one saw her. Rostv, holding his breath, looked round at the borzois.

They stood or lay not seeing the wolf or understanding the situation.

Old Kary had turned his head and was angrily searching for fleas,

baring his yellow teeth and snapping at his hind legs.



Ulyulyulyu! whispered Rostv, pouting his lips. The borzois

jumped up, jerking the rings of the leashes and pricking their ears.

Kary finished scratching his hindquarters and, cocking his ears, got

up with quivering tail from which tufts of matted hair hung down.



Shall I loose them or not? Nicholas asked himself as the wolf

approached him coming from the copse. Suddenly the wolfs whole

physiognomy changed she shuddered, seeing what she had probably never

seen beforehuman eyes fixed upon herand turning her head a little

toward Rostv, she paused.



Back or forward? Eh, no matter, forward... the wolf seemed to say

to herself, and she moved forward without again looking round and with a

quiet, long, easy yet resolute lope.



Ulyulyu! cried Nicholas, in a voice not his own, and of its own

accord his good horse darted headlong downhill, leaping over gullies

to head off the wolf, and the borzois passed it, running faster still.

Nicholas did not hear his own cry nor feel that he was galloping, nor

see the borzois, nor the ground over which he went he saw only the

wolf, who, increasing her speed, bounded on in the same direction along

the hollow. The first to come into view was Mlka, with her black

markings and powerful quarters, gaining upon the wolf. Nearer and

nearer... now she was ahead of it but the wolf turned its head to face

her, and instead of putting on speed as she usually did Mlka suddenly

raised her tail and stiffened her forelegs.



Ulyulyulyulyu! shouted Nicholas.



The reddish Lyubm rushed forward from behind Mlka, sprang

impetuously at the wolf, and seized it by its hindquarters, but

immediately jumped aside in terror. The wolf crouched, gnashed her

teeth, and again rose and bounded forward, followed at the distance of a

couple of feet by all the borzois, who did not get any closer to her.



Shell get away! No, its impossible! thought Nicholas, still

shouting with a hoarse voice.



Kary, ulyulyu!... he shouted, looking round for the old borzoi

who was now his only hope. Kary, with all the strength age had left

him, stretched himself to the utmost and, watching the wolf, galloped

heavily aside to intercept it. But the quickness of the wolfs

lope and the borzois slower pace made it plain that Kary had

miscalculated. Nicholas could already see not far in front of him the

wood where the wolf would certainly escape should she reach it. But,

coming toward him, he saw hounds and a huntsman galloping almost

straight at the wolf. There was still hope. A long, yellowish

young borzoi, one Nicholas did not know, from another leash, rushed

impetuously at the wolf from in front and almost knocked her over. But

the wolf jumped up more quickly than anyone could have expected and,

gnashing her teeth, flew at the yellowish borzoi, which, with a piercing

yelp, fell with its head on the ground, bleeding from a gash in its

side.



Kary? Old fellow!... wailed Nicholas.



Thanks to the delay caused by this crossing of the wolfs path, the

old dog with its felted hair hanging from its thigh was within five

paces of it. As if aware of her danger, the wolf turned her eyes on

Kary, tucked her tail yet further between her legs, and increased

her speed. But here Nicholas only saw that something happened to

Karythe borzoi was suddenly on the wolf, and they rolled together

down into a gully just in front of them.



That instant, when Nicholas saw the wolf struggling in the gully

with the dogs, while from under them could be seen her gray hair and

outstretched hind leg and her frightened choking head, with her ears

laid back (Kary was pinning her by the throat), was the happiest

moment of his life. With his hand on his saddlebow, he was ready to

dismount and stab the wolf, when she suddenly thrust her head up from

among that mass of dogs, and then her forepaws were on the edge of the

gully. She clicked her teeth (Kary no longer had her by the throat),

leaped with a movement of her hind legs out of the gully, and having

disengaged herself from the dogs, with tail tucked in again, went

forward. Kary, his hair bristling, and probably bruised or wounded,

climbed with difficulty out of the gully.



Oh my God! Why? Nicholas cried in despair.



Uncles huntsman was galloping from the other side across the

wolfs path and his borzois once more stopped the animals advance.

She was again hemmed in.



Nicholas and his attendant, with Uncle and his huntsman, were all

riding round the wolf, crying ulyulyu! shouting and preparing to

dismount each moment that the wolf crouched back, and starting forward

again every time she shook herself and moved toward the wood where she

would be safe.



Already, at the beginning of this chase, Daniel, hearing the ulyulyuing,

had rushed out from the wood. He saw Kary seize the wolf, and checked

his horse, supposing the affair to be over. But when he saw that the

horsemen did not dismount and that the wolf shook herself and ran for

safety, Daniel set his chestnut galloping, not at the wolf but straight

toward the wood, just as Kary had run to cut the animal off. As

a result of this, he galloped up to the wolf just when she had been

stopped a second time by Uncles borzois.



Daniel galloped up silently, holding a naked dagger in his left hand and

thrashing the laboring sides of his chestnut horse with his whip as if

it were a flail.



Nicholas neither saw nor heard Daniel until the chestnut, breathing

heavily, panted past him, and he heard the fall of a body and saw Daniel

lying on the wolfs back among the dogs, trying to seize her by the

ears. It was evident to the dogs, the hunters, and to the wolf herself

that all was now over. The terrified wolf pressed back her ears and

tried to rise, but the borzois stuck to her. Daniel rose a little, took

a step, and with his whole weight, as if lying down to rest, fell on

the wolf, seizing her by the ears. Nicholas was about to stab her, but

Daniel whispered, Dont! Well gag her! and, changing his

position, set his foot on the wolfs neck. A stick was thrust between

her jaws and she was fastened with a leash, as if bridled, her legs were

bound together, and Daniel rolled her over once or twice from side to

side.



With happy, exhausted faces, they laid the old wolf, alive, on a shying

and snorting horse and, accompanied by the dogs yelping at her, took her

to the place where they were all to meet. The hounds had killed two of

the cubs and the borzois three. The huntsmen assembled with their booty

and their stories, and all came to look at the wolf, which, with her

broad-browed head hanging down and the bitten stick between her jaws,

gazed with great glassy eyes at this crowd of dogs and men surrounding

her. When she was touched, she jerked her bound legs and looked wildly

yet simply at everybody. Old Count Rostv also rode up and touched the

wolf.



Oh, what a formidable one! said he. A formidable one, eh? he

asked Daniel, who was standing near.



Yes, your excellency, answered Daniel, quickly doffing his cap.



The count remembered the wolf he had let slip and his encounter with

Daniel.



Ah, but you are a crusty fellow, friend! said the count.



For sole reply Daniel gave him a shy, childlike, meek, and amiable

smile.











CHAPTER VI



The old count went home, and Natsha and Ptya promised to return very

soon, but as it was still early the hunt went farther. At midday

they put the hounds into a ravine thickly overgrown with young trees.

Nicholas standing in a fallow field could see all his whips.



Facing him lay a field of winter rye, there his own huntsman stood alone

in a hollow behind a hazel bush. The hounds had scarcely been loosed

before Nicholas heard one he knew, Voltrn, giving tongue at intervals

other hounds joined in, now pausing and now again giving tongue. A

moment later he heard a cry from the wooded ravine that a fox had been

found, and the whole pack, joining together, rushed along the ravine

toward the ryefield and away from Nicholas.



He saw the whips in their red caps galloping along the edge of the

ravine, he even saw the hounds, and was expecting a fox to show itself

at any moment on the ryefield opposite.



The huntsman standing in the hollow moved and loosed his borzois, and

Nicholas saw a queer, short-legged red fox with a fine brush going hard

across the field. The borzois bore down on it.... Now they drew close

to the fox which began to dodge between the field in sharper and sharper

curves, trailing its brush, when suddenly a strange white borzoi dashed

in followed by a black one, and everything was in confusion the borzois

formed a star-shaped figure, scarcely swaying their bodies and with

tails turned away from the center of the group. Two huntsmen galloped up

to the dogs one in a red cap, the other, a stranger, in a green coat.



Whats this? thought Nicholas. Wheres that huntsman from?

He is not Uncles man.



The huntsmen got the fox, but stayed there a long time without strapping

it to the saddle. Their horses, bridled and with high saddles, stood

near them and there too the dogs were lying. The huntsmen waved their

arms and did something to the fox. Then from that spot came the sound of

a horn, with the signal agreed on in case of a fight.



Thats Ilgins huntsman having a row with our Ivn, said

Nicholas groom.



Nicholas sent the man to call Natsha and Ptya to him, and rode at a

footpace to the place where the whips were getting the hounds together.

Several of the field galloped to the spot where the fight was going on.



Nicholas dismounted, and with Natsha and Ptya, who had ridden up,

stopped near the hounds, waiting to see how the matter would end. Out of

the bushes came the huntsman who had been fighting and rode toward

his young master, with the fox tied to his crupper. While still at a

distance he took off his cap and tried to speak respectfully, but he was

pale and breathless and his face was angry. One of his eyes was black,

but he probably was not even aware of it.



What has happened? asked Nicholas.



A likely thing, killing a fox our dogs had hunted! And it was my gray

bitch that caught it! Go to law, indeed!... He snatches at the fox! I

gave him one with the fox. Here it is on my saddle! Do you want a taste

of this?... said the huntsman, pointing to his dagger and probably

imagining himself still speaking to his foe.



Nicholas, not stopping to talk to the man, asked his sister and Ptya

to wait for him and rode to the spot where the enemys, Ilgins,

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 Ilgin, with whom the Rostvs had a quarrel and

were at law, hunted over places that belonged by custom to the Rostvs,

and had now, as if purposely, sent his men to the very woods the

Rostvs were hunting and let his man snatch a fox their dogs had

chased.



Nicholas, though he had never seen Ilgin, with his usual absence

of moderation in judgment, hated him cordially from reports of his

arbitrariness and violence, and regarded him as his bitterest foe. He

rode in angry agitation toward him, firmly grasping his whip and fully

prepared to take the most resolute and desperate steps to punish his

enemy.



Hardly had he passed an angle of the wood before a stout gentleman in

a beaver cap came riding toward him on a handsome raven-black horse,

accompanied by two hunt servants.



Instead of an enemy, Nicholas found in Ilgin a stately and courteous

gentleman who was particularly anxious to make the young counts

acquaintance. Having ridden up to Nicholas, Ilgin raised his beaver

cap and said he much regretted what had occurred and would have the

man punished who had allowed himself to seize a fox hunted by someone

elses borzois. He hoped to become better acquainted with the count

and invited him to draw his covert.



Natsha, afraid that her brother would do something dreadful, had

followed him in some excitement. Seeing the enemies exchanging friendly

greetings, she rode up to them. Ilgin lifted his beaver cap still

higher to Natsha and said, with a pleasant smile, that the young

countess resembled Diana in her passion for the chase as well as in her

beauty, of which he had heard much.



To expiate his huntsmans offense, Ilgin pressed the Rostvs to

come to an upland of his about a mile away which he usually kept for

himself and which, he said, swarmed with hares. Nicholas agreed, and the

hunt, now doubled, moved on.



The way to Iligins upland was across the fields. The hunt servants

fell into line. The masters rode together. Uncle, Rostv, and

Ilgin kept stealthily glancing at one anothers dogs, trying not

to be observed by their companions and searching uneasily for rivals to

their own borzois.



Rostv was particularly struck by the beauty of a small, pure-bred,

red-spotted bitch on Ilgins leash, slender but with muscles like

steel, a delicate muzzle, and prominent black eyes. He had heard of

the swiftness of Ilgins borzois, and in that beautiful bitch saw a

rival to his own Mlka.



In the middle of a sober conversation begun by Ilgin about the

years harvest, Nicholas pointed to the red-spotted bitch.



A fine little bitch, that! said he in a careless tone. Is she

swift?



That one? Yes, shes a good dog, gets what shes after,

answered Ilgin indifferently, of the red-spotted bitch Erz, for

which, a year before, he had given a neighbor three families of house

serfs. So in your parts, too, the harvest is nothing to boast of,

Count? he went on, continuing the conversation they had begun. And

considering it polite to return the young counts compliment, Ilgin

looked at his borzois and picked out Mlka who attracted his attention

by her breadth. That black-spotted one of yours is finewell

shaped! said he.



Yes, shes fast enough, replied Nicholas, and thought If

only a full-grown hare would cross the field now Id show you what

sort of borzoi she is, and turning to his groom, he said he would

give a ruble to anyone who found a hare.



I dont understand, continued Ilgin, how some sportsmen can

be so jealous about game and dogs. For myself, I can tell you, Count,

I enjoy riding in company such as this... what could be better? (he

again raised his cap to Natsha) but as for counting skins and what

one takes, I dont care about that.



Of course not!



Or being upset because someone elses borzoi and not mine catches

something. All I care about is to enjoy seeing the chase, is it not so,

Count? For I consider that...



A-tu! came the long-drawn cry of one of the borzoi whippers-in,

who had halted. He stood on a knoll in the stubble, holding his whip

aloft, and again repeated his long-drawn cry, A-tu! (This call and

the uplifted whip meant that he saw a sitting hare.)



Ah, he has found one, I think, said Ilgin carelessly. Yes, we

must ride up.... Shall we both course it? answered Nicholas, seeing

in Erz and Uncles red Rugy two rivals he had never yet had

a chance of pitting against his own borzois. And suppose they outdo

my Mlka at once! he thought as he rode with Uncle and Ilgin

toward the hare.



A full-grown one? asked Ilgin as he approached the whip who

had sighted the hareand not without agitation he looked round and

whistled to Erz.



And you, Michael Nikanrovich? he said, addressing Uncle.



The latter was riding with a sullen expression on his face.



How can I join in? Why, youve given a village for each of your

borzois! Thats it, come on! Yours are worth thousands. Try yours

against one another, you two, and Ill look on!



Rugy, hey, hey! he shouted. Rugyushka! he added,

involuntarily by this diminutive expressing his affection and the hopes

he placed on this red borzoi. Natsha saw and felt the agitation the

two elderly men and her brother were trying to conceal, and was herself

excited by it.



The huntsman stood halfway up the knoll holding up his whip and the

gentlefolk rode up to him at a footpace the hounds that were far off

on the horizon turned away from the hare, and the whips, but not the

gentlefolk, also moved away. All were moving slowly and sedately.



How is it pointing? asked Nicholas, riding a hundred paces toward

the whip who had sighted the hare.



But before the whip could reply, the hare, scenting the frost coming

next morning, was unable to rest and leaped up. The pack on leash rushed

downhill in full cry after the hare, and from all sides the borzois that

were not on leash darted after the hounds and the hare. All the hunt,

who had been moving slowly, shouted, Stop! calling in the hounds,

while the borzoi whips, with a cry of A-tu! galloped across the

field setting the borzois on the hare. The tranquil Ilgin, Nicholas,

Natsha, and Uncle flew, reckless of where and how they went,

seeing only the borzois and the hare and fearing only to lose sight even

for an instant of the chase. The hare they had started was a strong and

swift one. When he jumped up he did not run at once, but pricked his

ears listening to the shouting and trampling that resounded from all

sides at once. He took a dozen bounds, not very quickly, letting the

borzois gain on him, and, finally having chosen his direction and

realized his danger, laid back his ears and rushed off headlong. He had

been lying in the stubble, but in front of him was the autumn sowing

where the ground was soft. The two borzois of the huntsman who had

sighted him, having been the nearest, were the first to see and pursue

him, but they had not gone far before Ilgins red-spotted Erz

passed them, got within a length, flew at the hare with terrible

swiftness aiming at his scut, and, thinking she had seized him, rolled

over like a ball. The hare arched his back and bounded off yet more

swiftly. From behind Erz rushed the broad-haunched, black-spotted

Mlka and began rapidly gaining on the hare.



Milshka, dear! rose Nicholas triumphant cry. It looked as if

Mlka would immediately pounce on the hare, but she overtook him and

flew past. The hare had squatted. Again the beautiful Erz reached him,

but when close to the hares scut paused as if measuring the distance,

so as not to make a mistake this time but seize his hind leg.



Erz, darling! Ilgin wailed in a voice unlike his own. Erz

did not hearken to his appeal. At the very moment when she would have

seized her prey, the hare moved and darted along the balk between the

winter rye and the stubble. Again Erz and Mlka were abreast, running

like a pair of carriage horses, and began to overtake the hare, but

it was easier for the hare to run on the balk and the borzois did not

overtake him so quickly.



Rugy, Rugyushka! Thats it, come on! came a third voice just

then, and Uncles red borzoi, straining and curving its back,

caught up with the two foremost borzois, pushed ahead of them regardless

of the terrible strain, put on speed close to the hare, knocked it off

the balk onto the ryefield, again put on speed still more viciously,

sinking to his knees in the muddy field, and all one could see was

how, muddying his back, he rolled over with the hare. A ring of borzois

surrounded him. A moment later everyone had drawn up round the crowd

of dogs. Only the delighted Uncle dismounted, and cut off a pad,

shaking the hare for the blood to drip off, and anxiously glancing round

with restless eyes while his arms and legs twitched. He spoke without

himself knowing whom to or what about. Thats it, come on! Thats

a dog!... There, it has beaten them all, the thousand-ruble as well as

the one-ruble borzois. Thats it, come on! said he, panting and

looking wrathfully around as if he were abusing someone, as if they

were all his enemies and had insulted him, and only now had he at

last succeeded in justifying himself. There are your thousand-ruble

ones.... Thats it, come on!...



Rugy, heres a pad for you! he said, throwing down the

hares muddy pad. Youve deserved it, thats it, come on!



Shed tired herself out, shed run it down three times by

herself, said Nicholas, also not listening to anyone and regardless

of whether he were heard or not.



But what is there in running across it like that? said Ilgins

groom.



Once she had missed it and turned it away, any mongrel could take

it, Ilgin was saying at the same time, breathless from his gallop

and his excitement. At the same moment Natsha, without drawing

breath, screamed joyously, ecstatically, and so piercingly that it set

everyones ear tingling. By that shriek she expressed what the others

expressed by all talking at once, and it was so strange that she must

herself have been ashamed of so wild a cry and everyone else would have

been amazed at it at any other time. Uncle himself twisted up the

hare, threw it neatly and smartly across his horses back as if by

that gesture he meant to rebuke everybody, and, with an air of not

wishing to speak to anyone, mounted his bay and rode off. The others all

followed, dispirited and shamefaced, and only much later were they able

to regain their former affectation of indifference. For a long time they

continued to look at red Rugy who, his arched back spattered with

mud and clanking the ring of his leash, walked along just behind

Uncles horse with the serene air of a conqueror.



Well, I am like any other dog as long as its not a question of

coursing. But when it is, then look out! his appearance seemed to

Nicholas to be saying.



When, much later, Uncle rode up to Nicholas and began talking

to him, he felt flattered that, after what had happened, Uncle

deigned to speak to him.











CHAPTER VII



Toward evening Ilgin took leave of Nicholas, who found that they were

so far from home that he accepted Uncles offer that the hunting

party should spend the night in his little village of Mikhylovna.



And if you put up at my house that will be better still. Thats it,

come on! said Uncle. You see its damp weather, and you

could rest, and the little countess could be driven home in a trap.



Uncles offer was accepted. A huntsman was sent to Otrdnoe for

a trap, while Nicholas rode with Natsha and Ptya to Uncles

house.



Some five male domestic serfs, big and little, rushed out to the front

porch to meet their master. A score of women serfs, old and young, as

well as children, popped out from the back entrance to have a look at

the hunters who were arriving. The presence of Natshaa woman, a

lady, and on horsebackraised the curiosity of the serfs to such a

degree that many of them came up to her, stared her in the face, and

unabashed by her presence made remarks about her as though she were some

prodigy on show and not a human being able to hear or understand what

was said about her.



Arnka! Look, she sits sideways! There she sits and her skirt

dangles.... See, shes got a little hunting horn!



Goodness gracious! See her knife?...



Isnt she a Tartar!



How is it you didnt go head over heels? asked the boldest of

all, addressing Natsha directly.



Uncle dismounted at the porch of his little wooden house which

stood in the midst of an overgrown garden and, after a glance at his

retainers, shouted authoritatively that the superfluous ones should take

themselves off and that all necessary preparations should be made to

receive the guests and the visitors.



The serfs all dispersed. Uncle lifted Natsha off her horse and

taking her hand led her up the rickety wooden steps of the porch. The

house, with its bare, unplastered log walls, was not overcleanit

did not seem that those living in it aimed at keeping it spotlessbut

neither was it noticeably neglected. In the entry there was a smell of

fresh apples, and wolf and fox skins hung about.



Uncle led the visitors through the anteroom into a small hall with

a folding table and red chairs, then into the drawing room with a round

birchwood table and a sofa, and finally into his private room where

there was a tattered sofa, a worn carpet, and portraits of Suvrov, of

the hosts father and mother, and of himself in military uniform. The

study smelt strongly of tobacco and dogs. Uncle asked his visitors

to sit down and make themselves at home, and then went out of the room.

Rugy, his back still muddy, came into the room and lay down on the

sofa, cleaning himself with his tongue and teeth. Leading from the study

was a passage in which a partition with ragged curtains could be

seen. From behind this came womens laughter and whispers. Natsha,

Nicholas, and Ptya took off their wraps and sat down on the sofa.

Ptya, leaning on his elbow, fell asleep at once. Natsha and Nicholas

were silent. Their faces glowed, they were hungry and very cheerful.

They looked at one another (now that the hunt was over and they were in

the house, Nicholas no longer considered it necessary to show his manly

superiority over his sister), Natsha gave him a wink, and neither

refrained long from bursting into a peal of ringing laughter even before

they had a pretext ready to account for it.



After a while Uncle came in, in a Cossack coat, blue trousers, and

small top boots. And Natsha felt that this costume, the very one she

had regarded with surprise and amusement at Otrdnoe, was just the

right thing and not at all worse than a swallow-tail or frock coat.

Uncle too was in high spirits and far from being offended by the

brothers and sisters laughter (it could never enter his head that

they might be laughing at his way of life) he himself joined in the

merriment.



Thats right, young countess, thats it, come on! I never saw

anyone like her! said he, offering Nicholas a pipe with a long stem

and, with a practiced motion of three fingers, taking down another that

had been cut short. Shes ridden all day like a man, and is as

fresh as ever!



Soon after Uncles reappearance the door was opened, evidently

from the sound by a barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-looking

woman of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, entered

carrying a large loaded tray. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in

her glance and in every motion, she looked at the visitors and, with

a pleasant smile, bowed respectfully. In spite of her exceptional

stoutness, which caused her to protrude her chest and stomach and throw

back her head, this woman (who was Uncles housekeeper) trod

very lightly. She went to the table, set down the tray, and with her

plump white hands deftly took from it the bottles and various hors

doeuvres and dishes and arranged them on the table. When she had

finished, she stepped aside and stopped at the door with a smile on her

face. Here I am. I am she! Now do you understand Uncle? her

expression said to Rostv. How could one help understanding? Not only

Nicholas, but even Natsha understood the meaning of his puckered brow

and the happy complacent smile that slightly puckered his lips when

Ansya Fdorovna entered. On the tray was a bottle of herb wine,

different kinds of vodka, pickled mushrooms, rye cakes made with

buttermilk, honey in the comb, still mead and sparkling mead, apples,

nuts (raw and roasted), and nut-and-honey sweets. Afterwards she brought

a freshly roasted chicken, ham, preserves made with honey, and preserves

made with sugar.



All this was the fruit of Ansya Fdorovnas housekeeping, gathered

and prepared by her. The smell and taste of it all had a smack

of Ansya Fdorovna herself a savor of juiciness, cleanliness,

whiteness, and pleasant smiles.



Take this, little Lady-Countess! she kept saying, as she offered

Natsha first one thing and then another.



Natsha ate of everything and thought she had never seen or eaten such

buttermilk cakes, such aromatic jam, such honey-and-nut sweets, or such

a chicken anywhere. Ansya Fdorovna left the room.



After supper, over their cherry brandy, Rostv and Uncle talked

of past and future hunts, of Rugy and Ilgins dogs, while Natsha

sat upright on the sofa and listened with sparkling eyes. She tried

several times to wake Ptya that he might eat something, but he

only muttered incoherent words without waking up. Natsha felt so

lighthearted and happy in these novel surroundings that she only feared

the trap would come for her too soon. After a casual pause, such as

often occurs when receiving friends for the first time in ones own

house, Uncle, answering a thought that was in his visitors

minds, said



This, you see, is how I am finishing my days... Death will come.

Thats it, come on! Nothing will remain. Then why harm anyone?



Uncles face was very significant and even handsome as he said

this. Involuntarily Rostv recalled all the good he had heard about

him from his father and the neighbors. Throughout the whole province

Uncle had the reputation of being the most honorable and

disinterested of cranks. They called him in to decide family disputes,

chose him as executor, confided secrets to him, elected him to be a

justice and to other posts but he always persistently refused public

appointments, passing the autumn and spring in the fields on his bay

gelding, sitting at home in winter, and lying in his overgrown garden in

summer.



Why dont you enter the service, Uncle?



I did once, but gave it up. I am not fit for it. Thats it, come

on! I cant make head or tail of it. Thats for youI havent

brains enough. Now, hunting is another matterthats 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 huntsmens room, as they

called the room for the hunt servants.



There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and an unseen hand opened the

door into the huntsmens room, from which came the clear sounds of a

balalyka on which someone, who was evidently a master of the art, was

playing. Natsha had been listening to those strains for some time and

now went out into the passage to hear better.



Thats Mtka, my coachman.... I have got him a good balalyka.

Im fond of it, said Uncle.



It was the custom for Mtka to play the balalyka in the huntsmens

room when Uncle returned from the chase. Uncle was fond of

such music.



How good! Really very good! said Nicholas with some unintentional

superciliousness, as if ashamed to confess that the sounds pleased him

very much.



Very good? said Natsha reproachfully, noticing her brothers

tone. Not very good its simply delicious!



Just as Uncles pickled mushrooms, honey, and cherry brandy had

seemed to her the best in the world, so also that song, at that moment,

seemed to her the acme of musical delight.



More, please, more! cried Natsha at the door as soon as the

balalyka ceased. Mtka tuned up afresh, and recommenced thrumming

the balalyka to the air of My Lady, with trills and variations.

Uncle sat listening, slightly smiling, with his head on one side.

The air was repeated a hundred times. The balalyka was retuned several

times and the same notes were thrummed again, but the listeners did

not grow weary of it and wished to hear it again and again. Ansya

Fdorovna came in and leaned her portly person against the doorpost.



You like listening? she said to Natsha, with a smile extremely

like Uncles. Thats a good player of ours, she added.



He doesnt play that part right! said Uncle suddenly, with

an energetic gesture. Here he ought to burst outthats it, come

on!ought to burst out.



Do you play then? asked Natsha.



Uncle did not answer, but smiled.



Ansya, go and see if the strings of my guitar are all right. I

havent touched it for a long time. Thats itcome on! Ive

given it up.



Ansya Fdorovna, with her light step, willingly went to fulfill her

errand and brought back the guitar.



Without looking at anyone, Uncle blew the dust off it and, tapping

the case with his bony fingers, tuned the guitar and settled himself in

his armchair. He took the guitar a little above the fingerboard, arching

his left elbow with a somewhat theatrical gesture, and, with a wink at

Ansya Fdorovna, struck a single chord, pure and sonorous, and then

quietly, smoothly, and confidently began playing in very slow time, not

My Lady, but the well-known song Came a maiden down the street. The

tune, played with precision and in exact time, began to thrill in the

hearts of Nicholas and Natsha, arousing in them the same kind of

sober mirth as radiated from Ansya Fdorovnas whole being. Ansya

Fdorovna flushed, and drawing her kerchief over her face went laughing

out of the room. Uncle continued to play correctly, carefully,

with energetic firmness, looking with a changed and inspired expression

at the spot where Ansya Fdorovna had just stood. Something seemed to

be laughing a little on one side of his face under his gray mustaches,

especially as the song grew brisker and the time quicker and when, here

and there, as he ran his fingers over the strings, something seemed to

snap.



Lovely, lovely! Go on, Uncle, go on! shouted Natsha as soon as

he had finished. She jumped up and hugged and kissed him. Nicholas,

Nicholas! she said, turning to her brother, as if asking him What

is it moves me so?



Nicholas too was greatly pleased by Uncles playing, and

Uncle played the piece over again. Ansya Fdorovnas smiling

face reappeared in the doorway and behind hers other faces...



    Fetching water clear and sweet,

    Stop, dear maiden, I entreat



played Uncle once more, running his fingers skillfully over the

strings, and then he stopped short and jerked his shoulders.



Go on, Uncle dear, Natsha wailed in an imploring tone as if her

life depended on it.



Uncle rose, and it was as if there were two men in him one of

them smiled seriously at the merry fellow, while the merry fellow struck

a nave and precise attitude preparatory to a folk dance.



Now then, niece! he exclaimed, waving to Natsha the hand that

had just struck a chord.



Natsha threw off the shawl from her shoulders, ran forward to face

Uncle, and setting her arms akimbo also made a motion with her

shoulders and struck an attitude.



Where, how, and when had this young countess, educated by an migre

French governess, imbibed from the Russian air she breathed that spirit

and obtained that manner which the pas de chle * would, one would have

supposed, long ago have effaced? But the spirit and the movements were

those inimitable and unteachable Russian ones that Uncle had

expected of her. As soon as she had struck her pose, and smiled

triumphantly, proudly, and with sly merriment, the fear that had at

first seized Nicholas and the others that she might not do the right

thing was at an end, and they were already admiring her.



    * The French shawl dance.



She did the right thing with such precision, such complete precision,

that Ansya Fdorovna, who had at once handed her the handkerchief she

needed for the dance, had tears in her eyes, though she laughed as she

watched this slim, graceful countess, reared in silks and velvets and so

different from herself, who yet was able to understand all that was

in Ansya and in Ansyas father and mother and aunt, and in every

Russian man and woman.



Well, little countess thats itcome on! cried Uncle,

with a joyous laugh, having finished the dance. Well done, niece! Now

a fine young fellow must be found as husband for you. Thats itcome

on!



Hes chosen already, said Nicholas smiling.



Oh? said Uncle in surprise, looking inquiringly at Natsha,

who nodded her head with a happy smile.



And such a one! she said. But as soon as she had said it a new

train of thoughts and feelings arose in her. What did Nicholas

smile mean when he said chosen already? Is he glad of it or not?

It is as if he thought my Bolknski would not approve of or understand

our gaiety. But he would understand it all. Where is he now? she

thought, and her face suddenly became serious. But this lasted only a

second. Dont dare to think about it, she said to herself,

and sat down again smilingly beside Uncle, begging him to play

something more.



Uncle played another song and a valse then after a pause he

cleared his throat and sang his favorite hunting song



    As twas growing dark last night

    Fell the snow so soft and light...



Uncle sang as peasants sing, with full and nave conviction that

the whole meaning of a song lies in the words and that the tune comes

of itself, and that apart from the words there is no tune, which exists

only to give measure to the words. As a result of this the unconsidered

tune, like the song of a bird, was extraordinarily good. Natsha was in

ecstasies over Uncles singing. She resolved to give up learning

the harp and to play only the guitar. She asked Uncle for his

guitar and at once found the chords of the song.



After nine oclock two traps and three mounted men, who had been sent

to look for them, arrived to fetch Natsha and Ptya. The count and

countess did not know where they were and were very anxious, said one of

the men.



Ptya was carried out like a log and laid in the larger of the two

traps. Natsha and Nicholas got into the other. Uncle wrapped

Natsha up warmly and took leave of her with quite a new tenderness. He

accompanied them on foot as far as the bridge that could not be crossed,

so that they had to go round by the ford, and he sent huntsmen to ride

in front with lanterns.



Good-by, dear niece, his voice called out of the darknessnot

the voice Natsha had known previously, but the one that had sung As

twas growing dark last night.



In the village through which they passed there were red lights and a

cheerful smell of smoke.



What a darling Uncle is! said Natsha, when they had come out

onto the highroad.



Yes, returned Nicholas. Youre not cold?



No. Im quite, quite all right. I feel so comfortable! answered

Natsha, almost perplexed by her feelings. They remained silent a long

while. The night was dark and damp. They could not see the horses, but

only heard them splashing through the unseen mud.



What was passing in that receptive childlike soul that so eagerly caught

and assimilated all the diverse impressions of life? How did they all

find place in her? But she was very happy. As they were nearing home she

suddenly struck up the air of As twas growing dark last nightthe

tune of which she had all the way been trying to get and had at last

caught.



Got it? said Nicholas.



What were you thinking about just now, Nicholas? inquired

Natsha.



They were fond of asking one another that question.



I? said Nicholas, trying to remember. Well, you see, first I

thought that Rugy, the red hound, was like Uncle, and that if he were

a man he would always keep Uncle near him, if not for his riding, then

for his manner. What a good fellow Uncle is! Dont you think so?...

Well, and you?



I? Wait a bit, wait.... Yes, first I thought that we are driving

along and imagining that we are going home, but that heaven knows

where we are really going in the darkness, and that we shall arrive and

suddenly find that we are not in Otrdnoe, but in Fairyland. And then I

thought... No, nothing else.



I know, I expect you thought of him, said Nicholas, smiling as

Natsha knew by the sound of his voice.



No, said Natsha, though she had in reality been thinking about

Prince Andrew at the same time as of the rest, and of how he would

have liked Uncle. And then I was saying to myself all the way,

How well Ansya carried herself, how well! And Nicholas heard

her spontaneous, happy, ringing laughter. And do you know, she

suddenly said, I know that I shall never again be as happy and

tranquil as I am now.



Rubbish, nonsense, humbug! exclaimed Nicholas, and he thought

How charming this Natsha of mine is! I have no other friend like

her and never shall have. Why should she marry? We might always drive

about together!



What a darling this Nicholas of mine is! thought Natsha.



Ah, there are still lights in the drawing room! she said, pointing

to the windows of the house that gleamed invitingly in the moist velvety

darkness of the night.











CHAPTER VIII



Count Ily Rostv had resigned the position of Marshal of the Nobility

because it involved him in too much expense, but still his affairs

did not improve. Natsha and Nicholas often noticed their parents

conferring together anxiously and privately and heard suggestions of

selling the fine ancestral Rostv house and estate near Moscow. It was

not necessary to entertain so freely as when the count had been Marshal,

and life at Otrdnoe was quieter than in former years, but still the

enormous house and its lodges were full of people and more than twenty

sat down to table every day. These were all their own people who had

settled down in the house almost as members of the family, or persons

who were, it seemed, obliged to live in the counts house. Such were

Dimmler the musician and his wife, Vogel the dancing master and his

family, Belva, an old maiden lady, an inmate of the house, and many

others such as Ptyas tutors, the girls former governess, and

other people who simply found it preferable and more advantageous to

live in the counts house than at home. They had not as many visitors

as before, but the old habits of life without which the count and

countess could not conceive of existence remained unchanged. There was

still the hunting establishment which Nicholas had even enlarged, the

same fifty horses and fifteen grooms in the stables, the same expensive

presents and dinner parties to the whole district on name days there

were still the counts games of whist and boston, at whichspreading

out his cards so that everybody could see themhe let himself be

plundered of hundreds of rubles every day by his neighbors, who looked

upon an opportunity to play a rubber with Count Rostv as a most

profitable source of income.



The count moved in his affairs as in a huge net, trying not to believe

that he was entangled but becoming more and more so at every step, and

feeling too feeble to break the meshes or to set to work carefully and

patiently to disentangle them. The countess, with her loving heart, felt

that her children were being ruined, that it was not the counts fault

for he could not help being what he wasthat (though he tried to

hide it) he himself suffered from the consciousness of his own and

his childrens ruin, and she tried to find means of remedying the

position. From her feminine point of view she could see only one

solution, namely, for Nicholas to marry a rich heiress. She felt this to

be their last hope and that if Nicholas refused the match she had found

for him, she would have to abandon the hope of ever getting matters

right. This match was with Julie Kargina, the daughter of excellent

and virtuous parents, a girl the Rostvs had known from childhood, and

who had now become a wealthy heiress through the death of the last of

her brothers.



The countess had written direct to Julies mother in Moscow suggesting

a marriage between their children and had received a favorable answer

from her. Kargina had replied that for her part she was agreeable, and

everything depend on her daughters inclination. She invited Nicholas

to come to Moscow.



Several times the countess, with tears in her eyes, told her son that

now both her daughters were settled, her only wish was to see him

married. She said she could lie down in her grave peacefully if that

were accomplished. Then she told him that she knew of a splendid girl

and tried to discover what he thought about marriage.



At other times she praised Julie to him and advised him to go to

Moscow during the holidays to amuse himself. Nicholas guessed what his

mothers remarks were leading to and during one of these conversations

induced her to speak quite frankly. She told him that her only hope

of getting their affairs disentangled now lay in his marrying Julie

Kargina.



But, Mamma, suppose I loved a girl who has no fortune, would

you expect me to sacrifice my feelings and my honor for the sake of

money? he asked his mother, not realizing the cruelty of his question

and only wishing to show his noble-mindedness.



No, you have not understood me, said his mother, not knowing how

to justify herself. You have not understood me, Niklenka. It is

your happiness I wish for, she added, feeling that she was telling an

untruth and was becoming entangled. She began to cry.



Mamma, dont cry! Only tell me that you wish it, and you know I

will give my life, anything, to put you at ease, said Nicholas. I

would sacrifice anything for youeven my feelings.



But the countess did not want the question put like that she did not

want a sacrifice from her son, she herself wished to make a sacrifice

for him.



No, you have not understood me, dont let us talk about it, she

replied, wiping away her tears.



Maybe I do love a poor girl, said Nicholas to himself. Am I to

sacrifice my feelings and my honor for money? I wonder how Mamma could

speak so to me. Because Snya is poor I must not love her, he

thought, must not respond to her faithful, devoted love? Yet I should

certainly be happier with her than with some doll-like Julie. I can

always sacrifice my feelings for my familys welfare, he said to

himself, but I cant coerce my feelings. If I love Snya, that

feeling is for me stronger and higher than all else.



Nicholas did not go to Moscow, and the countess did not renew the

conversation with him about marriage. She saw with sorrow, and sometimes

with exasperation, symptoms of a growing attachment between her son and

the portionless Snya. Though she blamed herself for it, she could

not refrain from grumbling at and worrying Snya, often pulling her up

without reason, addressing her stiffly as my dear, and using the

formal you instead of the intimate thou in speaking to her.

The kindhearted countess was the more vexed with Snya because that

poor, dark-eyed niece of hers was so meek, so kind, so devotedly

grateful to her benefactors, and so faithfully, unchangingly, and

unselfishly in love with Nicholas, that there were no grounds for

finding fault with her.



Nicholas was spending the last of his leave at home. A fourth letter had

come from Prince Andrew, from Rome, in which he wrote that he would have

been on his way back to Russia long ago had not his wound unexpectedly

reopened in the warm climate, which obliged him to defer his return till

the beginning of the new year. Natsha was still as much in love with

her betrothed, found the same comfort in that love, and was still as

ready to throw herself into all the pleasures of life as before but at

the end of the fourth month of their separation she began to have fits

of depression which she could not master. She felt sorry for herself

sorry that she was being wasted all this time and of no use to

anyonewhile she felt herself so capable of loving and being loved.



Things were not cheerful in the Rostvs home.











CHAPTER IX



Christmas came and except for the ceremonial Mass, the solemn and

wearisome Christmas congratulations from neighbors and servants, and the

new dresses everyone put on, there were no special festivities, though

the calm frost of twenty degrees Raumur, the dazzling sunshine by day,

and the starlight of the winter nights seemed to call for some special

celebration of the season.



On the third day of Christmas week, after the midday dinner, all the

inmates of the house dispersed to various rooms. It was the dullest time

of the day. Nicholas, who had been visiting some neighbors that morning,

was asleep on the sitting-room sofa. The old count was resting in his

study. Snya sat in the drawing room at the round table, copying a

design for embroidery. The countess was playing patience. Nastsya

Ivnovna the buffoon sat with a sad face at the window with two old

ladies. Natsha came into the room, went up to Snya, glanced at

what she was doing, and then went up to her mother and stood without

speaking.



Why are you wandering about like an outcast? asked her mother.

What do you want?



Him... I want him... now, this minute! I want him! said Natsha,

with glittering eyes and no sign of a smile.



The countess lifted her head and looked attentively at her daughter.



Dont look at me, Mamma! Dont look I shall cry directly.



Sit down with me a little, said the countess.



Mamma, I want him. Why should I be wasted like this, Mamma?



Her voice broke, tears gushed from her eyes, and she turned quickly to

hide them and left the room.



She passed into the sitting room, stood there thinking awhile, and then

went into the maids room. There an old maidservant was grumbling at

a young girl who stood panting, having just run in through the cold from

the serfs quarters.



Stop playingtheres a time for everything, said the old

woman.



Let her alone, Kondrtevna, said Natsha. Go, Mavrshka,

go.



Having released Mavrshka, Natsha crossed the dancing hall and went

to the vestibule. There an old footman and two young ones were playing

cards. They broke off and rose as she entered.



What can I do with them? thought Natsha.



Oh, Nikta, please go... where can I send him?... Yes, go to the

yard and fetch a fowl, please, a cock, and you, Misha, bring me some

oats.



Just a few oats? said Misha, cheerfully and readily.



Go, go quickly, the old man urged him.



And you, Theodore, get me a piece of chalk.



On her way past the butlers pantry she told them to set a samovar,

though it was not at all the time for tea.



Fka, the butler, was the most ill-tempered person in the house.

Natsha liked to test her power over him. He distrusted the order and

asked whether the samovar was really wanted.



Oh dear, what a young lady! said Fka, pretending to frown at

Natsha.



No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much trouble as

Natsha did. She could not see people unconcernedly, but had to send

them on some errand. She seemed to be trying whether any of them would

get angry or sulky with her but the serfs fulfilled no ones orders

so readily as they did hers. What can I do, where can I go?

thought she, as she went slowly along the passage.



Nastsya Ivnovna, what sort of children shall I have? she asked

the buffoon, who was coming toward her in a womans jacket.



Why, fleas, crickets, grasshoppers, answered the buffoon.



O Lord, O Lord, its always the same! Oh, where am I to go? What

am I to do with myself? And tapping with her heels, she ran quickly

upstairs to see Vogel and his wife who lived on the upper story.



Two governesses were sitting with the Vogels at a table, on which were

plates of raisins, walnuts, and almonds. The governesses were discussing

whether it was cheaper to live in Moscow or Odessa. Natsha sat down,

listened to their talk with a serious and thoughtful air, and then got

up again.



The island of Madagascar, she said, Ma-da-gas-car, she

repeated, articulating each syllable distinctly, and, not replying to

Madame Schoss who asked her what she was saying, she went out of the

room.



Her brother Ptya was upstairs too with the man in attendance on him

he was preparing fireworks to let off that night.



Ptya! Ptya! she called to him. Carry me downstairs.



Ptya ran up and offered her his back. She jumped on it, putting her

arms round his neck, and he pranced along with her.



No, dont... the island of Madagascar! she said, and jumping off

his back she went downstairs.



Having as it were reviewed her kingdom, tested her power, and made

sure that everyone was submissive, but that all the same it was dull,

Natsha betook herself to the ballroom, picked up her guitar, sat down

in a dark corner behind a bookcase, and began to run her fingers over

the strings in the bass, picking out a passage she recalled from an

opera she had heard in Petersburg with Prince Andrew. What she drew from

the guitar would have had no meaning for other listeners, but in her

imagination a whole series of reminiscences arose from those sounds.

She sat behind the bookcase with her eyes fixed on a streak of light

escaping from the pantry door and listened to herself and pondered. She

was in a mood for brooding on the past.



Snya passed to the pantry with a glass in her hand. Natsha glanced

at her and at the crack in the pantry door, and it seemed to her that

she remembered the light falling through that crack once before and

Snya passing with a glass in her hand. Yes it was exactly the

same, thought Natsha.



Snya, what is this? she cried, twanging a thick string.



Oh, you are there! said Snya with a start, and came near and

listened. I dont know. A storm? she ventured timidly, afraid of

being wrong.



There! Thats just how she started and just how she came up smiling

timidly when all this happened before, thought Natsha, and in

just the same way I thought there was something lacking in her.



No, its the chorus from The Water-Carrier, listen! and Natsha

sang the air of the chorus so that Snya should catch it. Where were

you going? she asked.



To change the water in this glass. I am just finishing the design.



You always find something to do, but I cant, said Natsha.

And wheres Nicholas?



Asleep, I think.



Snya, go and wake him, said Natsha. Tell him I want him to

come and sing.



She sat awhile, wondering what the meaning of it all having happened

before could be, and without solving this problem, or at all regretting

not having done so, she again passed in fancy to the time when she was

with him and he was looking at her with a lovers eyes.



Oh, if only he would come quicker! I am so afraid it will never be!

And, worst of all, I am growing oldthats the thing! There wont

then be in me what there is now. But perhaps hell come today, will

come immediately. Perhaps he has come and is sitting in the drawing

room. Perhaps he came yesterday and I have forgotten it. She rose,

put down the guitar, and went to the drawing room.



All the domestic circle, tutors, governesses, and guests, were already

at the tea table. The servants stood round the tablebut Prince Andrew

was not there and life was going on as before.



Ah, here she is! said the old count, when he saw Natsha enter.

Well, sit down by me. But Natsha stayed by her mother and

glanced round as if looking for something.



Mamma! she muttered, give him to me, give him, Mamma, quickly,

quickly! and she again had difficulty in repressing her sobs.



She sat down at the table and listened to the conversation between the

elders and Nicholas, who had also come to the table. My God, my God!

The same faces, the same talk, Papa holding his cup and blowing in the

same way! thought Natsha, feeling with horror a sense of repulsion

rising up in her for the whole household, because they were always the

same.



After tea, Nicholas, Snya, and Natsha went to the sitting room, to

their favorite corner where their most intimate talks always began.











CHAPTER X



Does it ever happen to you, said Natsha to her brother, when

they settled down in the sitting room, does it ever happen to you to

feel as if there were nothing more to comenothing that everything

good is past? And to feel not exactly dull, but sad?



I should think so! he replied. I have felt like that when

everything was all right and everyone was cheerful. The thought has come

into my mind that I was already tired of it all, and that we must all

die. Once in the regiment I had not gone to some merrymaking where there

was music... and suddenly I felt so depressed...



Oh yes, I know, I know, I know! Natsha interrupted him. When

I was quite little that used to be so with me. Do you remember when

I was punished once about some plums? You were all dancing, and I sat

sobbing in the schoolroom? I shall never forget it I felt sad and sorry

for everyone, for myself, and for everyone. And I was innocentthat

was the chief thing, said Natsha. Do you remember?



I remember, answered Nicholas. I remember that I came to you

afterwards and wanted to comfort you, but do you know, I felt ashamed

to. We were terribly absurd. I had a funny doll then and wanted to give

it to you. Do you remember?



And do you remember, Natsha asked with a pensive smile, how

once, long, long ago, when we were quite little, Uncle called us into

the studythat was in the old houseand it was darkwe went in and

suddenly there stood...



A Negro, chimed in Nicholas with a smile of delight. Of course

I remember. Even now I dont know whether there really was a Negro, or

if we only dreamed it or were told about him.



He was gray, you remember, and had white teeth, and stood and looked

at us....



Snya, do you remember? asked Nicholas.



Yes, yes, I do remember something too, Snya answered timidly.



You know I have asked Papa and Mamma about that Negro, said

Natsha, and they say there was no Negro at all. But you see, you

remember!



Of course I do, I remember his teeth as if I had just seen them.



How strange it is! Its as if it were a dream! I like that.



And do you remember how we rolled hard-boiled eggs in the ballroom,

and suddenly two old women began spinning round on the carpet? Was that

real or not? Do you remember what fun it was?



Yes, and you remember how Papa in his blue overcoat fired a gun in

the porch?



So they went through their memories, smiling with pleasure not the sad

memories of old age, but poetic, youthful onesthose impressions of

ones most distant past in which dreams and realities blendand they

laughed with quiet enjoyment.



Snya, as always, did not quite keep pace with them, though they shared

the same reminiscences.



Much that they remembered had slipped from her mind, and what she

recalled did not arouse the same poetic feeling as they experienced. She

simply enjoyed their pleasure and tried to fit in with it.



She only really took part when they recalled Snyas first arrival.

She told them how afraid she had been of Nicholas because he had on a

corded jacket and her nurse had told her that she, too, would be sewn up

with cords.



And I remember their telling me that you had been born under a

cabbage, said Natsha, and I remember that I dared not disbelieve

it then, but knew that it was not true, and I felt so uncomfortable.



While they were talking a maid thrust her head in at the other door of

the sitting room.



They have brought the cock, Miss, she said in a whisper.



It isnt wanted, Plya. Tell them to take it away, replied

Natsha.



In the middle of their talk in the sitting room, Dimmler came in and

went up to the harp that stood there in a corner. He took off its cloth

covering, and the harp gave out a jarring sound.



Mr. Dimmler, please play my favorite nocturne by Field, came the

old countess voice from the drawing room.



Dimmler struck a chord and, turning to Natsha, Nicholas, and Snya,

remarked How quiet you young people are!



Yes, were philosophizing, said Natsha, glancing round for a

moment and then continuing the conversation. They were now discussing

dreams.



Dimmler began to play Natsha went on tiptoe noiselessly to the table,

took up a candle, carried it out, and returned, seating herself quietly

in her former place. It was dark in the room especially where they were

sitting on the sofa, but through the big windows the silvery light of

the full moon fell on the floor. Dimmler had finished the piece but

still sat softly running his fingers over the strings, evidently

uncertain whether to stop or to play something else.



Do you know, said Natsha in a whisper, moving closer to Nicholas

and Snya, that when one goes on and on recalling memories, one at

last begins to remember what happened before one was in the world....



That is metempsychosis, said Snya, who had always learned well,

and remembered everything. The Egyptians believed that our souls have

lived in animals, and will go back into animals again.



No, I dont believe we ever were in animals, said Natsha,

still in a whisper though the music had ceased. But I am certain that

we were angels somewhere there, and have been here, and that is why we

remember....



May I join you? said Dimmler who had come up quietly, and he sat

down by them.



If we have been angels, why have we fallen lower? said Nicholas.

No, that cant be!



Not lower, who said we were lower?... How do I know what I

was before? Natsha rejoined with conviction. The soul is

immortalwell then, if I shall always live I must have lived before,

lived for a whole eternity.



Yes, but it is hard for us to imagine eternity, remarked Dimmler,

who had joined the young folk with a mildly condescending smile but now

spoke as quietly and seriously as they.



Why is it hard to imagine eternity? said Natsha. It is now

today, and it will be tomorrow, and always and there was yesterday, and

the day before....



Natsha! Now its your turn. Sing me something, they heard the

countess say. Why are you sitting there like conspirators?



Mamma, I dont at all want to, replied Natsha, but all the

same she rose.



None of them, not even the middle-aged Dimmler, wanted to break off

their conversation and quit that corner in the sitting room, but

Natsha got up and Nicholas sat down at the clavichord. Standing

as usual in the middle of the hall and choosing the place where the

resonance was best, Natsha began to sing her mothers favorite song.



She had said she did not want to sing, but it was long since she had

sung, and long before she again sang, as she did that evening. The

count, from his study where he was talking to Mtenka, heard her and,

like a schoolboy in a hurry to run out to play, blundered in his talk

while giving orders to the steward, and at last stopped, while Mtenka

stood in front of him also listening and smiling. Nicholas did not take

his eyes off his sister and drew breath in time with her. Snya, as she

listened, thought of the immense difference there was between herself

and her friend, and how impossible it was for her to be anything like as

bewitching as her cousin. The old countess sat with a blissful yet sad

smile and with tears in her eyes, occasionally shaking her head. She

thought of Natsha and of her own youth, and of how there was something

unnatural and dreadful in this impending marriage of Natsha and Prince

Andrew.



Dimmler, who had seated himself beside the countess, listened with

closed eyes.



Ah, Countess, he said at last, thats a European talent, she

has nothing to learnwhat softness, tenderness, and strength....



Ah, how afraid I am for her, how afraid I am! said the countess,

not realizing to whom she was speaking. Her maternal instinct told her

that Natsha had too much of something, and that because of this

she would not be happy. Before Natsha had finished singing,

fourteen-year-old Ptya rushed in delightedly, to say that some mummers

had arrived.



Natsha stopped abruptly.



Idiot! she screamed at her brother and, running to a chair, threw

herself on it, sobbing so violently that she could not stop for a long

time.



Its nothing, Mamma, really its nothing only Ptya startled

me, she said, trying to smile, but her tears still flowed and sobs

still choked her.



The mummers (some of the house serfs) dressed up as bears, Turks,

innkeepers, and ladiesfrightening and funnybringing in with

them the cold from outside and a feeling of gaiety, crowded, at first

timidly, into the anteroom, then hiding behind one another they pushed

into the ballroom where, shyly at first and then more and more merrily

and heartily, they started singing, dancing, and playing Christmas

games. The countess, when she had identified them and laughed at their

costumes, went into the drawing room. The count sat in the ballroom,

smiling radiantly and applauding the players. The young people had

disappeared.



Half an hour later there appeared among the other mummers in the

ballroom an old lady in a hooped skirtthis was Nicholas. A Turkish

girl was Ptya. A clown was Dimmler. An hussar was Natsha, and a

Circassian was Snya with burnt-cork mustache and eyebrows.



After the condescending surprise, nonrecognition, and praise, from those

who were not themselves dressed up, the young people decided that their

costumes were so good that they ought to be shown elsewhere.



Nicholas, who, as the roads were in splendid condition, wanted to take

them all for a drive in his troyka, proposed to take with them about a

dozen of the serf mummers and drive to Uncles.



No, why disturb the old fellow? said the countess. Besides,

you wouldnt have room to turn round there. If you must go, go to the

Melyukvs.



Melyukva was a widow, who, with her family and their tutors and

governesses, lived three miles from the Rostvs.



Thats right, my dear, chimed in the old count, thoroughly

aroused. Ill dress up at once and go with them. Ill make

Pashette open her eyes.



But the countess would not agree to his going he had had a bad leg all

these last days. It was decided that the count must not go, but that if

Louisa Ivnovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, the young ladies

might go to the Melyukvs, Snya, generally so timid and shy, more

urgently than anyone begging Louisa Ivnovna not to refuse.



Snyas costume was the best of all. Her mustache and eyebrows were

extraordinarily becoming. Everyone told her she looked very handsome,

and she was in a spirited and energetic mood unusual with her. Some

inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided, and

in her male attire she seemed quite a different person. Louisa Ivnovna

consented to go, and in half an hour four troyka sleighs with large and

small bells, their runners squeaking and whistling over the frozen snow,

drove up to the porch.



Natsha was foremost in setting a merry holiday tone, which, passing

from one to another, grew stronger and reached its climax when they all

came out into the frost and got into the sleighs, talking, calling to

one another, laughing, and shouting.



Two of the troykas were the usual household sleighs, the third was the

old counts with a trotter from the Orlv stud as shaft horse,

the fourth was Nicholas own with a short shaggy black shaft horse.

Nicholas, in his old ladys dress over which he had belted his hussar

overcoat, stood in the middle of the sleigh, reins in hand.



It was so light that he could see the moonlight reflected from the metal

harness disks and from the eyes of the horses, who looked round in alarm

at the noisy party under the shadow of the porch roof.



Natsha, Snya, Madame Schoss, and two maids got into Nicholas

sleigh Dimmler, his wife, and Ptya, into the old counts, and the

rest of the mummers seated themselves in the other two sleighs.



You go ahead, Zakhr! shouted Nicholas to his fathers

coachman, wishing for a chance to race past him.



The old counts troyka, with Dimmler and his party, started forward,

squeaking on its runners as though freezing to the snow, its deep-toned

bell clanging. The side horses, pressing against the shafts of the

middle horse, sank in the snow, which was dry and glittered like sugar,

and threw it up.



Nicholas set off, following the first sleigh behind him the others

moved noisily, their runners squeaking. At first they drove at a steady

trot along the narrow road. While they drove past the garden the shadows

of the bare trees often fell across the road and hid the brilliant

moonlight, but as soon as they were past the fence, the snowy plain

bathed in moonlight and motionless spread out before them glittering

like diamonds and dappled with bluish shadows. Bang, bang! went the

first sleigh over a cradle hole in the snow of the road, and each of

the other sleighs jolted in the same way, and rudely breaking the

frost-bound stillness, the troykas began to speed along the road, one

after the other.



A hares track, a lot of tracks! rang out Natshas voice

through the frost-bound air.



How light it is, Nicholas! came Snyas voice.



Nicholas glanced round at Snya, and bent down to see her face closer.

Quite a new, sweet face with black eyebrows and mustaches peeped up

at him from her sable fursso close and yet so distantin the

moonlight.



That used to be Snya, thought he, and looked at her closer and

smiled.



What is it, Nicholas?



Nothing, said he and turned again to the horses.



When they came out onto the beaten highroadpolished by sleigh runners

and cut up by rough-shod hoofs, the marks of which were visible in the

moonlightthe horses began to tug at the reins of their own accord and

increased their pace. The near side horse, arching his head and breaking

into a short canter, tugged at his traces. The shaft horse swayed from

side to side, moving his ears as if asking Isnt it time to begin

now? In front, already far ahead the deep bell of the sleigh ringing

farther and farther off, the black horses driven by Zakhr could be

clearly seen against the white snow. From that sleigh one could hear the

shouts, laughter, and voices of the mummers.



Gee up, my darlings! shouted Nicholas, pulling the reins to one

side and flourishing the whip.



It was only by the keener wind that met them and the jerks given by the

side horses who pulled harderever increasing their gallopthat

one noticed how fast the troyka was flying. Nicholas looked back. With

screams, squeals, and waving of whips that caused even the shaft horses

to gallopthe other sleighs followed. The shaft horse swung steadily

beneath the bow over its head, with no thought of slackening pace and

ready to put on speed when required.



Nicholas overtook the first sleigh. They were driving downhill and

coming out upon a broad trodden track across a meadow, near a river.



Where are we? thought he. Its the Kosy meadow, I suppose.

But nothis is something new Ive never seen before. This isnt

the Kosy meadow nor the Dmkin hill, and heaven only knows what it

is! It is something new and enchanted. Well, whatever it may be...

And shouting to his horses, he began to pass the first sleigh.



Zakhr held back his horses and turned his face, which was already

covered with hoarfrost to his eyebrows.



Nicholas gave the horses the rein, and Zakhr, stretching out his arms,

clucked his tongue and let his horses go.



Now, look out, master! he cried.



Faster still the two troykas flew side by side, and faster moved

the feet of the galloping side horses. Nicholas began to draw ahead.

Zakhr, while still keeping his arms extended, raised one hand with the

reins.



No you wont, master! he shouted.



Nicholas put all his horses to a gallop and passed Zakhr. The horses

showered the fine dry snow on the faces of those in the sleighbeside

them sounded quick ringing bells and they caught confused glimpses of

swiftly moving legs and the shadows of the troyka they were passing.

The whistling sound of the runners on the snow and the voices of girls

shrieking were heard from different sides.



Again checking his horses, Nicholas looked around him. They were still

surrounded by the magic plain bathed in moonlight and spangled with

stars.



Zakhr is shouting that I should turn to the left, but why to the

left? thought Nicholas. Are we getting to the Melyukvs? Is

this Melyukvka? Heaven only knows where we are going, and heaven knows

what is happening to usbut it is very strange and pleasant whatever

it is. And he looked round in the sleigh.



Look, his mustache and eyelashes are all white! said one of the

strange, pretty, unfamiliar peoplethe one with fine eyebrows and

mustache.



I think this used to be Natsha, thought Nicholas, and that

was Madame Schoss, but perhaps its not, and this Circassian with the

mustache I dont know, but I love her.



Arent you cold? he asked.



They did not answer but began to laugh. Dimmler from the sleigh behind

shouted somethingprobably something funnybut they could not make

out what he said.



Yes, yes! some voices answered, laughing.



But here was a fairy forest with black moving shadows, and a glitter

of diamonds and a flight of marble steps and the silver roofs of fairy

buildings and the shrill yells of some animals. And if this is really

Melyukvka, it is still stranger that we drove heaven knows where and

have come to Melyukvka, thought Nicholas.



It really was Melyukvka, and maids and footmen with merry faces came

running, out to the porch carrying candles.



Who is it? asked someone in the porch.



The mummers from the counts. I know by the horses, replied some

voices.











CHAPTER XI



Pelagya Danlovna Melyukva, a broadly built, energetic woman

wearing spectacles, sat in the drawing room in a loose dress, surrounded

by her daughters whom she was trying to keep from feeling dull. They

were quietly dropping melted wax into snow and looking at the shadows

the wax figures would throw on the wall, when they heard the steps and

voices of new arrivals in the vestibule.



Hussars, ladies, witches, clowns, and bears, after clearing their

throats and wiping the hoarfrost from their faces in the vestibule,

came into the ballroom where candles were hurriedly lighted. The

clownDimmlerand the ladyNicholasstarted a dance. Surrounded

by the screaming children the mummers, covering their faces and

disguising their voices, bowed to their hostess and arranged themselves

about the room.



Dear me! theres no recognizing them! And Natsha! See whom

she looks like! She really reminds me of somebody. But Herr

Dimmlerisnt he good! I didnt know him! And how he dances. Dear

me, theres a Circassian. Really, how becoming it is to dear Snya.

And who is that? Well, you have cheered us up! Nikta and Vanyaclear

away the tables! And we were sitting so quietly. Ha, ha, ha!... The

hussar, the hussar! Just like a boy! And the legs!... I cant look at

him... different voices were saying.



Natsha, the young Melyukvs favorite, disappeared with them into

the back rooms where a cork and various dressing gowns and male garments

were called for and received from the footman by bare girlish arms from

behind the door. Ten minutes later, all the young Melyukvs joined the

mummers.



Pelagya Danlovna, having given orders to clear the rooms for the

visitors and arranged about refreshments for the gentry and the serfs,

went about among the mummers without removing her spectacles, peering

into their faces with a suppressed smile and failing to recognize any

of them. It was not merely Dimmler and the Rostvs she failed to

recognize, she did not even recognize her own daughters, or her late

husbands, dressing gowns and uniforms, which they had put on.



And who is this? she asked her governess, peering into the face of

her own daughter dressed up as a Kazn-Tartar. I suppose it is one

of the Rostvs! Well, Mr. Hussar, and what regiment do you serve in?

she asked Natsha. Here, hand some fruit jelly to the Turk!

she ordered the butler who was handing things round. Thats not

forbidden by his law.



Sometimes, as she looked at the strange but amusing capers cut by the

dancers, whohaving decided once for all that being disguised, no one

would recognize themwere not at all shy, Pelagya Danlovna hid

her face in her handkerchief, and her whole stout body shook with

irrepressible, kindly, elderly laughter.



My little Ssha! Look at Ssha! she said.



After Russian country dances and chorus dances, Pelagya Danlovna

made the serfs and gentry join in one large circle a ring, a string,

and a silver ruble were fetched and they all played games together.



In an hour, all the costumes were crumpled and disordered. The corked

eyebrows and mustaches were smeared over the perspiring, flushed,

and merry faces. Pelagya Danlovna began to recognize the mummers,

admired their cleverly contrived costumes, and particularly how they

suited the young ladies, and she thanked them all for having entertained

her so well. The visitors were invited to supper in the drawing room,

and the serfs had something served to them in the ballroom.



Now to tell ones fortune in the empty bathhouse is frightening!

said an old maid who lived with the Melyukvs, during supper.



Why? said the eldest Melyukv girl.



You wouldnt go, it takes courage....



Ill go, said Snya.



Tell what happened to the young lady! said the second Melyukv

girl.



Well, began the old maid, a young lady once went out, took a

cock, laid the table for two, all properly, and sat down. After sitting

a while, she suddenly hears someone coming... a sleigh drives up with

harness bells she hears him coming! He comes in, just in the shape of a

man, like an officercomes in and sits down to table with her.



Ah! ah! screamed Natsha, rolling her eyes with horror.



Yes? And how... did he speak?



Yes, like a man. Everything quite all right, and he began persuading

her and she should have kept him talking till cockcrow, but she got

frightened, just got frightened and hid her face in her hands. Then he

caught her up. It was lucky the maids ran in just then....



Now, why frighten them? said Pelagya Danlovna.



Mamma, you used to try your fate yourself... said her daughter.



And how does one do it in a barn? inquired Snya.



Well, say you went to the barn now, and listened. It depends on what

you hear hammering and knockingthats bad but a sound of shifting

grain is good and one sometimes hears that, too.



Mamma, tell us what happened to you in the barn.



Pelagya Danlovna smiled.



Oh, Ive forgotten... she replied. But none of you would

go?



Yes, I will Pelagya Danlovna, let me! Ill go, said Snya.



Well, why not, if youre not afraid?



Louisa Ivnovna, may I? asked Snya.



Whether they were playing the ring and string game or the ruble game or

talking as now, Nicholas did not leave Snyas side, and gazed at her

with quite new eyes. It seemed to him that it was only today, thanks

to that burnt-cork mustache, that he had fully learned to know her. And

really, that evening, Snya was brighter, more animated, and prettier

than Nicholas had ever seen her before.



So thats what she is like what a fool I have been! he thought

gazing at her sparkling eyes, and under the mustache a happy rapturous

smile dimpled her cheeks, a smile he had never seen before.



Im not afraid of anything, said Snya. May I go at once?

She got up.



They told her where the barn was and how she should stand and listen,

and they handed her a fur cloak. She threw this over her head and

shoulders and glanced at Nicholas.



What a darling that girl is! thought he. And what have I been

thinking of till now?



Snya went out into the passage to go to the barn. Nicholas went

hastily to the front porch, saying he felt too hot. The crowd of people

really had made the house stuffy.



Outside, there was the same cold stillness and the same moon, but even

brighter than before. The light was so strong and the snow sparkled with

so many stars that one did not wish to look up at the sky and the real

stars were unnoticed. The sky was black and dreary, while the earth was

gay.



I am a fool, a fool! what have I been waiting for? thought

Nicholas, and running out from the porch he went round the corner of

the house and along the path that led to the back porch. He knew Snya

would pass that way. Halfway lay some snow-covered piles of firewood and

across and along them a network of shadows from the bare old lime trees

fell on the snow and on the path. This path led to the barn. The log

walls of the barn and its snow-covered roof, that looked as if hewn out

of some precious stone, sparkled in the moonlight. A tree in the garden

snapped with the frost, and then all was again perfectly silent. His

bosom seemed to inhale not air but the strength of eternal youth and

gladness.



From the back porch came the sound of feet descending the steps, the

bottom step upon which snow had fallen gave a ringing creak and he heard

the voice of an old maidservant saying, Straight, straight, along the

path, Miss. Only, dont look back.



I am not afraid, answered Snyas voice, and along the path

toward Nicholas came the crunching, whistling sound of Snyas feet

in her thin shoes.



Snya came along, wrapped in her cloak. She was only a couple of paces

away when she saw him, and to her too he was not the Nicholas she had

known and always slightly feared. He was in a womans dress, with

tousled hair and a happy smile new to Snya. She ran rapidly toward

him.



Quite different and yet the same, thought Nicholas, looking at her

face all lit up by the moonlight. He slipped his arms under the cloak

that covered her head, embraced her, pressed her to him, and kissed her

on the lips that wore a mustache and had a smell of burnt cork. Snya

kissed him full on the lips, and disengaging her little hands pressed

them to his cheeks.



Snya!... Nicholas!... was all they said. They ran to the barn

and then back again, re-entering, he by the front and she by the back

porch.











CHAPTER XII



When they all drove back from Pelagya Danlovnas, Natsha, who

always saw and noticed everything, arranged that she and Madame Schoss

should go back in the sleigh with Dimmler, and Snya with Nicholas and

the maids.



On the way back Nicholas drove at a steady pace instead of racing and

kept peering by that fantastic all-transforming light into Snyas

face and searching beneath the eyebrows and mustache for his former and

his present Snya from whom he had resolved never to be parted again.

He looked and recognizing in her both the old and the new Snya, and

being reminded by the smell of burnt cork of the sensation of her kiss,

inhaled the frosty air with a full breast and, looking at the ground

flying beneath him and at the sparkling sky, felt himself again in

fairyland.



Snya, is it well with thee? he asked from time to time.



Yes! she replied. And with thee?



When halfway home Nicholas handed the reins to the coachman and ran for

a moment to Natshas sleigh and stood on its wing.



Natsha! he whispered in French, do you know I have made up my

mind about Snya?



Have you told her? asked Natsha, suddenly beaming all over with

joy.



Oh, how strange you are with that mustache and those eyebrows!...

Natshaare you glad?



I am so glad, so glad! I was beginning to be vexed with you. I did

not tell you, but you have been treating her badly. What a heart she

has, Nicholas! I am horrid sometimes, but I was ashamed to be happy

while Snya was not, continued Natsha. Now I am so glad! Well,

run back to her.



No, wait a bit.... Oh, how funny you look! cried Nicholas, peering

into her face and finding in his sister too something new, unusual, and

bewitchingly tender that he had not seen in her before. Natsha,

its magical, isnt it?



Yes, she replied. You have done splendidly.



Had I seen her before as she is now, thought Nicholas, I should

long ago have asked her what to do and have done whatever she told me,

and all would have been well.



So you are glad and I have done right?



Oh, quite right! I had a quarrel with Mamma some time ago about it.

Mamma said she was angling for you. How could she say such a thing! I

nearly stormed at Mamma. I will never let anyone say anything bad of

Snya, for there is nothing but good in her.



Then its all right? said Nicholas, again scrutinizing the

expression of his sisters face to see if she was in earnest. Then he

jumped down and, his boots scrunching the snow, ran back to his sleigh.

The same happy, smiling Circassian, with mustache and beaming eyes

looking up from under a sable hood, was still sitting there, and that

Circassian was Snya, and that Snya was certainly his future happy

and loving wife.



When they reached home and had told their mother how they had spent the

evening at the Melyukvs, the girls went to their bedroom. When they

had undressed, but without washing off the cork mustaches, they sat a

long time talking of their happiness. They talked of how they would live

when they were married, how their husbands would be friends, and how

happy they would be. On Natshas table stood two looking glasses

which Dunysha had prepared beforehand.



Only when will all that be? I am afraid never.... It would be too

good! said Natsha, rising and going to the looking glasses.



Sit down, Natsha perhaps youll see him, said Snya.



Natsha lit the candles, one on each side of one of the looking

glasses, and sat down.



I see someone with a mustache, said Natsha, seeing her own face.



You mustnt laugh, Miss, said Dunysha.



With Snyas help and the maids, Natsha got the glass she held

into the right position opposite the other her face assumed a serious

expression and she sat silent. She sat a long time looking at the

receding line of candles reflected in the glasses and expecting (from

tales she had heard) to see a coffin, or him, Prince Andrew, in that

last dim, indistinctly outlined square. But ready as she was to take the

smallest speck for the image of a man or of a coffin, she saw nothing.

She began blinking rapidly and moved away from the looking glasses.



Why is it others see things and I dont? she said. You sit

down now, Snya. You absolutely must, tonight! Do it for me.... Today I

feel so frightened!



Snya sat down before the glasses, got the right position, and began

looking.



Now, Miss Snya is sure to see something, whispered Dunysha

while you do nothing but laugh.



Snya heard this and Natshas whisper



I know she will. She saw something last year.



For about three minutes all were silent.



Of course she will! whispered Natsha, but did not finish...

suddenly Snya pushed away the glass she was holding and covered her

eyes with her hand.



Oh, Natsha! she cried.



Did you see? Did you? What was it? exclaimed Natsha, holding up

the looking glass.



Snya had not seen anything, she was just wanting to blink and to get

up when she heard Natsha say, Of course she will! She did not

wish to disappoint either Dunysha or Natsha, but it was hard to sit

still. She did not herself know how or why the exclamation escaped her

when she covered her eyes.



You saw him? urged Natsha, seizing her hand.



Yes. Wait a bit... I... saw him, Snya could not help saying, not

yet knowing whom Natsha meant by him, Nicholas or Prince Andrew.



But why shouldnt I say I saw something? Others do see! Besides who

can tell whether I saw anything or not? flashed through Snyas

mind.



Yes, I saw him, she said.



How? Standing or lying?



No, I saw... At first there was nothing, then I saw him lying

down.



Andrew lying? Is he ill? asked Natsha, her frightened eyes fixed

on her friend.



No, on the contrary, on the contrary! His face was cheerful, and he

turned to me. And when saying this she herself fancied she had really

seen what she described.



Well, and then, Snya?...



After that, I could not make out what there was something blue and

red....



Snya! When will he come back? When shall I see him! O, God, how

afraid I am for him and for myself and about everything!... Natsha

began, and without replying to Snyas words of comfort she got into

bed, and long after her candle was out lay open-eyed and motionless,

gazing at the moonlight through the frosty windowpanes.











CHAPTER XIII



Soon after the Christmas holidays Nicholas told his mother of his love

for Snya and of his firm resolve to marry her. The countess, who

had long noticed what was going on between them and was expecting this

declaration, listened to him in silence and then told her son that he

might marry whom he pleased, but that neither she nor his father would

give their blessing to such a marriage. Nicholas, for the first time,

felt that his mother was displeased with him and that, despite her love

for him, she would not give way. Coldly, without looking at her son,

she sent for her husband and, when he came, tried briefly and coldly to

inform him of the facts, in her sons presence, but unable to restrain

herself she burst into tears of vexation and left the room. The old

count began irresolutely to admonish Nicholas and beg him to abandon his

purpose. Nicholas replied that he could not go back on his word, and his

father, sighing and evidently disconcerted, very soon became silent and

went in to the countess. In all his encounters with his son, the count

was always conscious of his own guilt toward him for having wasted the

family fortune, and so he could not be angry with him for refusing to

marry an heiress and choosing the dowerless Snya. On this occasion, he

was only more vividly conscious of the fact that if his affairs had not

been in disorder, no better wife for Nicholas than Snya could have

been wished for, and that no one but himself with his Mtenka and

his uncomfortable habits was to blame for the condition of the family

finances.



The father and mother did not speak of the matter to their son again,

but a few days later the countess sent for Snya and, with a cruelty

neither of them expected, reproached her niece for trying to catch

Nicholas and for ingratitude. Snya listened silently with downcast

eyes to the countess cruel words, without understanding what

was required of her. She was ready to sacrifice everything for her

benefactors. Self-sacrifice was her most cherished idea but in this case

she could not see what she ought to sacrifice, or for whom. She could

not help loving the countess and the whole Rostv family, but neither

could she help loving Nicholas and knowing that his happiness depended

on that love. She was silent and sad and did not reply. Nicholas felt

the situation to be intolerable and went to have an explanation with his

mother. He first implored her to forgive him and Snya and consent to

their marriage, then he threatened that if she molested Snya he would

at once marry her secretly.



The countess, with a coldness her son had never seen in her before,

replied that he was of age, that Prince Andrew was marrying without his

fathers consent, and he could do the same, but that she would never

receive that intriguer as her daughter.



Exploding at the word intriguer, Nicholas, raising his voice, told

his mother he had never expected her to try to force him to sell his

feelings, but if that were so, he would say for the last time.... But he

had no time to utter the decisive word which the expression of his face

caused his mother to await with terror, and which would perhaps have

forever remained a cruel memory to them both. He had not time to say it,

for Natsha, with a pale and set face, entered the room from the door

at which she had been listening.



Nicholas, you are talking nonsense! Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, I

tell you!... she almost screamed, so as to drown his voice.



Mamma darling, its not at all so... my poor, sweet darling, she

said to her mother, who conscious that they had been on the brink of

a rupture gazed at her son with terror, but in the obstinacy and

excitement of the conflict could not and would not give way.



Nicholas, Ill explain to you. Go away! Listen, Mamma darling,

said Natsha.



Her words were incoherent, but they attained the purpose at which she

was aiming.



The countess, sobbing heavily, hid her face on her daughters breast,

while Nicholas rose, clutching his head, and left the room.



Natsha set to work to effect a reconciliation, and so far succeeded

that Nicholas received a promise from his mother that Snya should not

be troubled, while he on his side promised not to undertake anything

without his parents knowledge.



Firmly resolved, after putting his affairs in order in the regiment,

to retire from the army and return and marry Snya, Nicholas, serious,

sorrowful, and at variance with his parents, but, as it seemed to him,

passionately in love, left at the beginning of January to rejoin his

regiment.



After Nicholas had gone things in the Rostv household were more

depressing than ever, and the countess fell ill from mental agitation.



Snya was unhappy at the separation from Nicholas and still more so on

account of the hostile tone the countess could not help adopting toward

her. The count was more perturbed than ever by the condition of his

affairs, which called for some decisive action. Their town house and

estate near Moscow had inevitably to be sold, and for this they had to

go to Moscow. But the countess health obliged them to delay their

departure from day to day.



Natsha, who had borne the first period of separation from her

betrothed lightly and even cheerfully, now grew more agitated and

impatient every day. The thought that her best days, which she would

have employed in loving him, were being vainly wasted, with no advantage

to anyone, tormented her incessantly. His letters for the most part

irritated her. It hurt her to think that while she lived only in the

thought of him, he was living a real life, seeing new places and new

people that interested him. The more interesting his letters were

the more vexed she felt. Her letters to him, far from giving her any

comfort, seemed to her a wearisome and artificial obligation. She could

not write, because she could not conceive the possibility of expressing

sincerely in a letter even a thousandth part of what she expressed by

voice, smile, and glance. She wrote to him formal, monotonous, and dry

letters, to which she attached no importance herself, and in the rough

copies of which the countess corrected her mistakes in spelling.



There was still no improvement in the countess health, but it was

impossible to defer the journey to Moscow any longer. Natshas

trousseau had to be ordered and the house sold. Moreover, Prince Andrew

was expected in Moscow, where old Prince Bolknski was spending the

winter, and Natsha felt sure he had already arrived.



So the countess remained in the country, and the count, taking Snya

and Natsha with him, went to Moscow at the end of January.











BOOK EIGHT 1811 - 12











CHAPTER I



After Prince Andrews engagement to Natsha, Pierre without any

apparent cause suddenly felt it impossible to go on living as before.

Firmly convinced as he was of the truths revealed to him by his

benefactor, and happy as he had been in perfecting his inner man, to

which he had devoted himself with such ardorall the zest of such a

life vanished after the engagement of Andrew and Natsha and the death

of Joseph Alexevich, the news of which reached him almost at the same

time. Only the skeleton of life remained his house, a brilliant wife

who now enjoyed the favors of a very important personage, acquaintance

with all Petersburg, and his court service with its dull formalities.

And this life suddenly seemed to Pierre unexpectedly loathsome. He

ceased keeping a diary, avoided the company of the Brothers, began going

to the club again, drank a great deal, and came once more in touch

with the bachelor sets, leading such a life that the Countess Hlne

thought it necessary to speak severely to him about it. Pierre felt that

she was right, and to avoid compromising her went away to Moscow.



In Moscow as soon as he entered his huge house in which the faded and

fading princesses still lived, with its enormous retinue as soon as,

driving through the town, he saw the Iberian shrine with innumerable

tapers burning before the golden covers of the icons, the Krmlin

Square with its snow undisturbed by vehicles, the sleigh drivers and

hovels of the Svtsev Vrazhk, those old Moscovites who desired

nothing, hurried nowhere, and were ending their days leisurely when he

saw those old Moscow ladies, the Moscow balls, and the English Club, he

felt himself at home in a quiet haven. In Moscow he felt at peace, at

home, warm and dirty as in an old dressing gown.



Moscow society, from the old women down to the children, received Pierre

like a long-expected guest whose place was always ready awaiting him.

For Moscow society Pierre was the nicest, kindest, most intellectual,

merriest, and most magnanimous of cranks, a heedless, genial nobleman of

the old Russian type. His purse was always empty because it was open to

everyone.



Benefit performances, poor pictures, statues, benevolent societies,

gypsy choirs, schools, subscription dinners, sprees, Freemasons,

churches, and booksno one and nothing met with a refusal from him,

and had it not been for two friends who had borrowed large sums from

him and taken him under their protection, he would have given everything

away. There was never a dinner or soiree at the club without him. As

soon as he sank into his place on the sofa after two bottles of Margaux

he was surrounded, and talking, disputing, and joking began. When there

were quarrels, his kindly smile and well-timed jests reconciled the

antagonists. The Masonic dinners were dull and dreary when he was not

there.



When after a bachelor supper he rose with his amiable and kindly smile,

yielding to the entreaties of the festive company to drive off somewhere

with them, shouts of delight and triumph arose among the young men.

At balls he danced if a partner was needed. Young ladies, married and

unmarried, liked him because without making love to any of them, he was

equally amiable to all, especially after supper. Il est charmant il

na pas de sexe, * they said of him.



    * He is charming he has no sex.





Pierre was one of those retired gentlemen-in-waiting of whom there were

hundreds good-humoredly ending their days in Moscow.



How horrified he would have been seven years before, when he first

arrived from abroad, had he been told that there was no need for him

to seek or plan anything, that his rut had long been shaped, eternally

predetermined, and that wriggle as he might, he would be what all in

his position were. He could not have believed it! Had he not at one

time longed with all his heart to establish a republic in Russia

then himself to be a Napoleon then to be a philosopher and then

a strategist and the conqueror of Napoleon? Had he not seen the

possibility of, and passionately desired, the regeneration of the sinful

human race, and his own progress to the highest degree of perfection?

Had he not established schools and hospitals and liberated his serfs?



But instead of all thathere he was, the wealthy husband of an

unfaithful wife, a retired gentleman-in-waiting, fond of eating and

drinking and, as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, of abusing the government

a bit, a member of the Moscow English Club, and a universal favorite in

Moscow society. For a long time he could not reconcile himself to the

idea that he was one of those same retired Moscow gentlemen-in-waiting

he had so despised seven years before.



Sometimes he consoled himself with the thought that he was only living

this life temporarily but then he was shocked by the thought of how

many, like himself, had entered that life and that club temporarily,

with all their teeth and hair, and had only left it when not a single

tooth or hair remained.



In moments of pride, when he thought of his position it seemed to

him that he was quite different and distinct from those other retired

gentlemen-in-waiting he had formerly despised they were empty, stupid,

contented fellows, satisfied with their position, while I am still

discontented and want to do something for mankind. But perhaps all these

comrades of mine struggled just like me and sought something new, a

path in life of their own, and like me were brought by force of

circumstances, society, and raceby that elemental force against which

man is powerlessto the condition I am in, said he to himself in

moments of humility and after living some time in Moscow he no longer

despised, but began to grow fond of, to respect, and to pity his

comrades in destiny, as he pitied himself.



Pierre no longer suffered moments of despair, hypochondria, and disgust

with life, but the malady that had formerly found expression in such

acute attacks was driven inwards and never left him for a moment.

What for? Why? What is going on in the world? he would ask himself

in perplexity several times a day, involuntarily beginning to reflect

anew on the meaning of the phenomena of life but knowing by experience

that there were no answers to these questions he made haste to turn away

from them, and took up a book, or hurried off to the club or to Apolln

Nikolevichs, to exchange the gossip of the town.



Hlne, who has never cared for anything but her own body and

is one of the stupidest women in the world, thought Pierre, is

regarded by people as the acme of intelligence and refinement, and they

pay homage to her. Napoleon Bonaparte was despised by all as long as he

was great, but now that he has become a wretched comedian the Emperor

Francis wants to offer him his daughter in an illegal marriage. The

Spaniards, through the Catholic clergy, offer praise to God for their

victory over the French on the fourteenth of June, and the French,

also through the Catholic clergy, offer praise because on that same

fourteenth of June they defeated the Spaniards. My brother Masons swear

by the blood that they are ready to sacrifice everything for their

neighbor, but they do not give a ruble each to the collections for the

poor, and they intrigue, the Astraea Lodge against the Manna Seekers,

and fuss about an authentic Scotch carpet and a charter that nobody

needs, and the meaning of which the very man who wrote it does not

understand. We all profess the Christian law of forgiveness of injuries

and love of our neighbors, the law in honor of which we have built in

Moscow forty times forty churchesbut yesterday a deserter was knouted

to death and a minister of that same law of love and forgiveness, a

priest, gave the soldier a cross to kiss before his execution. So

thought Pierre, and the whole of this general deception which everyone

accepts, accustomed as he was to it, astonished him each time as if it

were something new. I understand the deception and confusion, he

thought, but how am I to tell them all that I see? I have tried, and

have always found that they too in the depths of their souls understand

it as I do, and only try not to see it. So it appears that it must

be so! But Iwhat is to become of me? thought he. He had the

unfortunate capacity many men, especially Russians, have of seeing and

believing in the possibility of goodness and truth, but of seeing the

evil and falsehood of life too clearly to be able to take a serious part

in it. Every sphere of work was connected, in his eyes, with evil and

deception. Whatever he tried to be, whatever he engaged in, the evil and

falsehood of it repulsed him and blocked every path of activity. Yet he

had to live and to find occupation. It was too dreadful to be under

the burden of these insoluble problems, so he abandoned himself to

any distraction in order to forget them. He frequented every kind of

society, drank much, bought pictures, engaged in building, and above

allread.



He read, and read everything that came to hand. On coming home, while

his valets were still taking off his things, he picked up a book and

began to read. From reading he passed to sleeping, from sleeping to

gossip in drawing rooms of the club, from gossip to carousals and women

from carousals back to gossip, reading, and wine. Drinking became more

and more a physical and also a moral necessity. Though the doctors

warned him that with his corpulence wine was dangerous for him, he

drank a great deal. He was only quite at ease when having poured several

glasses of wine mechanically into his large mouth he felt a pleasant

warmth in his body, an amiability toward all his fellows, and a

readiness to respond superficially to every idea without probing it

deeply. Only after emptying a bottle or two did he feel dimly that the

terribly tangled skein of life which previously had terrified him was

not as dreadful as he had thought. He was always conscious of some

aspect of that skein, as with a buzzing in his head after dinner or

supper he chatted or listened to conversation or read. But under the

influence of wine he said to himself It doesnt matter. Ill

get it unraveled. I have a solution ready, but have no time nowIll

think it all out later on! But the later on never came.



In the morning, on an empty stomach, all the old questions appeared as

insoluble and terrible as ever, and Pierre hastily picked up a book, and

if anyone came to see him he was glad.



Sometimes he remembered how he had heard that soldiers in war when

entrenched under the enemys fire, if they have nothing to do, try

hard to find some occupation the more easily to bear the danger. To

Pierre all men seemed like those soldiers, seeking refuge from life

some in ambition, some in cards, some in framing laws, some in women,

some in toys, some in horses, some in politics, some in sport, some

in wine, and some in governmental affairs. Nothing is trivial, and

nothing is important, its all the sameonly to save oneself from it

as best one can, thought Pierre. Only not to see it, that dreadful

it!











CHAPTER II



At the beginning of winter Prince Nicholas Bolknski and his daughter

moved to Moscow. At that time enthusiasm for the Emperor Alexanders

regime had weakened and a patriotic and anti-French tendency prevailed

there, and this, together with his past and his intellect and his

originality, at once made Prince Nicholas Bolknski an object of

particular respect to the Moscovites and the center of the Moscow

opposition to the government.



The prince had aged very much that year. He showed marked signs of

senility by a tendency to fall asleep, forgetfulness of quite recent

events, remembrance of remote ones, and the childish vanity with which

he accepted the role of head of the Moscow opposition. In spite of this

the old man inspired in all his visitors alike a feeling of respectful

venerationespecially of an evening when he came in to tea in his

old-fashioned coat and powdered wig and, aroused by anyone, told his

abrupt stories of the past, or uttered yet more abrupt and scathing

criticisms of the present. For them all, that old-fashioned house with

its gigantic mirrors, pre-Revolution furniture, powdered footmen, and

the stern shrewd old man (himself a relic of the past century) with his

gentle daughter and the pretty Frenchwoman who were reverently devoted

to him presented a majestic and agreeable spectacle. But the visitors

did not reflect that besides the couple of hours during which they saw

their host, there were also twenty-two hours in the day during which the

private and intimate life of the house continued.



Latterly that private life had become very trying for Princess Mary.

There in Moscow she was deprived of her greatest pleasurestalks with

the pilgrims and the solitude which refreshed her at Bald Hillsand

she had none of the advantages and pleasures of city life. She did not

go out into society everyone knew that her father would not let her

go anywhere without him, and his failing health prevented his going out

himself, so that she was not invited to dinners and evening parties. She

had quite abandoned the hope of getting married. She saw the coldness

and malevolence with which the old prince received and dismissed the

young men, possible suitors, who sometimes appeared at their house. She

had no friends during this visit to Moscow she had been disappointed in

the two who had been nearest to her. Mademoiselle Bourienne, with whom

she had never been able to be quite frank, had now become unpleasant to

her, and for various reasons Princess Mary avoided her. Julie, with whom

she had corresponded for the last five years, was in Moscow, but proved

to be quite alien to her when they met. Just then Julie, who by the

death of her brothers had become one of the richest heiresses in Moscow,

was in the full whirl of society pleasures. She was surrounded by young

men who, she fancied, had suddenly learned to appreciate her worth.

Julie was at that stage in the life of a society woman when she feels

that her last chance of marrying has come and that her fate must be

decided now or never. On Thursdays Princess Mary remembered with a

mournful smile that she now had no one to write to, since Juliewhose

presence gave her no pleasure was here and they met every week. Like the

old migr who declined to marry the lady with whom he had spent his

evenings for years, she regretted Julies presence and having no one

to write to. In Moscow Princess Mary had no one to talk to, no one to

whom to confide her sorrow, and much sorrow fell to her lot just then.

The time for Prince Andrews return and marriage was approaching, but

his request to her to prepare his father for it had not been carried

out in fact, it seemed as if matters were quite hopeless, for at every

mention of the young Countess Rostva the old prince (who apart from

that was usually in a bad temper) lost control of himself. Another

lately added sorrow arose from the lessons she gave her six year-old

nephew. To her consternation she detected in herself in relation to

little Nicholas some symptoms of her fathers irritability. However

often she told herself that she must not get irritable when teaching her

nephew, almost every time that, pointer in hand, she sat down to show

him the French alphabet, she so longed to pour her own knowledge quickly

and easily into the childwho was already afraid that Auntie might at

any moment get angrythat at his slightest inattention she trembled,

became flustered and heated, raised her voice, and sometimes pulled him

by the arm and put him in the corner. Having put him in the corner

she would herself begin to cry over her cruel, evil nature, and little

Nicholas, following her example, would sob, and without permission would

leave his corner, come to her, pull her wet hands from her face, and

comfort her. But what distressed the princess most of all was her

fathers irritability, which was always directed against her and had

of late amounted to cruelty. Had he forced her to prostrate herself to

the ground all night, had he beaten her or made her fetch wood or water,

it would never have entered her mind to think her position hard but

this loving despotthe more cruel because he loved her and for that

reason tormented himself and herknew how not merely to hurt and

humiliate her deliberately, but to show her that she was always to blame

for everything. Of late he had exhibited a new trait that tormented

Princess Mary more than anything else this was his ever-increasing

intimacy with Mademoiselle Bourienne. The idea that at the first moment

of receiving the news of his sons intentions had occurred to him in

jestthat if Andrew got married he himself would marry Bouriennehad

evidently pleased him, and latterly he had persistently, and as it

seemed to Princess Mary merely to offend her, shown special endearments

to the companion and expressed his dissatisfaction with his daughter by

demonstrations of love of Bourienne.



One day in Moscow in Princess Marys presence (she thought her father

did it purposely when she was there) the old prince kissed Mademoiselle

Bouriennes hand and, drawing her to him, embraced her affectionately.

Princess Mary flushed and ran out of the room. A few minutes later

Mademoiselle Bourienne came into Princess Marys room smiling and

making cheerful remarks in her agreeable voice. Princess Mary hastily

wiped away her tears, went resolutely up to Mademoiselle Bourienne,

and evidently unconscious of what she was doing began shouting in angry

haste at the Frenchwoman, her voice breaking Its horrible, vile,

inhuman, to take advantage of the weakness... She did not finish.

Leave my room, she exclaimed, and burst into sobs.



Next day the prince did not say a word to his daughter, but she noticed

that at dinner he gave orders that Mademoiselle Bourienne should be

served first. After dinner, when the footman handed coffee and from

habit began with the princess, the prince suddenly grew furious,

threw his stick at Philip, and instantly gave instructions to have him

conscripted for the army.



He doesnt obey... I said it twice... and he doesnt obey! She

is the first person in this house shes my best friend, cried

the prince. And if you allow yourself, he screamed in a fury,

addressing Princess Mary for the first time, to forget yourself again

before her as you dared to do yesterday, I will show you who is master

in this house. Go! Dont let me set eyes on you beg her pardon!



Princess Mary asked Mademoiselle Bouriennes pardon, and also her

fathers pardon for herself and for Philip the footman, who had begged

for her intervention.



At such moments something like a pride of sacrifice gathered in her

soul. And suddenly that father whom she had judged would look for his

spectacles in her presence, fumbling near them and not seeing them, or

would forget something that had just occurred, or take a false step with

his failing legs and turn to see if anyone had noticed his feebleness,

or, worst of all, at dinner when there were no visitors to excite him

would suddenly fall asleep, letting his napkin drop and his shaking

head sink over his plate. He is old and feeble, and I dare to condemn

him! she thought at such moments, with a feeling of revulsion against

herself.











CHAPTER III



In 1811 there was living in Moscow a French doctorMtivierwho had

rapidly become the fashion. He was enormously tall, handsome, amiable

as Frenchmen are, and was, as all Moscow said, an extraordinarily clever

doctor. He was received in the best houses not merely as a doctor, but

as an equal.



Prince Nicholas had always ridiculed medicine, but latterly on

Mademoiselle Bouriennes advice had allowed this doctor to visit him

and had grown accustomed to him. Mtivier came to see the prince about

twice a week.



On December 6St. Nicholas Day and the princes name dayall

Moscow came to the princes front door but he gave orders to admit no

one and to invite to dinner only a small number, a list of whom he gave

to Princess Mary.



Mtivier, who came in the morning with his felicitations, considered

it proper in his quality of doctor de forcer la consigne, * as he told

Princess Mary, and went in to see the prince. It happened that on that

morning of his name day the prince was in one of his worst moods. He had

been going about the house all the morning finding fault with everyone

and pretending not to understand what was said to him and not to be

understood himself. Princess Mary well knew this mood of quiet absorbed

querulousness, which generally culminated in a burst of rage, and she

went about all that morning as though facing a cocked and loaded gun

and awaited the inevitable explosion. Until the doctors arrival the

morning had passed off safely. After admitting the doctor, Princess Mary

sat down with a book in the drawing room near the door through which she

could hear all that passed in the study.



    * To force the guard.



At first she heard only Mtiviers voice, then her fathers, then

both voices began speaking at the same time, the door was flung open,

and on the threshold appeared the handsome figure of the terrified

Mtivier with his shock of black hair, and the prince in his dressing

gown and fez, his face distorted with fury and the pupils of his eyes

rolled downwards.



You dont understand? shouted the prince, but I do! French

spy, slave of Buonaparte, spy, get out of my house! Be off, I tell

you... and he slammed the door.



Mtivier, shrugging his shoulders, went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne

who at the sound of shouting had run in from an adjoining room.



The prince is not very well bile and rush of blood to the head. Keep

calm, I will call again tomorrow, said Mtivier and putting his

fingers to his lips he hastened away.



Through the study door came the sound of slippered feet and the cry

Spies, traitors, traitors everywhere! Not a moments peace in my

own house!



After Mtiviers departure the old prince called his daughter in, and

the whole weight of his wrath fell on her. She was to blame that a spy

had been admitted. Had he not told her, yes, told her to make a list,

and not to admit anyone who was not on that list? Then why was that

scoundrel admitted? She was the cause of it all. With her, he said, he

could not have a moments peace and could not die quietly.



No, maam! We must part, we must part! Understand that, understand

it! I cannot endure any more, he said, and left the room. Then, as if

afraid she might find some means of consolation, he returned and trying

to appear calm added And dont imagine I have said this in a

moment of anger. I am calm. I have thought it over, and it will be

carried outwe must part so find some place for yourself.... But

he could not restrain himself and with the virulence of which only one

who loves is capable, evidently suffering himself, he shook his fists at

her and screamed



If only some fool would marry her! Then he slammed the door, sent

for Mademoiselle Bourienne, and subsided into his study.



At two oclock the six chosen guests assembled for dinner.



These gueststhe famous Count Rostopchn, Prince Lopukhn with his

nephew, General Chatrv an old war comrade of the princes, and

of the younger generation Pierre and Bors Drubetskyawaited the

prince in the drawing room.



Bors, who had come to Moscow on leave a few days before, had been

anxious to be presented to Prince Nicholas Bolknski, and had contrived

to ingratiate himself so well that the old prince in his case made an

exception to the rule of not receiving bachelors in his house.



The princes house did not belong to what is known as fashionable

society, but his little circlethough not much talked about in

townwas one it was more flattering to be received in than any other.

Bors had realized this the week before when the commander in chief in

his presence invited Rostopchn to dinner on St. Nicholas Day, and

Rostopchn had replied that he could not come



On that day I always go to pay my devotions to the relics of Prince

Nicholas Bolknski.



Oh, yes, yes! replied the commander in chief. How is he?...



The small group that assembled before dinner in the lofty old-fashioned

drawing room with its old furniture resembled the solemn gathering of

a court of justice. All were silent or talked in low tones. Prince

Nicholas came in serious and taciturn. Princess Mary seemed even quieter

and more diffident than usual. The guests were reluctant to address

her, feeling that she was in no mood for their conversation. Count

Rostopchn alone kept the conversation going, now relating the latest

town news, and now the latest political gossip.



Lopukhn and the old general occasionally took part in the

conversation. Prince Bolknski listened as a presiding judge receives a

report, only now and then, silently or by a brief word, showing that

he took heed of what was being reported to him. The tone of the

conversation was such as indicated that no one approved of what was

being done in the political world. Incidents were related evidently

confirming the opinion that everything was going from bad to worse, but

whether telling a story or giving an opinion the speaker always stopped,

or was stopped, at the point beyond which his criticism might touch the

sovereign himself.



At dinner the talk turned on the latest political news Napoleons

seizure of the Duke of Oldenburgs territory, and the Russian Note,

hostile to Napoleon, which had been sent to all the European courts.



Bonaparte treats Europe as a pirate does a captured vessel, said

Count Rostopchn, repeating a phrase he had uttered several times

before. One only wonders at the long-suffering or blindness of the

crowned heads. Now the Popes turn has come and Bonaparte doesnt

scruple to depose the head of the Catholic Churchyet all keep silent!

Our sovereign alone has protested against the seizure of the Duke

of Oldenburgs territory, and even... Count Rostopchn paused,

feeling that he had reached the limit beyond which censure was

impossible.



Other territories have been offered in exchange for the Duchy of

Oldenburg, said Prince Bolknski. He shifts the Dukes about as

I might move my serfs from Bald Hills to Boguchrovo or my Ryazn

estates.



The Duke of Oldenburg bears his misfortunes with admirable

strength of character and resignation, remarked Bors, joining in

respectfully.



He said this because on his journey from Petersburg he had had the honor

of being presented to the Duke. Prince Bolknski glanced at the

young man as if about to say something in reply, but changed his mind,

evidently considering him too young.



I have read our protests about the Oldenburg affair and was surprised

how badly the Note was worded, remarked Count Rostopchn in the

casual tone of a man dealing with a subject quite familiar to him.



Pierre looked at Rostopchn with nave astonishment, not understanding

why he should be disturbed by the bad composition of the Note.



Does it matter, Count, how the Note is worded, he asked, so

long as its substance is forcible?



My dear fellow, with our five hundred thousand troops it should be

easy to have a good style, returned Count Rostopchn.



Pierre now understood the counts dissatisfaction with the wording of

the Note.



One would have thought quill drivers enough had sprung up,

remarked the old prince. There in Petersburg they are always

writingnot notes only but even new laws. My Andrew there has written

a whole volume of laws for Russia. Nowadays they are always writing!

and he laughed unnaturally.



There was a momentary pause in the conversation the old general cleared

his throat to draw attention.



Did you hear of the last event at the review in Petersburg? The

figure cut by the new French ambassador.



Eh? Yes, I heard something he said something awkward in His

Majestys presence.



His Majesty drew attention to the Grenadier division and to the march

past, continued the general, and it seems the ambassador took

no notice and allowed himself to reply that We in France pay no

attention to such trifles! The Emperor did not condescend to reply.

At the next review, they say, the Emperor did not once deign to address

him.



All were silent. On this fact relating to the Emperor personally, it was

impossible to pass any judgment.



Impudent fellows! said the prince. You know Mtivier? I turned

him out of my house this morning. He was here they admitted him in

spite of my request that they should let no one in, he went on,

glancing angrily at his daughter.



And he narrated his whole conversation with the French doctor and

the reasons that convinced him that Mtivier was a spy. Though these

reasons were very insufficient and obscure, no one made any rejoinder.



After the roast, champagne was served. The guests rose to congratulate

the old prince. Princess Mary, too, went round to him.



He gave her a cold, angry look and offered her his wrinkled,

clean-shaven cheek to kiss. The whole expression of his face told

her that he had not forgotten the mornings talk, that his decision

remained in force, and only the presence of visitors hindered his

speaking of it to her now.



When they went into the drawing room where coffee was served, the old

men sat together.



Prince Nicholas grew more animated and expressed his views on the

impending war.



He said that our wars with Bonaparte would be disastrous so long as we

sought alliances with the Germans and thrust ourselves into European

affairs, into which we had been drawn by the Peace of Tilsit. We

ought not to fight either for or against Austria. Our political

interests are all in the East, and in regard to Bonaparte the only thing

is to have an armed frontier and a firm policy, and he will never dare

to cross the Russian frontier, as was the case in 1807!



How can we fight the French, Prince? said Count Rostopchn.

Can we arm ourselves against our teachers and divinities? Look at

our youths, look at our ladies! The French are our Gods Paris is our

Kingdom of Heaven.



He began speaking louder, evidently to be heard by everyone.



French dresses, French ideas, French feelings! There now, you turned

Mtivier out by the scruff of his neck because he is a Frenchman and

a scoundrel, but our ladies crawl after him on their knees. I went to

a party last night, and there out of five ladies three were Roman

Catholics and had the Popes indulgence for doing woolwork on Sundays.

And they themselves sit there nearly naked, like the signboards at our

Public Baths if I may say so. Ah, when one looks at our young people,

Prince, one would like to take Peter the Greats old cudgel out of the

museum and belabor them in the Russian way till all the nonsense jumps

out of them.



All were silent. The old prince looked at Rostopchn with a smile and

wagged his head approvingly.



Well, good-by, your excellency, keep well! said Rostopchn,

getting up with characteristic briskness and holding out his hand to the

prince.



Good-by, my dear fellow.... His words are music, I never tire of

hearing him! said the old prince, keeping hold of the hand and

offering his cheek to be kissed.



Following Rostopchns example the others also rose.











CHAPTER IV



Princess Mary as she sat listening to the old mens talk and

faultfinding, understood nothing of what she heard she only wondered

whether the guests had all observed her fathers hostile attitude

toward her. She did not even notice the special attentions and

amiabilities shown her during dinner by Bors Drubetsky, who was

visiting them for the third time already.



Princess Mary turned with absent-minded questioning look to Pierre, who

hat in hand and with a smile on his face was the last of the guests to

approach her after the old prince had gone out and they were left alone

in the drawing room.



May I stay a little longer? he said, letting his stout body sink

into an armchair beside her.



Oh yes, she answered. You noticed nothing? her look asked.



Pierre was in an agreeable after-dinner mood. He looked straight before

him and smiled quietly.



Have you known that young man long, Princess? he asked.



Who?



Drubetsky.



No, not long....



Do you like him?



Yes, he is an agreeable young man.... Why do you ask me that? said

Princess Mary, still thinking of that mornings conversation with her

father.



Because I have noticed that when a young man comes on leave from

Petersburg to Moscow it is usually with the object of marrying an

heiress.



You have observed that? said Princess Mary.



Yes, returned Pierre with a smile, and this young man now

manages matters so that where there is a wealthy heiress there he is

too. I can read him like a book. At present he is hesitating whom to lay

siege toyou or Mademoiselle Julie Kargina. He is very attentive to

her.



He visits them?



Yes, very often. And do you know the new way of courting? said

Pierre with an amused smile, evidently in that cheerful mood of good

humored raillery for which he so often reproached himself in his diary.



No, replied Princess Mary.



To please Moscow girls nowadays one has to be melancholy. He is very

melancholy with Mademoiselle Kargina, said Pierre.



Really? asked Princess Mary, looking into Pierres kindly

face and still thinking of her own sorrow. It would be a relief,

thought she, if I ventured to confide what I am feeling to someone.

I should like to tell everything to Pierre. He is kind and generous. It

would be a relief. He would give me advice.



Would you marry him?



Oh, my God, Count, there are moments when I would marry anybody!

she cried suddenly to her own surprise and with tears in her voice.

Ah, how bitter it is to love someone near to you and to feel

that... she went on in a trembling voice, that you can do nothing

for him but grieve him, and to know that you cannot alter this. Then

there is only one thing leftto go away, but where could I go?



What is wrong? What is it, Princess?



But without finishing what she was saying, Princess Mary burst into

tears.



I dont know what is the matter with me today. Dont take any

noticeforget what I have said!



Pierres gaiety vanished completely. He anxiously questioned the

princess, asked her to speak out fully and confide her grief to him but

she only repeated that she begged him to forget what she had said, that

she did not remember what she had said, and that she had no trouble

except the one he knew ofthat Prince Andrews marriage threatened

to cause a rupture between father and son.



Have you any news of the Rostvs? she asked, to change the

subject. I was told they are coming soon. I am also expecting Andrew

any day. I should like them to meet here.



And how does he now regard the matter? asked Pierre, referring to

the old prince.



Princess Mary shook her head.



What is to be done? In a few months the year will be up. The thing

is impossible. I only wish I could spare my brother the first moments.

I wish they would come sooner. I hope to be friends with her. You have

known them a long time, said Princess Mary. Tell me honestly

the whole truth what sort of girl is she, and what do you think of

her?The real truth, because you know Andrew is risking so much doing

this against his fathers will that I should like to know....



An undefined instinct told Pierre that these explanations, and

repeated requests to be told the whole truth, expressed ill-will on

the princess part toward her future sister-in-law and a wish that

he should disapprove of Andrews choice but in reply he said what he

felt rather than what he thought.



I dont know how to answer your question, he said, blushing

without knowing why. I really dont know what sort of girl she is

I cant analyze her at all. She is enchanting, but what makes her so I

dont know. That is all one can say about her.



Princess Mary sighed, and the expression on her face said Yes,

thats what I expected and feared.



Is she clever? she asked.



Pierre considered.



I think not, he said, and yetyes. She does not deign to be

clever.... Oh no, she is simply enchanting, and that is all.



Princess Mary again shook her head disapprovingly.



Ah, I so long to like her! Tell her so if you see her before I do.



I hear they are expected very soon, said Pierre.



Princess Mary told Pierre of her plan to become intimate with her future

sister-in-law as soon as the Rostvs arrived and to try to accustom the

old prince to her.











CHAPTER V



Bors had not succeeded in making a wealthy match in Petersburg, so

with the same object in view he came to Moscow. There he wavered between

the two richest heiresses, Julie and Princess Mary. Though Princess

Mary despite her plainness seemed to him more attractive than Julie, he,

without knowing why, felt awkward about paying court to her. When they

had last met on the old princes name day, she had answered at random

all his attempts to talk sentimentally, evidently not listening to what

he was saying.



Julie on the contrary accepted his attentions readily, though in a

manner peculiar to herself.



She was twenty-seven. After the death of her brothers she had become

very wealthy. She was by now decidedly plain, but thought herself not

merely as good-looking as before but even far more attractive. She

was confirmed in this delusion by the fact that she had become a very

wealthy heiress and also by the fact that the older she grew the less

dangerous she became to men, and the more freely they could associate

with her and avail themselves of her suppers, soirees, and the animated

company that assembled at her house, without incurring any obligation.

A man who would have been afraid ten years before of going every day

to the house when there was a girl of seventeen there, for fear of

compromising her and committing himself, would now go boldly every day

and treat her not as a marriageable girl but as a sexless acquaintance.



That winter the Kargins house was the most agreeable and hospitable

in Moscow. In addition to the formal evening and dinner parties, a large

company, chiefly of men, gathered there every day, supping at midnight

and staying till three in the morning. Julie never missed a ball, a

promenade, or a play. Her dresses were always of the latest fashion.

But in spite of that she seemed to be disillusioned about everything and

told everyone that she did not believe either in friendship or in love,

or any of the joys of life, and expected peace only yonder. She

adopted the tone of one who has suffered a great disappointment, like a

girl who has either lost the man she loved or been cruelly deceived by

him. Though nothing of the kind had happened to her she was regarded in

that light, and had even herself come to believe that she had suffered

much in life. This melancholy, which did not prevent her amusing

herself, did not hinder the young people who came to her house from

passing the time pleasantly. Every visitor who came to the house paid

his tribute to the melancholy mood of the hostess, and then amused

himself with society gossip, dancing, intellectual games, and bouts

rims, which were in vogue at the Kargins. Only a few of these

young men, among them Bors, entered more deeply into Julies

melancholy, and with these she had prolonged conversations in private

on the vanity of all worldly things, and to them she showed her albums

filled with mournful sketches, maxims, and verses.



To Bors, Julie was particularly gracious she regretted his early

disillusionment with life, offered him such consolation of friendship

as she who had herself suffered so much could render, and showed him

her album. Bors 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 ny a pas dautre asile. *



    * Death gives relief and death is peaceful.



Ah! from suffering there is no other refuge.



Julie said this was charming



There is something so enchanting in the smile of melancholy, she

said to Bors, repeating word for word a passage she had copied from a

book. It is a ray of light in the darkness, a shade between sadness

and despair, showing the possibility of consolation.



In reply Bors wrote these lines



    Aliment de poison dune me trop sensible,

    Toi, sans qui le bonheur me serait impossible,

    Tendre mlancholie, ah, viens me consoler,

    Viens calmer les tourments de ma sombre retraite,

    Et mle une douceur secrte

    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 Bors, Julie played most doleful nocturnes on her harp. Bors

read Poor Liza aloud to her, and more than once interrupted the reading

because of the emotions that choked him. Meeting at large gatherings

Julie and Bors looked on one another as the only souls who understood

one another in a world of indifferent people.



Anna Mikhylovna, who often visited the Kargins, while playing cards

with the mother made careful inquiries as to Julies dowry (she was

to have two estates in Pnza and the Nizhegrod forests). Anna

Mikhylovna regarded the refined sadness that united her son to the

wealthy Julie with emotion, and resignation to the Divine will.



You are always charming and melancholy, my dear Julie, she said to

the daughter. Bors says his soul finds repose at your house. He has

suffered so many disappointments and is so sensitive, said she to

the mother. Ah, my dear, I cant tell you how fond I have grown

of Julie latterly, she said to her son. But who could help loving

her? She is an angelic being! Ah, Bors, Bors!she paused.

And how I pity her mother, she went on today she showed me her

accounts and letters from Pnza (they have enormous estates there), and

she, poor thing, has no one to help her, and they do cheat her so!



Bors smiled almost imperceptibly while listening to his mother. He

laughed blandly at her nave diplomacy but listened to what she had

to say, and sometimes questioned her carefully about the Pnza and

Nizhegrod estates.



Julie had long been expecting a proposal from her melancholy adorer and

was ready to accept it but some secret feeling of repulsion for her,

for her passionate desire to get married, for her artificiality, and

a feeling of horror at renouncing the possibility of real love still

restrained Bors. His leave was expiring. He spent every day and whole

days at the Kargins, and every day on thinking the matter over

told himself that he would propose tomorrow. But in Julies presence,

looking at her red face and chin (nearly always powdered), her moist

eyes, and her expression of continual readiness to pass at once from

melancholy to an unnatural rapture of married bliss, Bors could not

utter the decisive words, though in imagination he had long regarded

himself as the possessor of those Pnza and Nizhegrod estates and

had apportioned the use of the income from them. Julie saw Bors

indecision, and sometimes the thought occurred to her that she was

repulsive to him, but her feminine self-deception immediately supplied

her with consolation, and she told herself that he was only shy from

love. Her melancholy, however, began to turn to irritability, and not

long before Bors departure she formed a definite plan of action.

Just as Bors leave of absence was expiring, Anatole Kurgin made

his appearance in Moscow, and of course in the Kargins drawing

room, and Julie, suddenly abandoning her melancholy, became cheerful and

very attentive to Kurgin.



My dear, said Anna Mikhylovna to her son, I know from a

reliable source that Prince Vasli has sent his son to Moscow to get

him married to Julie. I am so fond of Julie that I should be sorry for

her. What do you think of it, my dear?



The idea of being made a fool of and of having thrown away that whole

month of arduous melancholy service to Julie, and of seeing all

the revenue from the Pnza estates which he had already mentally

apportioned and put to proper use fall into the hands of another, and

especially into the hands of that idiot Anatole, pained Bors. He drove

to the Kargins with the firm intention of proposing. Julie met

him in a gay, careless manner, spoke casually of how she had enjoyed

yesterdays ball, and asked when he was leaving. Though Bors had

come intentionally to speak of his love and therefore meant to be

tender, he began speaking irritably of feminine inconstancy, of how

easily women can turn from sadness to joy, and how their moods depend

solely on who happens to be paying court to them. Julie was offended and

replied that it was true that a woman needs variety, and the same thing

over and over again would weary anyone.



Then I should advise you... Bors began, wishing to sting her

but at that instant the galling thought occurred to him that he might

have to leave Moscow without having accomplished his aim, and have

vainly wasted his effortswhich was a thing he never allowed to

happen.



He checked himself in the middle of the sentence, lowered his eyes to

avoid seeing her unpleasantly irritated and irresolute face, and said



I did not come here at all to quarrel with you. On the contrary...



He glanced at her to make sure that he might go on. Her irritability had

suddenly quite vanished, and her anxious, imploring eyes were fixed on

him with greedy expectation. I can always arrange so as not to see

her often, thought Bors. The affair has been begun and must be

finished! He blushed hotly, raised his eyes to hers, and said



You know my feelings for you!



There was no need to say more Julies face shone with triumph and

self-satisfaction but she forced Bors to say all that is said on such

occasionsthat he loved her and had never loved any other woman more

than her. She knew that for the Pnza estates and Nizhegrod forests

she could demand this, and she received what she demanded.



The affianced couple, no longer alluding to trees that shed gloom and

melancholy upon them, planned the arrangements of a splendid house in

Petersburg, paid calls, and prepared everything for a brilliant wedding.











CHAPTER VI



At the end of January old Count Rostv went to Moscow with Natsha and

Snya. The countess was still unwell and unable to travel but it was

impossible to wait for her recovery. Prince Andrew was expected in

Moscow any day, the trousseau had to be ordered and the estate near

Moscow had to be sold, besides which the opportunity of presenting his

future daughter-in-law to old Prince Bolknski while he was in Moscow

could not be missed. The Rostvs Moscow house had not been heated

that winter and, as they had come only for a short time and the countess

was not with them, the count decided to stay with Mrya Dmtrievna

Akhrosmova, who had long been pressing her hospitality on them.



Late one evening the Rostvs four sleighs drove into Mrya

Dmtrievnas courtyard in the old Konysheny street. Mrya

Dmtrievna lived alone. She had already married off her daughter, and

her sons were all in the service.



She held herself as erect, told everyone her opinion as candidly,

loudly, and bluntly as ever, and her whole bearing seemed a reproach

to others for any weakness, passion, or temptationthe possibility of

which she did not admit. From early in the morning, wearing a dressing

jacket, she attended to her household affairs, and then she drove out

on holy days to church and after the service to jails and prisons on

affairs of which she never spoke to anyone. On ordinary days, after

dressing, she received petitioners of various classes, of whom there

were always some. Then she had dinner, a substantial and appetizing meal

at which there were always three or four guests after dinner she played

a game of boston, and at night she had the newspapers or a new book read

to her while she knitted. She rarely made an exception and went out to

pay visits, and then only to the most important persons in the town.



She had not yet gone to bed when the Rostvs arrived and the pulley of

the hall door squeaked from the cold as it let in the Rostvs and their

servants. Mrya Dmtrievna, with her spectacles hanging down on her

nose and her head flung back, stood in the hall doorway looking with

a stern, grim face at the new arrivals. One might have thought she was

angry with the travelers and would immediately turn them out, had she

not at the same time been giving careful instructions to the servants

for the accommodation of the visitors and their belongings.



The counts things? Bring them here, she said, pointing to the

portmanteaus and not greeting anyone. The young ladies? There

to the left. Now what are you dawdling for? she cried to the maids.

Get the samovar ready!... Youve grown plumper and prettier, she

remarked, drawing Natsha (whose cheeks were glowing from the cold)

to her by the hood. Foo! You are cold! Now take off your things,

quick! she shouted to the count who was going to kiss her hand.

Youre half frozen, Im sure! Bring some rum for tea!... Bonjour,

Snya dear! she added, turning to Snya and indicating by this

French greeting her slightly contemptuous though affectionate attitude

toward her.



When they came in to tea, having taken off their outdoor things and

tidied themselves up after their journey, Mrya Dmtrievna kissed them

all in due order.



Im heartily glad you have come and are staying with me. It was

high time, she said, giving Natsha a significant look. The old

man is here and his sons expected any day. Youll have to make his

acquaintance. But well speak of that later on, she added, glancing

at Snya with a look that showed she did not want to speak of it in her

presence. Now listen, she said to the count. What do you want

tomorrow? Whom will you send for? Shinshn? she crooked one of her

fingers. The sniveling Anna Mikhylovna? Thats two. Shes here

with her son. The son is getting married! Then Bezkhov, eh? He is here

too, with his wife. He ran away from her and she came galloping after

him. He dined with me on Wednesday. As for themand she pointed to

the girlstomorrow Ill take them first to the Iberian shrine

of the Mother of God, and then well drive to the Super-Rogues.

I suppose youll have everything new. Dont judge by me sleeves

nowadays are this size! The other day young Princess Irna Vaslevna

came to see me she was an awful sightlooked as if she had put two

barrels on her arms. You know not a day passes now without some new

fashion.... And what have you to do yourself? she asked the count

sternly.



One thing has come on top of another her rags to buy, and now a

purchaser has turned up for the Moscow estate and for the house. If you

will be so kind, Ill fix a time and go down to the estate just for a

day, and leave my lassies with you.



All right. All right. Theyll be safe with me, as safe as in

Chancery! Ill take them where they must go, scold them a bit, and

pet them a bit, said Mrya Dmtrievna, touching her goddaughter and

favorite, Natsha, on the cheek with her large hand.



Next morning Mrya Dmtrievna took the young ladies to the Iberian

shrine of the Mother of God and to Madame Suppert-Roguet, who was so

afraid of Mrya Dmtrievna that she always let her have costumes at

a loss merely to get rid of her. Mrya Dmtrievna ordered almost the

whole trousseau. When they got home she turned everybody out of the room

except Natsha, and then called her pet to her armchair.



Well, now well talk. I congratulate you on your betrothed.

Youve hooked a fine fellow! I am glad for your sake and Ive known

him since he was so high. She held her hand a couple of feet from the

ground. Natsha blushed happily. I like him and all his family.

Now listen! You know that old Prince Nicholas much dislikes his sons

marrying. The old fellows crotchety! Of course Prince Andrew is not

a child and can shift without him, but its not nice to enter a family

against a fathers will. One wants to do it peacefully and lovingly.

Youre a clever girl and youll know how to manage. Be kind, and use

your wits. Then all will be well.



Natsha remained silent, from shyness Mrya Dmtrievna supposed, but

really because she disliked anyone interfering in what touched her love

of Prince Andrew, which seemed to her so apart from all human affairs

that no one could understand it. She loved and knew Prince Andrew, he

loved her only, and was to come one of these days and take her. She

wanted nothing more.



You see I have known him a long time and am also fond of Mary, your

future sister-in-law. Husbands sisters bring up blisters,

but this one wouldnt hurt a fly. She has asked me to bring you two

together. Tomorrow youll go with your father to see her. Be very

nice and affectionate to her youre younger than she. When he comes,

hell find you already know his sister and father and are liked by

them. Am I right or not? Wont that be best?



Yes, it will, Natsha answered reluctantly.











CHAPTER VII



Next day, by Mrya Dmtrievnas advice, Count Rostv took Natsha

to call on Prince Nicholas Bolknski. The count did not set out

cheerfully on this visit, at heart he felt afraid. He well remembered

the last interview he had had with the old prince at the time of the

enrollment, when in reply to an invitation to dinner he had had to

listen to an angry reprimand for not having provided his full quota of

men. Natsha, on the other hand, having put on her best gown, was in

the highest spirits. They cant help liking me, she thought.

Everybody always has liked me, and I am so willing to do anything

they wish, so ready to be fond of himfor being his fatherand of

herfor being his sisterthat there is no reason for them not to

like me....



They drove up to the gloomy old house on the Vozdvzhenka and entered

the vestibule.



Well, the Lord have mercy on us! said the count, half in jest,

half in earnest but Natsha noticed that her father was flurried on

entering the anteroom and inquired timidly and softly whether the prince

and princess were at home.



When they had been announced a perturbation was noticeable among the

servants. The footman who had gone to announce them was stopped by

another in the large hall and they whispered to one another. Then a

maidservant ran into the hall and hurriedly said something, mentioning

the princess. At last an old, cross looking footman came and announced

to the Rostvs that the prince was not receiving, but that the princess

begged them to walk up. The first person who came to meet the visitors

was Mademoiselle Bourienne. She greeted the father and daughter

with special politeness and showed them to the princess room. The

princess, looking excited and nervous, her face flushed in patches, ran

in to meet the visitors, treading heavily, and vainly trying to appear

cordial and at ease. From the first glance Princess Mary did not like

Natsha. She thought her too fashionably dressed, frivolously gay and

vain. She did not at all realize that before having seen her future

sister-in-law she was prejudiced against her by involuntary envy of her

beauty, youth, and happiness, as well as by jealousy of her brothers

love for her. Apart from this insuperable antipathy to her, Princess

Mary was agitated just then because on the Rostvs being announced,

the old prince had shouted that he did not wish to see them, that

Princess Mary might do so if she chose, but they were not to be admitted

to him. She had decided to receive them, but feared lest the prince

might at any moment indulge in some freak, as he seemed much upset by

the Rostvs visit.



There, my dear princess, Ive brought you my songstress, said

the count, bowing and looking round uneasily as if afraid the old prince

might appear. I am so glad you should get to know one another... very

sorry the prince is still ailing, and after a few more commonplace

remarks he rose. If youll allow me to leave my Natsha in your

hands for a quarter of an hour, Princess, Ill drive round to see Anna

Semnovna, its quite near in the Dogs Square, and then Ill

come back for her.



The count had devised this diplomatic ruse (as he afterwards told his

daughter) to give the future sisters-in-law an opportunity to talk

to one another freely, but another motive was to avoid the danger of

encountering the old prince, of whom he was afraid. He did not mention

this to his daughter, but Natsha noticed her fathers nervousness

and anxiety and felt mortified by it. She blushed for him, grew still

angrier at having blushed, and looked at the princess with a bold and

defiant expression which said that she was not afraid of anybody. The

princess told the count that she would be delighted, and only begged him

to stay longer at Anna Semnovnas, and he departed.



Despite the uneasy glances thrown at her by Princess Marywho wished

to have a tte--tte with NatshaMademoiselle Bourienne

remained in the room and persistently talked about Moscow amusements and

theaters. Natsha felt offended by the hesitation she had noticed in

the anteroom, by her fathers nervousness, and by the unnatural manner

of the princess whoshe thoughtwas making a favor of receiving her,

and so everything displeased her. She did not like Princess Mary, whom

she thought very plain, affected, and dry. Natsha suddenly shrank

into herself and involuntarily assumed an offhand air which alienated

Princess Mary still more. After five minutes of irksome, constrained

conversation, they heard the sound of slippered feet rapidly

approaching. Princess Mary looked frightened.



The door opened and the old prince, in a dressing gown and a white

nightcap, came in.



Ah, madam! he began. Madam, Countess... Countess Rostva, if

I am not mistaken... I beg you to excuse me, to excuse me... I did not

know, madam. God is my witness, I did not know you had honored us with

a visit, and I came in such a costume only to see my daughter. I beg you

to excuse me... God is my witness, I didnt know he repeated,

stressing the word God so unnaturally and so unpleasantly that

Princess Mary stood with downcast eyes not daring to look either at her

father or at Natsha.



Nor did the latter, having risen and curtsied, know what to do.

Mademoiselle Bourienne alone smiled agreeably.



I beg you to excuse me, excuse me! God is my witness, I did not

know, muttered the old man, and after looking Natsha over from head

to foot he went out.



Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after this

apparition and began speaking about the princes indisposition.

Natsha and Princess Mary looked at one another in silence, and the

longer they did so without saying what they wanted to say, the greater

grew their antipathy to one another.



When the count returned, Natsha was impolitely pleased and hastened

to get away at that moment she hated the stiff, elderly princess, who

could place her in such an embarrassing position and had spent half an

hour with her without once mentioning Prince Andrew. I couldnt

begin talking about him in the presence of that Frenchwoman, thought

Natsha. The same thought was meanwhile tormenting Princess Mary. She

knew what she ought to have said to Natsha, but she had been unable

to say it because Mademoiselle Bourienne was in the way, and because,

without knowing why, she felt it very difficult to speak of the

marriage. When the count was already leaving the room, Princess Mary

went up hurriedly to Natsha, took her by the hand, and said with a

deep sigh



Wait, I must...



Natsha glanced at her ironically without knowing why.



Dear Natalie, said Princess Mary, I want you to know that I am

glad my brother has found happiness....



She paused, feeling that she was not telling the truth. Natsha noticed

this and guessed its reason.



I think, Princess, it is not convenient to speak of that now,

she said with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears

choking her.



What have I said and what have I done? thought she, as soon as she

was out of the room.



They waited a long time for Natsha to come to dinner that day. She sat

in her room crying like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing. Snya

stood beside her, kissing her hair.



Natsha, what is it about? she asked. What do they matter to

you? It will all pass, Natsha.



But if you only knew how offensive it was... as if I...



Dont talk about it, Natsha. It wasnt your fault so why should

you mind? Kiss me, said Snya.



Natsha raised her head and, kissing her friend on the lips, pressed

her wet face against her.



I cant tell you, I dont know. No ones to blame, said

NatshaIts my fault. But it all hurts terribly. Oh, why

doesnt he come?...



She came in to dinner with red eyes. Mrya Dmtrievna, who knew how

the prince had received the Rostvs, pretended not to notice how upset

Natsha was and jested resolutely and loudly at table with the count

and the other guests.











CHAPTER VIII



That evening the Rostvs went to the Opera, for which Mrya

Dmtrievna had taken a box.



Natsha did not want to go, but could not refuse Mrya Dmtrievnas

kind offer which was intended expressly for her. When she came ready

dressed into the ballroom to await her father, and looking in the large

mirror there saw that she was pretty, very pretty, she felt even more

sad, but it was a sweet, tender sadness.



O God, if he were here now I would not behave as I did then, but

differently. I would not be silly and afraid of things, I would simply

embrace him, cling to him, and make him look at me with those searching

inquiring eyes with which he has so often looked at me, and then I

would make him laugh as he used to laugh. And his eyeshow I see those

eyes! thought Natsha. And what do his father and sister matter

to me? I love him alone, him, him, with that face and those eyes, with

his smile, manly and yet childlike.... No, I had better not think of

him not think of him but forget him, quite forget him for the present.

I cant 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 Snya love Nicholas so calmly and quietly and wait so long and so

patiently? thought she, looking at Snya, who also came in quite

ready, with a fan in her hand. No, shes altogether different. I

cant!



Natsha at that moment felt so softened and tender that it was not

enough for her to love and know she was beloved, she wanted now, at

once, to embrace the man she loved, to speak and hear from him words of

love such as filled her heart. While she sat in the carriage beside her

father, pensively watching the lights of the street lamps flickering on

the frozen window, she felt still sadder and more in love, and forgot

where she was going and with whom. Having fallen into the line of

carriages, the Rostvs carriage drove up to the theater, its wheels

squeaking over the snow. Natsha and Snya, holding up their dresses,

jumped out quickly. The count got out helped by the footmen, and,

passing among men and women who were entering and the program sellers,

they all three went along the corridor to the first row of boxes.

Through the closed doors the music was already audible.



Natsha, your hair!... whispered Snya.



An attendant deferentially and quickly slipped before the ladies and

opened the door of their box. The music sounded louder and through the

door rows of brightly lit boxes in which ladies sat with bare arms and

shoulders, and noisy stalls brilliant with uniforms, glittered before

their eyes. A lady entering the next box shot a glance of feminine envy

at Natsha. The curtain had not yet risen and the overture was being

played. Natsha, smoothing her gown, went in with Snya and sat down,

scanning the brilliant tiers of boxes opposite. A sensation she had not

experienced for a long timethat of hundreds of eyes looking at

her bare arms and necksuddenly affected her both agreeably and

disagreeably and called up a whole crowd of memories, desires and

emotions associated with that feeling.



The two remarkably pretty girls, Natsha and Snya, with Count Rostv

who had not been seen in Moscow for a long time, attracted general

attention. Moreover, everybody knew vaguely of Natshas engagement

to Prince Andrew, and knew that the Rostvs had lived in the country

ever since, and all looked with curiosity at a fiance who was making

one of the best matches in Russia.



Natshas looks, as everyone told her, had improved in the country,

and that evening thanks to her agitation she was particularly pretty.

She struck those who saw her by her fullness of life and beauty,

combined with her indifference to everything about her. Her black eyes

looked at the crowd without seeking anyone, and her delicate arm, bare

to above the elbow, lay on the velvet edge of the box, while, evidently

unconsciously, she opened and closed her hand in time to the music,

crumpling her program. Look, theres Alnina, said Snya,

with her mother, isnt it?



Dear me, Michael Kirlovich has grown still stouter! remarked the

count.



Look at our Anna Mikhylovnawhat a headdress she has on!



The Kargins, Julieand Bors with them. One can see at once that

theyre engaged....



Drubetsky has proposed?



Oh yes, I heard it today, said Shinshn, coming into the

Rostvs box.



Natsha looked in the direction in which her fathers eyes were

turned and saw Julie sitting beside her mother with a happy look on her

face and a string of pearls round her thick red neckwhich Natsha

knew was covered with powder. Behind them, wearing a smile and leaning

over with an ear to Julies mouth, was Bors handsome smoothly

brushed head. He looked at the Rostvs from under his brows and said

something, smiling, to his betrothed.



They are talking about us, about me and him! thought Natsha.

And he no doubt is calming her jealousy of me. They neednt trouble

themselves! If only they knew how little I am concerned about any of

them.



Behind them sat Anna Mikhylovna wearing a green headdress and with a

happy look of resignation to the will of God on her face. Their box was

pervaded by that atmosphere of an affianced couple which Natsha knew

so well and liked so much. She turned away and suddenly remembered all

that had been so humiliating in her mornings visit.



What right has he not to wish to receive me into his family? Oh,

better not think of itnot till he comes back! she told herself,

and began looking at the faces, some strange and some familiar, in

the stalls. In the front, in the very center, leaning back against

the orchestra rail, stood Dlokhov in a Persian dress, his curly hair

brushed up into a huge shock. He stood in full view of the audience,

well aware that he was attracting everyones attention, yet as much at

ease as though he were in his own room. Around him thronged Moscows

most brilliant young men, whom he evidently dominated.



The count, laughing, nudged the blushing Snya and pointed to her

former adorer.



Do you recognize him? said he. And where has he sprung from?

he asked, turning to Shinshn. Didnt he vanish somewhere?



He did, replied Shinshn. He was in the Caucasus and ran

away from there. They say he has been acting as minister to some ruling

prince in Persia, where he killed the Shahs brother. Now all the

Moscow ladies are mad about him! Its Dlokhov the Persian that

does it! We never hear a word but Dlokhov is mentioned. They swear

by him, they offer him to you as they would a dish of choice sterlet.

Dlokhov and Anatole Kurgin have turned all our ladies heads.



A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plaited hair and much exposed

plump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double string of

large pearls, entered the adjoining box rustling her heavy silk dress

and took a long time settling into her place.



Natsha involuntarily gazed at that neck, those shoulders, and pearls

and coiffure, and admired the beauty of the shoulders and the pearls.

While Natsha was fixing her gaze on her for the second time the lady

looked round and, meeting the counts eyes, nodded to him and smiled.

She was the Countess Bezkhova, Pierres wife, and the count, who

knew everyone in society, leaned over and spoke to her.



Have you been here long, Countess? he inquired. Ill call,

Ill call to kiss your hand. Im here on business and have brought

my girls with me. They say Semnova acts marvelously. Count Pierre

never used to forget us. Is he here?



Yes, he meant to look in, answered Hlne, and glanced

attentively at Natsha.



Count Rostv resumed his seat.



Handsome, isnt she? he whispered to Natsha.



Wonderful! answered Natsha. Shes a woman one could easily

fall in love with.



Just then the last chords of the overture were heard and the conductor

tapped with his stick. Some latecomers took their seats in the stalls,

and the curtain rose.



As soon as it rose everyone in the boxes and stalls became silent, and

all the men, old and young, in uniform and evening dress, and all the

women with gems on their bare flesh, turned their whole attention with

eager curiosity to the stage. Natsha too began to look at it.











CHAPTER IX



The floor of the stage consisted of smooth boards, at the sides was

some painted cardboard representing trees, and at the back was a cloth

stretched over boards. In the center of the stage sat some girls in red

bodices and white skirts. One very fat girl in a white silk dress sat

apart on a low bench, to the back of which a piece of green cardboard

was glued. They all sang something. When they had finished their song

the girl in white went up to the prompters box and a man with tight

silk trousers over his stout legs, and holding a plume and a dagger,

went up to her and began singing, waving his arms about.



First the man in the tight trousers sang alone, then she sang, then they

both paused while the orchestra played and the man fingered the hand

of the girl in white, obviously awaiting the beat to start singing with

her. They sang together and everyone in the theater began clapping

and shouting, while the man and woman on the stagewho represented

loversbegan smiling, spreading out their arms, and bowing.



After her life in the country, and in her present serious mood, all this

seemed grotesque and amazing to Natsha. She could not follow the opera

nor even listen to the music she saw only the painted cardboard and the

queerly dressed men and women who moved, spoke, and sang so strangely in

that brilliant light. She knew what it was all meant to represent, but

it was so pretentiously false and unnatural that she first felt ashamed

for the actors and then amused at them. She looked at the faces of the

audience, seeking in them the same sense of ridicule and perplexity she

herself experienced, but they all seemed attentive to what was happening

on the stage, and expressed delight which to Natsha seemed feigned.

I suppose it has to be like this! she thought. She kept looking

round in turn at the rows of pomaded heads in the stalls and then at

the seminude women in the boxes, especially at Hlne in the next box,

whoapparently quite unclothedsat with a quiet tranquil smile, not

taking her eyes off the stage. And feeling the bright light that flooded

the whole place and the warm air heated by the crowd, Natsha little

by little began to pass into a state of intoxication she had not

experienced for a long while. She did not realize who and where she

was, nor what was going on before her. As she looked and thought, the

strangest fancies unexpectedly and disconnectedly passed through her

mind the idea occurred to her of jumping onto the edge of the box and

singing the air the actress was singing, then she wished to touch with

her fan an old gentleman sitting not far from her, then to lean over to

Hlne 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 Rostvs box creaked,

and the steps of a belated arrival were heard. Theres Kurgin!

whispered Shinshn. Countess Bezkhova turned smiling to the newcomer,

and Natsha, following the direction of that look, saw an exceptionally

handsome adjutant approaching their box with a self-assured yet

courteous bearing. This was Anatole Kurgin whom she had seen

and noticed long ago at the ball in Petersburg. He was now in an

adjutants uniform with one epaulet and a shoulder knot. He moved with

a restrained swagger which would have been ridiculous had he not been

so good-looking and had his handsome face not worn such an expression

of good-humored complacency and gaiety. Though the performance was

proceeding, he walked deliberately down the carpeted gangway, his sword

and spurs slightly jingling and his handsome perfumed head held high.

Having looked at Natsha he approached his sister, laid his well gloved

hand on the edge of her box, nodded to her, and leaning forward asked a

question, with a motion toward Natsha.



Mais charmante! said he, evidently referring to Natsha, who did

not exactly hear his words but understood them from the movement of his

lips. Then he took his place in the first row of the stalls and sat down

beside Dlokhov, nudging with his elbow in a friendly and offhand way

that Dlokhov whom others treated so fawningly. He winked at him gaily,

smiled, and rested his foot against the orchestra screen.



How like the brother is to the sister, remarked the count. And

how handsome they both are!



Shinshn, lowering his voice, began to tell the count of some intrigue

of Kurgins in Moscow, and Natsha tried to overhear it just

because he had said she was charmante.



The first act was over. In the stalls everyone began moving about, going

out and coming in.



Bors came to the Rostvs box, received their congratulations very

simply, and raising his eyebrows with an absent-minded smile conveyed to

Natsha and Snya his fiances invitation to her wedding, and

went away. Natsha with a gay, coquettish smile talked to him, and

congratulated on his approaching wedding that same Bors with whom

she had formerly been in love. In the state of intoxication she was in,

everything seemed simple and natural.



The scantily clad Hlne smiled at everyone in the same way, and

Natsha gave Bors a similar smile.



Hlnes box was filled and surrounded from the stalls by the most

distinguished and intellectual men, who seemed to vie with one another

in their wish to let everyone see that they knew her.



During the whole of that entracte Kurgin stood with Dlokhov

in front of the orchestra partition, looking at the Rostvs box.

Natsha knew he was talking about her and this afforded her pleasure.

She even turned so that he should see her profile in what she thought

was its most becoming aspect. Before the beginning of the second act

Pierre appeared in the stalls. The Rostvs had not seen him since

their arrival. His face looked sad, and he had grown still stouter since

Natsha last saw him. He passed up to the front rows, not noticing

anyone. Anatole went up to him and began speaking to him, looking at and

indicating the Rostvs box. On seeing Natsha Pierre grew animated

and, hastily passing between the rows, came toward their box. When he

got there he leaned on his elbows and, smiling, talked to her for a long

time. While conversing with Pierre, Natsha heard a mans voice in

Countess Bezkhovas box and something told her it was Kurgin. She

turned and their eyes met. Almost smiling, he gazed straight into her

eyes with such an enraptured caressing look that it seemed strange to be

so near him, to look at him like that, to be so sure he admired her, and

not to be acquainted with him.



In the second act there was scenery representing tombstones, there was a

round hole in the canvas to represent the moon, shades were raised over

the footlights, and from horns and contrabass came deep notes while many

people appeared from right and left wearing black cloaks and holding

things like daggers in their hands. They began waving their arms. Then

some other people ran in and began dragging away the maiden who had been

in white and was now in light blue. They did not drag her away at once,

but sang with her for a long time and then at last dragged her off, and

behind the scenes something metallic was struck three times and

everyone knelt down and sang a prayer. All these things were repeatedly

interrupted by the enthusiastic shouts of the audience.



During this act every time Natsha looked toward the stalls she saw

Anatole Kurgin with an arm thrown across the back of his chair,

staring at her. She was pleased to see that he was captivated by her and

it did not occur to her that there was anything wrong in it.



When the second act was over Countess Bezkhova rose, turned to the

Rostvs boxher whole bosom completely exposedbeckoned the old

count with a gloved finger, and paying no attention to those who had

entered her box began talking to him with an amiable smile.



Do make me acquainted with your charming daughters, said she.

The whole town is singing their praises and I dont even know

them!



Natsha rose and curtsied to the splendid countess. She was so pleased

by praise from this brilliant beauty that she blushed with pleasure.



I want to become a Moscovite too, now, said Hlne. How is it

youre not ashamed to bury such pearls in the country?



Countess Bezkhova quite deserved her reputation of being a fascinating

woman. She could say what she did not thinkespecially what was

flatteringquite simply and naturally.



Dear count, you must let me look after your daughters! Though I am

not staying here long this timenor are youI will try to amuse

them. I have already heard much of you in Petersburg and wanted to get

to know you, said she to Natsha with her stereotyped and lovely

smile. I had heard about you from my page, Drubetsky. Have you

heard he is getting married? And also from my husbands friend

Bolknski, Prince Andrew Bolknski, she went on with special

emphasis, implying that she knew of his relation to Natsha. To get

better acquainted she asked that one of the young ladies should come

into her box for the rest of the performance, and Natsha moved over to

it.



The scene of the third act represented a palace in which many candles

were burning and pictures of knights with short beards hung on the

walls. In the middle stood what were probably a king and a queen. The

king waved his right arm and, evidently nervous, sang something badly

and sat down on a crimson throne. The maiden who had been first in white

and then in light blue, now wore only a smock, and stood beside the

throne with her hair down. She sang something mournfully, addressing the

queen, but the king waved his arm severely, and men and women with bare

legs came in from both sides and began dancing all together. Then the

violins played very shrilly and merrily and one of the women with thick

bare legs and thin arms, separating from the others, went behind the

wings, adjusted her bodice, returned to the middle of the stage, and

began jumping and striking one foot rapidly against the other. In the

stalls everyone clapped and shouted bravo! Then one of the men

went into a corner of the stage. The cymbals and horns in the orchestra

struck up more loudly, and this man with bare legs jumped very high and

waved his feet about very rapidly. (He was Duport, who received sixty

thousand rubles a year for this art.) Everybody in the stalls, boxes,

and galleries began clapping and shouting with all their might, and the

man stopped and began smiling and bowing to all sides. Then other men

and women danced with bare legs. Then the king again shouted to the

sound of music, and they all began singing. But suddenly a storm

came on, chromatic scales and diminished sevenths were heard in the

orchestra, everyone ran off, again dragging one of their number away,

and the curtain dropped. Once more there was a terrible noise and

clatter among the audience, and with rapturous faces everyone began

shouting Duport! Duport! Duport! Natsha no longer thought this

strange. She looked about with pleasure, smiling joyfully.



Isnt Duport delightful? Hlne asked her.



Oh, yes, replied Natsha.











CHAPTER X



During the entracte a whiff of cold air came into Hlnes box,

the door opened, and Anatole entered, stooping and trying not to brush

against anyone.



Let me introduce my brother to you, said Hlne, her eyes

shifting uneasily from Natsha to Anatole.



Natsha turned her pretty little head toward the elegant young officer

and smiled at him over her bare shoulder. Anatole, who was as handsome

at close quarters as at a distance, sat down beside her and told her he

had long wished to have this happinessever since the Narshkins

ball in fact, at which he had had the well-remembered pleasure of seeing

her. Kurgin was much more sensible and simple with women than among

men. He talked boldly and naturally, and Natsha was strangely and

agreeably struck by the fact that there was nothing formidable in this

man about whom there was so much talk, but that on the contrary his

smile was most nave, cheerful, and good-natured.



Kurgin asked her opinion of the performance and told her how at a

previous performance Semnova had fallen down on the stage.



And do you know, Countess, he said, suddenly addressing her as an

old, familiar acquaintance, we are getting up a costume tournament

you ought to take part in it! It will be great fun. We shall all meet at

the Kargins! Please come! No! Really, eh? said he.



While saying this he never removed his smiling eyes from her face,

her neck, and her bare arms. Natsha knew for certain that he was

enraptured by her. This pleased her, yet his presence made her feel

constrained and oppressed. When she was not looking at him she felt that

he was looking at her shoulders, and she involuntarily caught his eye

so that he should look into hers rather than this. But looking into his

eyes she was frightened, realizing that there was not that barrier of

modesty she had always felt between herself and other men. She did not

know how it was that within five minutes she had come to feel herself

terribly near to this man. When she turned away she feared he might

seize her from behind by her bare arm and kiss her on the neck. They

spoke of most ordinary things, yet she felt that they were closer to

one another than she had ever been to any man. Natsha kept turning to

Hlne and to her father, as if asking what it all meant, but Hlne

was engaged in conversation with a general and did not answer her

look, and her fathers eyes said nothing but what they always said

Having a good time? Well, Im glad of it!



During one of these moments of awkward silence when Anatoles

prominent eyes were gazing calmly and fixedly at her, Natsha, to break

the silence, asked him how he liked Moscow. She asked the question and

blushed. She felt all the time that by talking to him she was doing

something improper. Anatole smiled as though to encourage her.



At first I did not like it much, because what makes a town pleasant

ce sont les jolies femmes, * isnt that so? But now I like it very

much indeed, he said, looking at her significantly. Youll come

to the costume tournament, Countess? Do come! and putting out his

hand to her bouquet and dropping his voice, he added, You will be the

prettiest there. Do come, dear countess, and give me this flower as a

pledge!



    * Are the pretty women.



Natsha did not understand what he was saying any more than he did

himself, but she felt that his incomprehensible words had an improper

intention. She did not know what to say and turned away as if she had

not heard his remark. But as soon as she had turned away she felt that

he was there, behind, so close behind her.



How is he now? Confused? Angry? Ought I to put it right? she

asked herself, and she could not refrain from turning round. She looked

straight into his eyes, and his nearness, self-assurance, and the

good-natured tenderness of his smile vanquished her. She smiled just

as he was doing, gazing straight into his eyes. And again she felt with

horror that no barrier lay between him and her.



The curtain rose again. Anatole left the box, serene and gay. Natsha

went back to her father in the other box, now quite submissive to the

world she found herself in. All that was going on before her now seemed

quite natural, but on the other hand all her previous thoughts of her

betrothed, of Princess Mary, or of life in the country did not once

recur to her mind and were as if belonging to a remote past.



In the fourth act there was some sort of devil who sang waving his arm

about, till the boards were withdrawn from under him and he disappeared

down below. That was the only part of the fourth act that Natsha saw.

She felt agitated and tormented, and the cause of this was Kurgin whom

she could not help watching. As they were leaving the theater Anatole

came up to them, called their carriage, and helped them in. As he was

putting Natsha in he pressed her arm above the elbow. Agitated and

flushed she turned round. He was looking at her with glittering eyes,

smiling tenderly.





Only after she had reached home was Natsha able clearly to think over

what had happened to her, and suddenly remembering Prince Andrew she

was horrified, and at tea to which all had sat down after the opera, she

gave a loud exclamation, flushed, and ran out of the room.



O God! I am lost! she said to herself. How could I let him?

She sat for a long time hiding her flushed face in her hands trying to

realize what had happened to her, but was unable either to understand

what had happened or what she felt. Everything seemed dark, obscure,

and terrible. There in that enormous, illuminated theater where the

bare-legged Duport, in a tinsel-decorated jacket, jumped about to the

music on wet boards, and young girls and old men, and the nearly

naked Hlne with her proud, calm smile, rapturously cried

bravo!there in the presence of that Hlne it had all seemed

clear and simple but now, alone by herself, it was incomprehensible.

What is it? What was that terror I felt of him? What is this gnawing

of conscience I am feeling now? she thought.



Only to the old countess at night in bed could Natsha have told all

she was feeling. She knew that Snya with her severe and simple views

would either not understand it at all or would be horrified at such

a confession. So Natsha tried to solve what was torturing her by

herself.



Am I spoiled for Andrews love or not? she asked herself, and

with soothing irony replied What a fool I am to ask that! What did

happen to me? Nothing! I have done nothing, I didnt lead him on

at all. Nobody will know and I shall never see him again, she told

herself. So it is plain that nothing has happened and there is

nothing to repent of, and Andrew can love me still. But why still?

O God, why isnt he here? Natsha quieted herself for a moment,

but again some instinct told her that though all this was true, and

though nothing had happened, yet the former purity of her love for

Prince Andrew had perished. And again in imagination she went over her

whole conversation with Kurgin, and again saw the face, gestures, and

tender smile of that bold handsome man when he pressed her arm.











CHAPTER XI



Anatole Kurgin was staying in Moscow because his father had sent him

away from Petersburg, where he had been spending twenty thousand rubles

a year in cash, besides running up debts for as much more, which his

creditors demanded from his father.



His father announced to him that he would now pay half his debts for the

last time, but only on condition that he went to Moscow as adjutant to

the commander in chiefa post his father had procured for himand

would at last try to make a good match there. He indicated to him

Princess Mary and Julie Kargina.



Anatole consented and went to Moscow, where he put up at Pierres

house. Pierre received him unwillingly at first, but got used to him

after a while, sometimes even accompanied him on his carousals, and gave

him money under the guise of loans.



As Shinshn had remarked, from the time of his arrival Anatole had

turned the heads of the Moscow ladies, especially by the fact that

he slighted them and plainly preferred the gypsy girls and French

actresseswith the chief of whom, Mademoiselle George, he was said to

be on intimate relations. He had never missed a carousal at Danlovs

or other Moscow revelers, drank whole nights through, outvying

everyone else, and was at all the balls and parties of the best society.

There was talk of his intrigues with some of the ladies, and he flirted

with a few of them at the balls. But he did not run after the unmarried

girls, especially the rich heiresses who were most of them plain.

There was a special reason for this, as he had got married two years

beforea fact known only to his most intimate friends. At that time

while with his regiment in Poland, a Polish landowner of small means had

forced him to marry his daughter. Anatole had very soon abandoned his

wife and, for a payment which he agreed to send to his father-in-law,

had arranged to be free to pass himself off as a bachelor.



Anatole was always content with his position, with himself, and with

others. He was instinctively and thoroughly convinced that it was

impossible for him to live otherwise than as he did and that he had

never in his life done anything base. He was incapable of considering

how his actions might affect others or what the consequences of this or

that action of his might be. He was convinced that, as a duck is so made

that it must live in water, so God had made him such that he must spend

thirty thousand rubles a year and always occupy a prominent position in

society. He believed this so firmly that others, looking at him, were

persuaded of it too and did not refuse him either a leading place

in society or money, which he borrowed from anyone and everyone and

evidently would not repay.



He was not a gambler, at any rate he did not care about winning. He was

not vain. He did not mind what people thought of him. Still less could

he be accused of ambition. More than once he had vexed his father by

spoiling his own career, and he laughed at distinctions of all kinds. He

was not mean, and did not refuse anyone who asked of him. All he cared

about was gaiety and women, and as according to his ideas there

was nothing dishonorable in these tastes, and he was incapable of

considering what the gratification of his tastes entailed for others,

he honestly considered himself irreproachable, sincerely despised rogues

and bad people, and with a tranquil conscience carried his head high.



Rakes, those male Magdalenes, have a secret feeling of innocence

similar to that which female Magdalenes have, based on the same hope of

forgiveness. All will be forgiven her, for she loved much and all

will be forgiven him, for he enjoyed much.



Dlokhov, who had reappeared that year in Moscow after his exile and

his Persian adventures, and was leading a life of luxury, gambling, and

dissipation, associated with his old Petersburg comrade Kurgin and

made use of him for his own ends.



Anatole was sincerely fond of Dlokhov for his cleverness and

audacity. Dlokhov, who needed Anatole Kurgins name, position, and

connections as a bait to draw rich young men into his gambling set, made

use of him and amused himself at his expense without letting the other

feel it. Apart from the advantage he derived from Anatole, the very

process of dominating anothers will was in itself a pleasure, a

habit, and a necessity to Dlokhov.



Natsha had made a strong impression on Kurgin. At supper after

the opera he described to Dlokhov with the air of a connoisseur the

attractions of her arms, shoulders, feet, and hair and expressed his

intention of making love to her. Anatole had no notion and was incapable

of considering what might come of such love-making, as he never had any

notion of the outcome of any of his actions.



Shes first-rate, my dear fellow, but not for us, replied

Dlokhov.



I will tell my sister to ask her to dinner, said Anatole.

Eh?



Youd better wait till shes married....



You know, I adore little girls, they lose their heads at once,

pursued Anatole.



You have been caught once already by a little girl, said

Dlokhov who knew of Kurgins marriage. Take care!



Well, that cant happen twice! Eh? said Anatole, with a

good-humored laugh.











CHAPTER XII



The day after the opera the Rostvs went nowhere and nobody came to see

them. Mrya Dmtrievna talked to the count about something which they

concealed from Natsha. Natsha guessed they were talking about the

old prince and planning something, and this disquieted and offended her.

She was expecting Prince Andrew any moment and twice that day sent a

manservant to the Vozdvzhenka to ascertain whether he had come. He had

not arrived. She suffered more now than during her first days in Moscow.

To her impatience and pining for him were now added the unpleasant

recollection of her interview with Princess Mary and the old prince,

and a fear and anxiety of which she did not understand the cause. She

continually fancied that either he would never come or that something

would happen to her before he came. She could no longer think of him by

herself calmly and continuously as she had done before. As soon as she

began to think of him, the recollection of the old prince, of Princess

Mary, of the theater, and of Kurgin mingled with her thoughts. The

question again presented itself whether she was not guilty, whether she

had not already broken faith with Prince Andrew, and again she found

herself recalling to the minutest detail every word, every gesture, and

every shade in the play of expression on the face of the man who had

been able to arouse in her such an incomprehensible and terrifying

feeling. To the family Natsha seemed livelier than usual, but she was

far less tranquil and happy than before.



On Sunday morning Mrya Dmtrievna invited her visitors to Mass at her

parish churchthe Church of the Assumption built over the graves of

victims of the plague.



I dont like those fashionable churches, she said, evidently

priding herself on her independence of thought. God is the same

everywhere. We have an excellent priest, he conducts the service

decently and with dignity, and the deacon is the same. What holiness is

there in giving concerts in the choir? I dont like it, its just

self-indulgence!



Mrya Dmtrievna liked Sundays and knew how to keep them. Her whole

house was scrubbed and cleaned on Saturdays neither she nor the

servants worked, and they all wore holiday dress and went to church. At

her table there were extra dishes at dinner, and the servants had vodka

and roast goose or suckling pig. But in nothing in the house was the

holiday so noticeable as in Mrya Dmtrievnas broad, stern face,

which on that day wore an invariable look of solemn festivity.



After Mass, when they had finished their coffee in the dining room

where the loose covers had been removed from the furniture, a servant

announced that the carriage was ready, and Mrya Dmtrievna rose with

a stern air. She wore her holiday shawl, in which she paid calls, and

announced that she was going to see Prince Nicholas Bolknski to have

an explanation with him about Natsha.



After she had gone, a dressmaker from Madame Suppert-Roguet waited on

the Rostvs, and Natsha, very glad of this diversion, having shut

herself into a room adjoining the drawing room, occupied herself trying

on the new dresses. Just as she had put on a bodice without sleeves and

only tacked together, and was turning her head to see in the glass how

the back fitted, she heard in the drawing room the animated sounds

of her fathers voice and anothersa womansthat made her

flush. It was Hlne. Natsha had not time to take off the bodice

before the door opened and Countess Bezkhova, dressed in a purple

velvet gown with a high collar, came into the room beaming with

good-humored amiable smiles.



Oh, my enchantress! she cried to the blushing Natsha.

Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, my dear count, said

she to Count Rostv who had followed her in. How can you live in

Moscow and go nowhere? No, I wont let you off! Mademoiselle George

will recite at my house tonight and therell be some people, and if

you dont bring your lovely girlswho are prettier than Mademoiselle

GeorgeI wont know you! My husband is away in Tver or I would send

him to fetch you. You must come. You positively must! Between eight and

nine.



She nodded to the dressmaker, whom she knew and who had curtsied

respectfully to her, and seated herself in an armchair beside the

looking glass, draping the folds of her velvet dress picturesquely. She

did not cease chattering good-naturedly and gaily, continually praising

Natshas beauty. She looked at Natshas dresses and praised

them, as well as a new dress of her own made of metallic gauze,

which she had received from Paris, and advised Natsha to have one like

it.



But anything suits you, my charmer! she remarked.



A smile of pleasure never left Natshas face. She felt happy and as

if she were blossoming under the praise of this dear Countess Bezkhova

who had formerly seemed to her so unapproachable and important and was

now so kind to her. Natsha brightened up and felt almost in love with

this woman, who was so beautiful and so kind. Hlne for her part was

sincerely delighted with Natsha and wished to give her a good time.

Anatole had asked her to bring him and Natsha together, and she was

calling on the Rostvs for that purpose. The idea of throwing her

brother and Natsha together amused her.



Though at one time, in Petersburg, she had been annoyed with Natsha

for drawing Bors away, she did not think of that now, and in her own

way heartily wished Natsha well. As she was leaving the Rostvs she

called her protge aside.



My brother dined with me yesterdaywe nearly died of laughterhe

ate nothing and kept sighing for you, my charmer! He is madly, quite

madly, in love with you, my dear.



Natsha blushed scarlet when she heard this.



How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty! said Hlne. You

must certainly come. If you love somebody, my charmer, that is not a

reason to shut yourself up. Even if you are engaged, I am sure your

fianc would wish you to go into society rather than be bored to

death.



So she knows I am engaged, and she and her husband Pierrethat good

Pierrehave talked and laughed about this. So its all right. And

again, under Hlnes influence, what had seemed terrible now seemed

simple and natural. And she is such a grande dame, so kind, and

evidently likes me so much. And why not enjoy myself? thought

Natsha, gazing at Hlne with wide-open, wondering eyes.



Mrya Dmtrievna came back to dinner taciturn and serious, having

evidently suffered a defeat at the old princes. She was still too

agitated by the encounter to be able to talk of the affair calmly. In

answer to the counts inquiries she replied that things were all

right and that she would tell about it next day. On hearing of Countess

Bezkhovas visit and the invitation for that evening, Mrya

Dmtrievna remarked



I dont care to have anything to do with Bezkhova and dont

advise you to however, if youve promisedgo. It will divert your

thoughts, she added, addressing Natsha.











CHAPTER XIII



Count Rostv took the girls to Countess Bezkhovas. There were

a good many people there, but nearly all strangers to Natsha. Count

Rostv was displeased to see that the company consisted almost entirely

of men and women known for the freedom of their conduct. Mademoiselle

George was standing in a corner of the drawing room surrounded by young

men. There were several Frenchmen present, among them Mtivier who from

the time Hlne reached Moscow had been an intimate in her house. The

count decided not to sit down to cards or let his girls out of his sight

and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle Georges performance was over.



Anatole was at the door, evidently on the lookout for the Rostvs.

Immediately after greeting the count he went up to Natsha and followed

her. As soon as she saw him she was seized by the same feeling she had

had at the operagratified vanity at his admiration of her and fear at

the absence of a moral barrier between them.



Hlne welcomed Natsha delightedly and was loud in admiration of her

beauty and her dress. Soon after their arrival Mademoiselle George went

out of the room to change her costume. In the drawing room people began

arranging the chairs and taking their seats. Anatole moved a chair for

Natsha and was about to sit down beside her, but the count, who never

lost sight of her, took the seat himself. Anatole sat down behind her.



Mademoiselle George, with her bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a red shawl

draped over one shoulder, came into the space left vacant for her, and

assumed an unnatural pose. Enthusiastic whispering was audible.



Mademoiselle George looked sternly and gloomily at the audience and

began reciting some French verses describing her guilty love for her

son. In some places she raised her voice, in others she whispered,

lifting her head triumphantly sometimes she paused and uttered hoarse

sounds, rolling her eyes.



Adorable! divine! delicious! was heard from every side.



Natsha looked at the fat actress, but neither saw nor heard nor

understood anything of what went on before her. She only felt herself

again completely borne away into this strange senseless worldso

remote from her old worlda world in which it was impossible to know

what was good or bad, reasonable or senseless. Behind her sat Anatole,

and conscious of his proximity she experienced a frightened sense of

expectancy.



After the first monologue the whole company rose and surrounded

Mademoiselle George, expressing their enthusiasm.



How beautiful she is! Natsha remarked to her father who had also

risen and was moving through the crowd toward the actress.



I dont think so when I look at you! said Anatole, following

Natsha. He said this at a moment when she alone could hear him. You

are enchanting... from the moment I saw you I have never ceased...



Come, come, Natsha! said the count, as he turned back for his

daughter. How beautiful she is! Natsha without saying anything

stepped up to her father and looked at him with surprised inquiring

eyes.



After giving several recitations, Mademoiselle George left, and Countess

Bezkhova asked her visitors into the ballroom.



The count wished to go home, but Hlne entreated him not to spoil her

improvised ball, and the Rostvs stayed on. Anatole asked Natsha for

a valse and as they danced he pressed her waist and hand and told her

she was bewitching and that he loved her. During the cossaise, which

she also danced with him, Anatole said nothing when they happened to be

by themselves, but merely gazed at her. Natsha lifted her frightened

eyes to him, but there was such confident tenderness in his affectionate

look and smile that she could not, whilst looking at him, say what she

had to say. She lowered her eyes.



Dont 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.



Dont speak to me of that! What can I do? said he. I tell

you I am madly, madly, in love with you! Is it my fault that you are

enchanting?... Its our turn to begin.



Natsha, animated and excited, looked about her with wide-open

frightened eyes and seemed merrier than usual. She understood hardly

anything that went on that evening. They danced the cossaise and the

Grossvater. Her father asked her to come home, but she begged to remain.

Wherever she went and whomever she was speaking to, she felt his eyes

upon her. Later on she recalled how she had asked her father to let

her go to the dressing room to rearrange her dress, that Hlne had

followed her and spoken laughingly of her brothers love, and that she

again met Anatole in the little sitting room. Hlne had disappeared

leaving them alone, and Anatole had taken her hand and said in a tender

voice



I cannot come to visit you but is it possible that I shall never see

you? I love you madly. Can I never...? and, blocking her path, he

brought his face close to hers.



His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to hers that she saw

nothing but them.



Natalie? he whispered inquiringly while she felt her hands being

painfully pressed. Natalie?



I dont understand. I have nothing to say, her eyes replied.



Burning lips were pressed to hers, and at the same instant she felt

herself released, and Hlnes footsteps and the rustle of her dress

were heard in the room. Natsha looked round at her, and then, red

and trembling, threw a frightened look of inquiry at Anatole and moved

toward the door.



One word, just one, for Gods sake! cried Anatole.



She paused. She so wanted a word from him that would explain to her what

had happened and to which she could find no answer.



Natalie, just a word, only one! he kept repeating, evidently not

knowing what to say and he repeated it till Hlne came up to them.



Hlne returned with Natsha to the drawing room. The Rostvs went

away without staying for supper.



After reaching home Natsha did not sleep all night. She was tormented

by the insoluble question whether she loved Anatole or Prince Andrew.

She loved Prince Andrewshe remembered distinctly how deeply she loved

him. But she also loved Anatole, of that there was no doubt. Else how

could all this have happened? thought she. If, after that, I could

return his smile when saying good-by, if I was able to let it come to

that, it means that I loved him from the first. It means that he is

kind, noble, and splendid, and I could not help loving him. What am I to

do if I love him and the other one too? she asked herself, unable to

find an answer to these terrible questions.











CHAPTER XIV



Morning came with its cares and bustle. Everyone got up and began

to move about and talk, dressmakers came again. Mrya Dmtrievna

appeared, and they were called to breakfast. Natsha kept looking

uneasily at everybody with wide-open eyes, as if wishing to intercept

every glance directed toward her, and tried to appear the same as usual.



After breakfast, which was her best time, Mrya Dmtrievna sat down in

her armchair and called Natsha and the count to her.



Well, friends, I have now thought the whole matter over and this is

my advice, she began. Yesterday, as you know, I went to see Prince

Bolknski. Well, I had a talk with him.... He took it into his head to

begin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down. I said what I had

to say!



Well, and he? asked the count.



He? Hes crazy... he did not want to listen. But whats the use

of talking? As it is we have worn the poor girl out, said Mrya

Dmtrievna. My advice to you is finish your business and go back

home to Otrdnoe... and wait there.



Oh, no! exclaimed Natsha.



Yes, go back, said Mrya Dmtrievna, and wait there. If your

betrothed comes here nowthere will be no avoiding a quarrel but

alone with the old man he will talk things over and then come on to

you.



Count Rostv approved of this suggestion, appreciating its

reasonableness. If the old man came round it would be all the better to

visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on and if not, the wedding,

against his wishes, could only be arranged at Otrdnoe.



That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I went to see him and took

her, said the old count.



No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. But if he

wontthats his affair, said Mrya Dmtrievna, looking for

something in her reticule. Besides, the trousseau is ready, so there

is nothing to wait for and what is not ready Ill send after you.

Though I dont like letting you go, it is the best way. So go, with

Gods blessing!



Having found what she was looking for in the reticule she handed it to

Natsha. It was a letter from Princess Mary.



She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! Shes

afraid you might think that she does not like you.



But she doesnt like me, said Natsha.



Dont talk nonsense! cried Mrya Dmtrievna.



I shant believe anyone, I know she doesnt like me, replied

Natsha boldly as she took the letter, and her face expressed a cold

and angry resolution that caused Mrya Dmtrievna to look at her more

intently and to frown.



Dont answer like that, my good girl! she said. What I say is

true! Write an answer!



Natsha did not reply and went to her own room to read Princess

Marys letter.



Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that

had occurred between them. Whatever her fathers feelings might be,

she begged Natsha to believe that she could not help loving her as

the one chosen by her brother, for whose happiness she was ready to

sacrifice everything.



Do not think, however, she wrote, that my father is

ill-disposed toward you. He is an invalid and an old man who must be

forgiven but he is good and magnanimous and will love her who makes his

son happy. Princess Mary went on to ask Natsha to fix a time when

she could see her again.



After reading the letter Natsha sat down at the writing table

to answer it. Dear Princess, she wrote in French quickly and

mechanically, and then paused. What more could she write after all that

had happened the evening before? Yes, yes! All that has happened, and

now all is changed, she thought as she sat with the letter she had

begun before her. Must I break off with him? Must I really? Thats

awful... and to escape from these dreadful thoughts she went to

Snya and began sorting patterns with her.



After dinner Natsha went to her room and again took up Princess

Marys letter. Can it be that it is all over? she thought.

Can it be that all this has happened so quickly and has destroyed all

that went before? She recalled her love for Prince Andrew in all its

former strength, and at the same time felt that she loved Kurgin. She

vividly pictured herself as Prince Andrews wife, and the scenes of

happiness with him she had so often repeated in her imagination, and

at the same time, aglow with excitement, recalled every detail of

yesterdays interview with Anatole.



Why could that not be as well? she sometimes asked herself in

complete bewilderment. Only so could I be completely happy but now I

have to choose, and I cant be happy without either of them. Only,

she thought, to tell Prince Andrew what has happened or to hide

it from him are both equally impossible. But with that one nothing is

spoiled. But am I really to abandon forever the joy of Prince Andrews

love, in which I have lived so long?



Please, Miss! whispered a maid entering the room with a mysterious

air. A man told me to give you this and she handed Natsha a

letter.



Only, for Christs sake... the girl went on, as Natsha,

without thinking, mechanically broke the seal and read a love letter

from Anatole, of which, without taking in a word, she understood only

that it was a letter from himfrom the man she loved. Yes, she loved

him, or else how could that have happened which had happened? And how

could she have a love letter from him in her hand?



With trembling hands Natsha held that passionate love letter which

Dlokhov had composed for Anatole, and as she read it she found in it

an echo of all that she herself imagined she was feeling.



Since yesterday evening my fate has been sealed to be loved by you

or to die. There is no other way for me, the letter began. Then he

went on to say that he knew her parents would not give her to himfor

this there were secret reasons he could reveal only to herbut that if

she loved him she need only say the word yes, and no human power could

hinder their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would steal her away and

carry her off to the ends of the earth.



Yes, yes! I love him! thought Natsha, reading the letter for the

twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each word of

it.



That evening Mrya Dmtrievna was going to the Akhrovs and

proposed to take the girls with her. Natsha, pleading a headache,

remained at home.











CHAPTER XV



On returning late in the evening Snya went to Natshas room, and

to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open on

the table, beside her lay Anatoles letter. Snya picked it up and

read it.



As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natsha, trying to find in her

face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her

face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keep herself

from choking, Snya, pale and trembling with fear and agitation, sat

down in an armchair and burst into tears.



How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far? Can she have

left off loving Prince Andrew? And how could she let Kurgin go to

such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, thats plain! What will

Nicholas, dear noble Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is

the meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural look the day before

yesterday, yesterday, and today, thought Snya. But it cant be

that she loves him! She probably opened the letter without knowing who

it was from. Probably she is offended by it. She could not do such a

thing!



Snya wiped away her tears and went up to Natsha, again scanning her

face.



Natsha! she said, just audibly.



Natsha awoke and saw Snya.



Ah, youre back?



And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of

awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Snyas look of

embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion.



Snya, youve read that letter? she demanded.



Yes, answered Snya softly.



Natsha smiled rapturously.



No, Snya, I cant any longer! she said. I cant hide it

from you any longer. You know, we love one another! Snya, darling, he

writes... Snya...



Snya stared open-eyed at Natsha, unable to believe her ears.



And Bolknski? she asked.



Ah, Snya, if you only knew how happy I am! cried Natsha.

You dont know what love is....



But, Natsha, can that be all over?



Natsha looked at Snya with wide-open eyes as if she could not grasp

the question.



Well, then, are you refusing Prince Andrew? said Snya.



Oh, you dont understand anything! Dont talk nonsense, just

listen! said Natsha, with momentary vexation.



But I cant believe it, insisted Snya. I dont

understand. How is it you have loved a man for a whole year and

suddenly... Why, you have only seen him three times! Natsha, I dont

believe you, youre joking! In three days to forget everything and

so...



Three days? said Natsha. It seems to me Ive loved him a

hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before. You

cant understand it.... Snya, wait a bit, sit here, and Natsha

embraced and kissed her.



I had heard that it happens like this, and you must have heard it

too, but its only now that I feel such love. Its not the same as

before. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my master and I his slave,

and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he orders

I shall do. You dont understand that. What can I do? What can I do,

Snya? cried Natsha with a happy yet frightened expression.



But think what you are doing, cried Snya. I cant leave

it like this. This secret correspondence... How could you let him go so

far? she went on, with a horror and disgust she could hardly conceal.



I told you that I have no will, Natsha replied. Why cant

you understand? I love him!



Then I wont let it come to that... I shall tell! cried Snya,

bursting into tears.



What do you mean? For Gods sake... If you tell, you are my

enemy! declared Natsha. You want me to be miserable, you want us

to be separated....



When she saw Natshas fright, Snya shed tears of shame and pity

for her friend.



But what has happened between you? she asked. What has he said

to you? Why doesnt he come to the house?



Natsha did not answer her questions.



For Gods sake, Snya, dont tell anyone, dont torture

me, Natsha entreated. Remember no one ought to interfere in such

matters! I have confided in you....



But why this secrecy? Why doesnt he come to the house? asked

Snya. Why doesnt he openly ask for your hand? You know Prince

Andrew gave you complete freedomif it is really so but I dont

believe it! Natsha, have you considered what these secret reasons can

be?



Natsha looked at Snya with astonishment. Evidently this question

presented itself to her mind for the first time and she did not know how

to answer it.



I dont know what the reasons are. But there must be reasons!



Snya sighed and shook her head incredulously.



If there were reasons... she began.



But Natsha, guessing her doubts, interrupted her in alarm.



Snya, one cant doubt him! One cant, one cant! Dont you

understand? she cried.



Does he love you?



Does he love me? Natsha repeated with a smile of pity at her

friends lack of comprehension. Why, you have read his letter and

you have seen him.



But if he is dishonorable?



He! dishonorable? If you only knew! exclaimed Natsha.



If he is an honorable man he should either declare his intentions or

cease seeing you and if you wont do this, I will. I will write to

him, and I will tell Papa! said Snya resolutely.



But I cant live without him! cried Natsha.



Natsha, I dont understand you. And what are you saying! Think of

your father and of Nicholas.



I dont want anyone, I dont love anyone but him. How dare you

say he is dishonorable? Dont you know that I love him? screamed

Natsha. Go away, Snya! I dont want to quarrel with you, but

go, for Gods sake go! You see how I am suffering! Natsha cried

angrily, in a voice of despair and repressed irritation. Snya burst

into sobs and ran from the room.



Natsha went to the table and without a moments reflection wrote

that answer to Princess Mary which she had been unable to write all

the morning. In this letter she said briefly that all their

misunderstandings were at an end that availing herself of the

magnanimity of Prince Andrew who when he went abroad had given her her

freedom, she begged Princess Mary to forget everything and forgive her

if she had been to blame toward her, but that she could not be his

wife. At that moment this all seemed quite easy, simple, and clear to

Natsha.





On Friday the Rostvs were to return to the country, but on Wednesday

the count went with the prospective purchaser to his estate near Moscow.



On the day the count left, Snya and Natsha were invited to a big

dinner party at the Kargins, and Mrya Dmtrievna took them

there. At that party Natsha again met Anatole, and Snya noticed

that she spoke to him, trying not to be overheard, and that all through

dinner she was more agitated than ever. When they got home Natsha was

the first to begin the explanation Snya expected.



There, Snya, you were talking all sorts of nonsense about him,

Natsha began in a mild voice such as children use when they wish to be

praised. We have had an explanation today.



Well, what happened? What did he say? Natsha, how glad I am

youre not angry with me! Tell me everythingthe whole truth. What

did he say?



Natsha became thoughtful.



Oh, Snya, if you knew him as I do! He said... He asked me what I

had promised Bolknski. He was glad I was free to refuse him.



Snya sighed sorrowfully.



But you havent refused Bolknski? said she.



Perhaps I have. Perhaps all is over between me and Bolknski. Why do

you think so badly of me?



I dont think anything, only I dont understand this...



Wait a bit, Snya, youll understand everything. Youll see what

a man he is! Now dont think badly of me or of him. I dont think

badly of anyone I love and pity everybody. But what am I to do?



Snya did not succumb to the tender tone Natsha used toward her.

The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natshas face

became, the more serious and stern grew Snyas.



Natsha, said she, you asked me not to speak to you, and I

havent spoken, but now you yourself have begun. I dont trust him,

Natsha. Why this secrecy?



Again, again! interrupted Natsha.



Natsha, I am afraid for you!



Afraid of what?



I am afraid youre going to your ruin, said Snya resolutely,

and was herself horrified at what she had said.



Anger again showed in Natshas face.



And Ill go to my ruin, I will, as soon as possible! Its not

your business! It wont be you, but I, wholl suffer. Leave me

alone, leave me alone! I hate you!



Natsha! moaned Snya, aghast.



I hate you, I hate you! Youre my enemy forever! And Natsha

ran out of the room.



Natsha did not speak to Snya again and avoided her. With the same

expression of agitated surprise and guilt she went about the house,

taking up now one occupation, now another, and at once abandoning them.



Hard as it was for Snya, she watched her friend and did not let her

out of her sight.



The day before the count was to return, Snya noticed that Natsha sat

by the drawing room window all the morning as if expecting something and

that she made a sign to an officer who drove past, whom Snya took to

be Anatole.



Snya began watching her friend still more attentively and noticed that

at dinner and all that evening Natsha was in a strange and unnatural

state. She answered questions at random, began sentences she did not

finish, and laughed at everything.



After tea Snya noticed a housemaid at Natshas door timidly

waiting to let her pass. She let the girl go in, and then listening at

the door learned that another letter had been delivered.



Then suddenly it became clear to Snya that Natsha had some dreadful

plan for that evening. Snya knocked at her door. Natsha did not let

her in.



She will run away with him! thought Snya. She is capable of

anything. There was something particularly pathetic and resolute in

her face today. She cried as she said good-by to Uncle, Snya

remembered. Yes, thats it, she means to elope with him, but

what am I to do? thought she, recalling all the signs that clearly

indicated that Natsha had some terrible intention. The count is

away. What am I to do? Write to Kurgin demanding an explanation? But

what is there to oblige him to reply? Write to Pierre, as Prince Andrew

asked me to in case of some misfortune?... But perhaps she really

has already refused Bolknskishe sent a letter to Princess Mary

yesterday. And Uncle is away.... To tell Mrya Dmtrievna who had

such faith in Natsha seemed to Snya terrible. Well, anyway,

thought Snya as she stood in the dark passage, now or never I must

prove that I remember the familys goodness to me and that I love

Nicholas. Yes! If I dont sleep for three nights Ill not leave this

passage and will hold her back by force and will and not let the family

be disgraced, thought she.











CHAPTER XVI



Anatole had lately moved to Dlokhovs. The plan for Natalie

Rostvas abduction had been arranged and the preparations made by

Dlokhov a few days before, and on the day that Snya, after listening

at Natshas door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have been

put into execution. Natsha had promised to come out to Kurgin at the

back porch at ten that evening. Kurgin was to put her into a troyka

he would have ready and to drive her forty miles to the village of

Kmenka, where an unfrocked priest was in readiness to perform a

marriage ceremony over them. At Kmenka a relay of horses was to wait

which would take them to the Warsaw highroad, and from there they would

hasten abroad with post horses.



Anatole had a passport, an order for post horses, ten thousand rubles

he had taken from his sister and another ten thousand borrowed with

Dlokhovs help.



Two witnesses for the mock marriageKhvstikov, a retired petty

official whom Dlokhov made use of in his gambling transactions, and

Makrin, a retired hussar, a kindly, weak fellow who had an unbounded

affection for Kurginwere sitting at tea in Dlokhovs front

room.



In his large study, the walls of which were hung to the ceiling with

Persian rugs, bearskins, and weapons, sat Dlokhov in a traveling cloak

and high boots, at an open desk on which lay an abacus and some bundles

of paper money. Anatole, with uniform unbuttoned, walked to and fro from

the room where the witnesses were sitting, through the study to the room

behind, where his French valet and others were packing the last of his

things. Dlokhov was counting the money and noting something down.



Well, he said, Khvstikov must have two thousand.



Give it to him, then, said Anatole.



Makrka (their name for Makrin) will go through fire and

water for you for nothing. So here are our accounts all settled, said

Dlokhov, showing him the memorandum. Is that right?



Yes, of course, returned Anatole, evidently not listening to

Dlokhov and looking straight before him with a smile that did not

leave his face.



Dlokhov banged down the lid of his desk and turned to Anatole with an

ironic smile



Do you know? Youd really better drop it all. Theres still

time!



Fool, retorted Anatole. Dont talk nonsense! If you only

knew... its the devil knows what!



No, really, give it up! said Dlokhov. I am speaking

seriously. Its no joke, this plot youve hatched.



What, teasing again? Go to the devil! Eh? said Anatole, making a

grimace. Really its no time for your stupid jokes, and he left

the room.



Dlokhov smiled contemptuously and condescendingly when Anatole had

gone out.



You wait a bit, he called after him. Im not joking, Im

talking sense. Come here, come here!



Anatole returned and looked at Dlokhov, trying to give him his

attention and evidently submitting to him involuntarily.



Now listen to me. Im telling you this for the last time. Why

should I joke about it? Did I hinder you? Who arranged everything for

you? Who found the priest and got the passport? Who raised the money? I

did it all.



Well, thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful? And

Anatole sighed and embraced Dlokhov.



I helped you, but all the same I must tell you the truth it is a

dangerous business, and if you think about ita stupid business. Well,

youll carry her offall right! Will they let it stop at that? It

will come out that youre already married. Why, theyll have you in

the criminal court....



Oh, nonsense, nonsense! Anatole ejaculated and again made a

grimace. Didnt I explain to you? What? And Anatole, with the

partiality dull-witted people have for any conclusion they have reached

by their own reasoning, repeated the argument he had already put to

Dlokhov a hundred times. Didnt I explain to you that I have come

to this conclusion if this marriage is invalid, he went on, crooking

one finger, then I have nothing to answer for but if it is valid, no

matter! Abroad no one will know anything about it. Isnt that so? And

dont talk to me, dont, dont.



Seriously, youd better drop it! Youll only get yourself into a

mess!



Go to the devil! cried Anatole and, clutching his hair, left the

room, but returned at once and dropped into an armchair in front of

Dlokhov with his feet turned under him. Its the very devil!

What? Feel how it beats! He took Dlokhovs hand and put it on his

heart. What a foot, my dear fellow! What a glance! A goddess! he

added in French. What?



Dlokhov with a cold smile and a gleam in his handsome insolent eyes

looked at himevidently wishing to get some more amusement out of him.



Well and when the moneys gone, what then?



What then? Eh? repeated Anatole, sincerely perplexed by a thought

of the future. What then?... Then, I dont know.... But why talk

nonsense! He glanced at his watch. Its time!



Anatole went into the back room.



Now then! Nearly ready? Youre dawdling! he shouted to the

servants.



Dlokhov put away the money, called a footman whom he ordered to bring

something for them to eat and drink before the journey, and went into

the room where Khvstikov and Makrin were sitting.



Anatole lay on the sofa in the study leaning on his elbow and smiling

pensively, while his handsome lips muttered tenderly to himself.



Come and eat something. Have a drink! Dlokhov shouted to him

from the other room.



I dont want to, answered Anatole continuing to smile.



Come! Balag is here.



Anatole rose and went into the dining room. Balag was a famous troyka

driver who had known Dlokhov and Anatole some six years and had given

them good service with his troykas. More than once when Anatoles

regiment was stationed at Tver he had taken him from Tver in the

evening, brought him to Moscow by daybreak, and driven him back again

the next night. More than once he had enabled Dlokhov to escape when

pursued. More than once he had driven them through the town with gypsies

and ladykins as he called the cocottes. More than once in their

service he had run over pedestrians and upset vehicles in the streets

of Moscow and had always been protected from the consequences by my

gentlemen as he called them. He had ruined more than one horse in

their service. More than once they had beaten him, and more than once

they had made him drunk on champagne and Madeira, which he loved and

he knew more than one thing about each of them which would long ago have

sent an ordinary man to Siberia. They often called Balag into their

orgies and made him drink and dance at the gypsies, and more than one

thousand rubles of their money had passed through his hands. In their

service he risked his skin and his life twenty times a year, and in

their service had lost more horses than the money he had from them would

buy. But he liked them liked that mad driving at twelve miles an hour,

liked upsetting a driver or running down a pedestrian, and flying at

full gallop through the Moscow streets. He liked to hear those wild,

tipsy shouts behind him Get on! Get on! when it was impossible

to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck to some

peasant who, more dead than alive, was already hurrying out of his way.

Real gentlemen! he considered them.



Anatole and Dlokhov liked Balag too for his masterly driving and

because he liked the things they liked. With others Balag bargained,

charging twenty-five rubles for a two hours drive, and rarely

drove himself, generally letting his young men do so. But with his

gentlemen he always drove himself and never demanded anything for

his work. Only a couple of times a yearwhen he knew from their valets

that they had money in handhe would turn up of a morning quite sober

and with a deep bow would ask them to help him. The gentlemen always

made him sit down.



Do help me out, Theodore Ivnych, sir, or your excellency,

he would say. I am quite out of horses. Let me have what you can to

go to the fair.



And Anatole and Dlokhov, when they had money, would give him a

thousand or a couple of thousand rubles.



Balag was a fair-haired, short, and snub-nosed peasant of about

twenty-seven red-faced, with a particularly red thick neck, glittering

little eyes, and a small beard. He wore a fine, dark-blue, silk-lined

cloth coat over a sheepskin.



On entering the room now he crossed himself, turning toward the front

corner of the room, and went up to Dlokhov, holding out a small, black

hand.



Theodore Ivnych! he said, bowing.



How dyou do, friend? Well, here he is!



Good day, your excellency! he said, again holding out his hand to

Anatole who had just come in.



I say, Balag, said Anatole, putting his hands on the mans

shoulders, do you care for me or not? Eh? Now, do me a service....

What horses have you come with? Eh?



As your messenger ordered, your special beasts, replied Balag.



Well, listen, Balag! Drive all three to death but get me there in

three hours. Eh?



When they are dead, what shall I drive? said Balag with a wink.



Mind, Ill smash your face in! Dont make jokes! cried

Anatole, suddenly rolling his eyes.



Why joke? said the driver, laughing. As if Id grudge my

gentlemen anything! As fast as ever the horses can gallop, so fast

well go!



Ah! said Anatole. Well, sit down.



Yes, sit down! said Dlokhov.



Ill stand, Theodore Ivnych.



Sit down nonsense! Have a drink! said Anatole, and filled a large

glass of Madeira for him.



The drivers eyes sparkled at the sight of the wine. After refusing

it for manners sake, he drank it and wiped his mouth with a red silk

handkerchief he took out of his cap.



And when are we to start, your excellency?



Well... Anatole looked at his watch. Well start at once.

Mind, Balag! Youll get there in time? Eh?



That depends on our luck in starting, else why shouldnt we be

there in time? replied Balag. Didnt we get you to Tver in

seven hours? I think you remember that, your excellency?



Do you know, one Christmas I drove from Tver, said Anatole,

smilingly at the recollection and turning to Makrin who gazed

rapturously at him with wide-open eyes. Will you believe it,

Makrka, it took ones breath away, the rate we flew. We came across

a train of loaded sleighs and drove right over two of them. Eh?



Those were horses! Balag continued the tale. That time Id

harnessed two young side horses with the bay in the shafts, he went

on, turning to Dlokhov. Will you believe it, Theodore Ivnych,

those animals flew forty miles? I couldnt hold them in, my hands grew

numb in the sharp frost so that I threw down the reinsCatch hold

yourself, your excellency! says I, and I just tumbled on the bottom

of the sleigh and sprawled there. It wasnt a case of urging them on,

there was no holding them in till we reached the place. The devils took

us there in three hours! Only the near one died of it.











CHAPTER XVII



Anatole went out of the room and returned a few minutes later wearing

a fur coat girt with a silver belt, and a sable cap jauntily set on one

side and very becoming to his handsome face. Having looked in a mirror,

and standing before Dlokhov in the same pose he had assumed before it,

he lifted a glass of wine.



Well, good-by, Theodore. Thank you for everything and farewell! said

Anatole. Well, comrades and friends... he considered for a moment ...

of my youth, farewell! he said, turning to Makrin and the others.



Though they were all going with him, Anatole evidently wished to make

something touching and solemn out of this address to his comrades. He

spoke slowly in a loud voice and throwing out his chest slightly swayed

one leg.



All take glasses you too, Balag. Well, comrades and friends of my

youth, weve had our fling and lived and reveled. Eh? And now, when

shall we meet again? I am going abroad. We have had a good timenow

farewell, lads! To our health! Hurrah!... he cried, and emptying his

glass flung it on the floor.



To your health! said Balag who also emptied his glass, and wiped his

mouth with his handkerchief.



Makrin embraced Anatole with tears in his eyes.



Ah, Prince, how sorry I am to part from you!



Lets go. Lets go! cried Anatole.



Balag was about to leave the room.



No, stop! said Anatole. Shut the door we have first to sit down.

Thats the way.



They shut the door and all sat down.



Now, quick march, lads! said Anatole, rising.



Joseph, his valet, handed him his sabretache and saber, and they all

went out into the vestibule.



And wheres the fur cloak? asked Dlokhov. Hey, Igntka! Go to

Matrna Matrvna and ask her for the sable cloak. I have heard what

elopements are like, continued Dlokhov with a wink. Why, shell rush

out more dead than alive just in the things she is wearing if you delay

at all therell be tears and Papa and Mamma, and shes frozen in a

minute and must go backbut you wrap the fur cloak round her first thing

and carry her to the sleigh.



The valet brought a womans fox-lined cloak.



Fool, I told you the sable one! Hey, Matrna, the sable! he shouted so

that his voice rang far through the rooms.



A handsome, slim, and pale-faced gypsy girl with glittering black eyes

and curly blue-black hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with a sable

mantle on her arm.



Here, I dont grudge ittake it! she said, evidently afraid of her

master and yet regretful of her cloak.



Dlokhov, without answering, took the cloak, threw it over Matrna, and

wrapped her up in it.



Thats the way, said Dlokhov, and then so! and he turned the collar

up round her head, leaving only a little of the face uncovered. And

then so, do you see? and he pushed Anatoles head forward to meet the

gap left by the collar, through which Matrnas brilliant smile was

seen.



Well, good-by, Matrna, said Anatole, kissing her. Ah, my revels here

are over. Remember me to Stshka. There, good-by! Good-by, Matrna, wish

me luck!



Well, Prince, may God give you great luck! said Matrna in her gypsy

accent.



Two troykas were standing before the porch and two young drivers were

holding the horses. Balag took his seat in the front one and holding

his elbows high arranged the reins deliberately. Anatole and Dlokhov

got in with him. Makrin, Khvstikov, and a valet seated themselves in

the other sleigh.



Well, are you ready? asked Balag.



Go! he cried, twisting the reins round his hands, and the troyka tore

down the Niktski Boulevard.



Tproo! Get out of the way! Hi!... Tproo!... The shouting of Balag

and of the sturdy young fellow seated on the box was all that could

be heard. On the Arbt Square the troyka caught against a carriage

something cracked, shouts were heard, and the troyka flew along the

Arbt Street.



After taking a turn along the Podnovnski Boulevard, Balag began to

rein in, and turning back drew up at the crossing of the old Konysheny

Street.



The young fellow on the box jumped down to hold the horses and Anatole

and Dlokhov went along the pavement. When they reached the gate

Dlokhov whistled. The whistle was answered, and a maidservant ran out.



Come into the courtyard or youll be seen shell come out directly,

said she.



Dlokhov stayed by the gate. Anatole followed the maid into the

courtyard, turned the corner, and ran up into the porch.



He was met by Gabriel, Mrya Dmtrievnas gigantic footman.



Come to the mistress, please, said the footman in his deep bass,

intercepting any retreat.



To what Mistress? Who are you? asked Anatole in a breathless whisper.



Kindly step in, my orders are to bring you in.



Kurgin! Come back! shouted Dlokhov. Betrayed! Back!



Dlokhov, after Anatole entered, had remained at the wicket gate and was

struggling with the yard porter who was trying to lock it. With a last

desperate effort Dlokhov pushed the porter aside, and when Anatole ran

back seized him by the arm, pulled him through the wicket, and ran back

with him to the troyka.











CHAPTER XVIII



Mrya Dmtrievna, having found Snya weeping in the corridor, made her

confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natsha she read it and

went into Natshas room with it in her hand.



You shameless good-for-nothing! said she. I wont hear a word.



Pushing back Natsha who looked at her with astonished but tearless

eyes, she locked her in and having given orders to the yard porter to

admit the persons who would be coming that evening, but not to let them

out again, and having told the footman to bring them up to her, she

seated herself in the drawing room to await the abductors.



When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had run

away again, she rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind her paced

through the rooms a long time considering what she should do. Toward

midnight she went to Natshas room fingering the key in her pocket.

Snya was sitting sobbing in the corridor. Mrya Dmtrievna, for Gods

sake let me in to her! she pleaded, but Mrya Dmtrievna unlocked

the door and went in without giving her an answer.... Disgusting,

abominable... In my house... horrid girl, hussy! Im only sorry for her

father! thought she, trying to restrain her wrath. Hard as it may

be, Ill tell them all to hold their tongues and will hide it from the

count. She entered the room with resolute steps. Natsha lying on the

sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and she did not stir. She was in

just the same position in which Mrya Dmtrievna had left her.



A nice girl! Very nice! said Mrya Dmtrievna. Arranging meetings

with lovers in my house! Its no use pretending you listen when I speak

to you! And Mrya Dmtrievna touched her arm. Listen when I speak!

Youve disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. Id treat you

differently, but Im sorry for your father, so I will conceal it.



Natsha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with

noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Mrya Dmtrievna glanced

round at Snya and seated herself on the sofa beside Natsha.



Its lucky for him that he escaped me but Ill find him! she said in

her rough voice. Do you hear what I am saying or not? she added.



She put her large hand under Natshas face and turned it toward her.

Both Mrya Dmtrievna and Snya were amazed when they saw how Natsha

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 Mrya Dmtrievnas hands with a vicious effort

and sinking down again into her former position.



Natalie! said Mrya Dmtrievna. I wish for your good. Lie still,

stay like that then, I wont touch you. But listen. I wont tell you how

guilty you are. You know that yourself. But when your father comes back

tomorrow what am I to tell him? Eh?



Again Natshas body shook with sobs.



Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and your betrothed?



I have no betrothed I have refused him! cried Natsha.



Thats all the same, continued Mrya Dmtrievna. If they hear of

this, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him... if he

challenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?



Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at all? Why? Why? Who asked

you to? shouted Natsha, raising herself on the sofa and looking

malignantly at Mrya Dmtrievna.



But what did you want? cried Mrya Dmtrievna, growing angry again.

Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming to the house?

Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl?... Well, if he

had carried you off... do you think they wouldnt have found him?

Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And hes a scoundrel, a

wretchthats a fact!



He is better than any of you! exclaimed Natsha getting up. If you

hadnt interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? Snya,

why?... Go away!



And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with which people

bewail disasters they feel they have themselves occasioned. Mrya

Dmtrievna was to speak again but Natsha cried out



Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me! and she threw herself

back on the sofa.



Mrya Dmtrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining on her

that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her that nobody

would know anything about it if only Natsha herself would undertake

to forget it all and not let anyone see that something had happened.

Natsha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but she grew cold

and had a shivering fit. Mrya Dmtrievna put a pillow under her head,

covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower

water, but Natsha did not respond to her.



Well, let her sleep, said Mrya Dmtrievna as she went out of the room

supposing Natsha to be asleep.



But Natsha was not asleep with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she

looked straight before her. All that night she did not sleep or weep and

did not speak to Snya who got up and went to her several times.



Next day Count Rostv returned from his estate near Moscow in time for

lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits the affair with

the purchaser was going on satisfactorily, and there was nothing to keep

him any longer in Moscow, away from the countess whom he missed. Mrya

Dmtrievna met him and told him that Natsha had been very unwell the

day before and that they had sent for the doctor, but that she was

better now. Natsha had not left her room that morning. With compressed

and parched lips and dry fixed eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily

watching the people who drove past and hurriedly glancing round at

anyone who entered the room. She was evidently expecting news of him and

that he would come or would write to her.



When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at the sound

of a mans footstep, and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent

expression. She did not even get up to greet him. What is the matter

with you, my angel? Are you ill? asked the count.



After a moments silence Natsha answered Yes, ill.



In reply to the counts anxious inquiries as to why she was so dejected

and whether anything had happened to her betrothed, she assured him

that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry. Mrya Dmtrievna

confirmed Natshas assurances that nothing had happened. From

the pretense of illness, from his daughters distress, and by the

embarrassed faces of Snya and Mrya Dmtrievna, the count saw clearly

that something had gone wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible

for him to think that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved

daughter, and he so prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he

avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that nothing particularly

had happened and he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition

delayed their return to the country.











CHAPTER XIX



From the day his wife arrived in Moscow Pierre had been intending to go

away somewhere, so as not to be near her. Soon after the Rostvs came

to Moscow the effect Natsha had on him made him hasten to carry out

his intention. He went to Tver to see Joseph Alexevichs widow, who

had long since promised to hand over to him some papers of her deceased

husbands.



When he returned to Moscow Pierre was handed a letter from Mrya

Dmtrievna asking him to come and see her on a matter of great

importance relating to Andrew Bolknski and his betrothed. Pierre had

been avoiding Natsha because it seemed to him that his feeling for her

was stronger than a married mans should be for his friends fiance.

Yet some fate constantly threw them together.



What can have happened? And what can they want with me? thought he

as he dressed to go to Mrya Dmtrievnas. If only Prince Andrew would

hurry up and come and marry her! thought he on his way to the house.



On the Tversky Boulevard a familiar voice called to him.



Pierre! Been back long? someone shouted. Pierre raised his head. In

a sleigh drawn by two gray trotting-horses that were bespattering the

dashboard with snow, Anatole and his constant companion Makrin dashed

past. Anatole was sitting upright in the classic pose of military

dandies, the lower part of his face hidden by his beaver collar and his

head slightly bent. His face was fresh and rosy, his white-plumed hat,

tilted to one side, disclosed his curled and pomaded hair besprinkled

with powdery snow.



Yes, indeed, thats a true sage, thought Pierre. He sees nothing

beyond the pleasure of the moment, nothing troubles him and so he is

always cheerful, satisfied, and serene. What wouldnt I give to be like

him! he thought enviously.



In Mrya Dmtrievnas anteroom the footman who helped him off with his

fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her bedroom.



When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natsha sitting at the

window, with a thin, pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at him,

frowned, and left the room with an expression of cold dignity.



What has happened? asked Pierre, entering Mrya Dmtrievnas room.



Fine doings! answered Dmtrievna. For fifty-eight years have I lived

in this world and never known anything so disgraceful!



And having put him on his honor not to repeat anything she told him,

Mrya Dmtrievna informed him that Natsha had refused Prince Andrew

without her parents knowledge and that the cause of this was Anatole

Kurgin into whose society Pierres wife had thrown her and with whom

Natsha had tried to elope during her fathers absence, in order to be

married secretly.



Pierre raised his shoulders and listened open-mouthed to what was told

him, scarcely able to believe his own ears. That Prince Andrews

deeply loved affianced wifethe same Natsha Rostva who used to be so

charmingshould give up Bolknski for that fool Anatole who was already

secretly married (as Pierre knew), and should be so in love with him as

to agree to run away with him, was something Pierre could not conceive

and could not imagine.



He could not reconcile the charming impression he had of Natsha, whom

he had known from a child, with this new conception of her baseness,

folly, and cruelty. He thought of his wife. They are all alike! he

said to himself, reflecting that he was not the only man unfortunate

enough to be tied to a bad woman. But still he pitied Prince Andrew to

the point of tears and sympathized with his wounded pride, and the more

he pitied his friend the more did he think with contempt and even with

disgust of that Natsha who had just passed him in the ballroom with

such a look of cold dignity. He did not know that Natshas soul was

overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not

her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity

and severity.



But how get married? said Pierre, in answer to Mrya Dmtrievna. He

could not marryhe is married!



Things get worse from hour to hour! ejaculated Mrya Dmtrievna. A

nice youth! What a scoundrel! And shes expecting himexpecting him

since yesterday. She must be told! Then at least she wont go on

expecting him.



After hearing the details of Anatoles marriage from Pierre, and giving

vent to her anger against Anatole in words of abuse, Mrya Dmtrievna

told Pierre why she had sent for him. She was afraid that the count or

Bolknski, who might arrive at any moment, if they knew of this affair

(which she hoped to hide from them) might challenge Anatole to a duel,

and she therefore asked Pierre to tell his brother-in-law in her name to

leave Moscow and not dare to let her set eyes on him again. Pierreonly

now realizing the danger to the old count, Nicholas, and Prince

Andrewpromised to do as she wished. Having briefly and exactly

explained her wishes to him, she let him go to the drawing room.



Mind, the count knows nothing. Behave as if you know nothing either,

she said. And I will go and tell her it is no use expecting him! And

stay to dinner if you care to! she called after Pierre.



Pierre met the old count, who seemed nervous and upset. That morning

Natsha had told him that she had rejected Bolknski.



Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow! he said to Pierre. What troubles

one has with these girls without their mother! I do so regret having

come here.... I will be frank with you. Have you heard she has broken

off her engagement without consulting anybody? Its true this engagement

never was much to my liking. Of course he is an excellent man, but

still, with his fathers disapproval they wouldnt have been happy, and

Natsha wont lack suitors. Still, it has been going on so long, and

to take such a step without fathers or mothers consent! And now shes

ill, and God knows what! Its hard, Count, hard to manage daughters in

their mothers absence....



Pierre saw that the count was much upset and tried to change the

subject, but the count returned to his troubles.



Snya entered the room with an agitated face.



Natsha is not quite well shes in her room and would like to see you.

Mrya Dmtrievna is with her and she too asks you to come.



Yes, you are a great friend of Bolknskis, no doubt she wants to send

him a message, said the count. Oh dear! Oh dear! How happy it all

was!



And clutching the spare gray locks on his temples the count left the

room.



When Mrya Dmtrievna told Natsha that Anatole was married, Natsha

did not wish to believe it and insisted on having it confirmed by Pierre

himself. Snya told Pierre this as she led him along the corridor to

Natshas room.



Natsha, pale and stern, was sitting beside Mrya Dmtrievna, and her

eyes, glittering feverishly, met Pierre with a questioning look the

moment he entered. She did not smile or nod, but only gazed fixedly at

him, and her look asked only one thing was he a friend, or like the

others an enemy in regard to Anatole? As for Pierre, he evidently did

not exist for her.



He knows all about it, said Mrya Dmtrievna pointing to Pierre and

addressing Natsha. Let him tell you whether I have told the truth.



Natsha looked from one to the other as a hunted and wounded animal

looks at the approaching dogs and sportsmen.



Natlya Ilynchna, Pierre began, dropping his eyes with a feeling of

pity for her and loathing for the thing he had to do, whether it is

true or not should make no difference to you, because...



Then it is not true that hes married!



Yes, it is true.



Has he been married long? she asked. On your honor?...



Pierre gave his word of honor.



Is he still here? she asked, quickly.



Yes, I have just seen him.



She was evidently unable to speak and made a sign with her hands that

they should leave her alone.











CHAPTER XX



Pierre did not stay for dinner, but left the room and went away at once.

He drove through the town seeking Anatole Kurgin, at the thought of

whom now the blood rushed to his heart and he felt a difficulty in

breathing. He was not at the ice hills, nor at the gypsies, nor at

Komonenos. Pierre drove to the Club. In the Club all was going on as

usual. The members who were assembling for dinner were sitting about

in groups they greeted Pierre and spoke of the town news. The footman

having greeted him, knowing his habits and his acquaintances, told him

there was a place left for him in the small dining room and that Prince

Michael Zakhrych was in the library, but Paul Timofevich had not yet

arrived. One of Pierres acquaintances, while they were talking about

the weather, asked if he had heard of Kurgins abduction of Rostva

which was talked of in the town, and was it true? Pierre laughed and

said it was nonsense for he had just come from the Rostvs. He asked

everyone about Anatole. One man told him he had not come yet, and

another that he was coming to dinner. Pierre felt it strange to see this

calm, indifferent crowd of people unaware of what was going on in his

soul. He paced through the ballroom, waited till everyone had come, and

as Anatole had not turned up did not stay for dinner but drove home.



Anatole, for whom Pierre was looking, dined that day with Dlokhov,

consulting him as to how to remedy this unfortunate affair. It seemed to

him essential to see Natsha. In the evening he drove to his sisters

to discuss with her how to arrange a meeting. When Pierre returned home

after vainly hunting all over Moscow, his valet informed him that Prince

Anatole was with the countess. The countess drawing room was full of

guests.



Pierre without greeting his wife whom he had not seen since his

returnat that moment she was more repulsive to him than everentered

the drawing room and seeing Anatole went up to him.



Ah, Pierre, said the countess going up to her husband. You dont know

what a plight our Anatole...



She stopped, seeing in the forward thrust of her husbands head, in his

glowing eyes and his resolute gait, the terrible indications of that

rage and strength which she knew and had herself experienced after his

duel with Dlokhov.



Where you are, there is vice and evil! said Pierre to his wife.

Anatole, come with me! I must speak to you, he added in French.



Anatole glanced round at his sister and rose submissively, ready to

follow Pierre. Pierre, taking him by the arm, pulled him toward himself

and was leading him from the room.



If you allow yourself in my drawing room... whispered Hlne, but

Pierre did not reply and went out of the room.



Anatole followed him with his usual jaunty step but his face betrayed

anxiety.



Having entered his study Pierre closed the door and addressed Anatole

without looking at him.



You promised Countess Rostva to marry her and were about to elope with

her, is that so?



Mon cher, answered Anatole (their whole conversation was in French),

I dont consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that

tone.



Pierres face, already pale, became distorted by fury. He seized Anatole

by the collar of his uniform with his big hand and shook him from side

to side till Anatoles face showed a sufficient degree of terror.



When I tell you that I must talk to you!... repeated Pierre.



Come now, this is stupid. What? said Anatole, fingering a button of

his collar that had been wrenched loose with a bit of the cloth.



Youre a scoundrel and a blackguard, and I dont know what deprives

me from the pleasure of smashing your head with this! said Pierre,

expressing himself so artificially because he was talking French.



He took a heavy paperweight and lifted it threateningly, but at once put

it back in its place.



Did you promise to marry her?



I... I didnt think of it. I never promised, because...



Pierre interrupted him.



Have you any letters of hers? Any letters? he said, moving toward

Anatole.



Anatole glanced at him and immediately thrust his hand into his pocket

and drew out his pocketbook.



Pierre took the letter Anatole handed him and, pushing aside a table

that stood in his way, threw himself on the sofa.



I shant be violent, dont be afraid! said Pierre in answer to a

frightened gesture of Anatoles. First, the letters, said he, as if

repeating a lesson to himself. Secondly, he continued after a short

pause, again rising and again pacing the room, tomorrow you must get

out of Moscow.



But how can I?...



Thirdly, Pierre continued without listening to him, you must never

breathe a word of what has passed between you and Countess Rostva.

I know I cant prevent your doing so, but if you have a spark of

conscience... Pierre paced the room several times in silence.



Anatole sat at a table frowning and biting his lips.



After all, you must understand that besides your pleasure there is such

a thing as other peoples happiness and peace, and that you are ruining

a whole life for the sake of amusing yourself! Amuse yourself with women

like my wifewith them you are within your rights, for they know what

you want of them. They are armed against you by the same experience

of debauchery but to promise a maid to marry her... to deceive, to

kidnap.... Dont you understand that it is as mean as beating an old man

or a child?...



Pierre paused and looked at Anatole no longer with an angry but with a

questioning look.



I dont know about that, eh? said Anatole, growing more confident as

Pierre mastered his wrath. I dont know that and dont want to, he

said, not looking at Pierre and with a slight tremor of his lower jaw,

but you have used such words to memean and so onwhich as a man of

honor I cant allow anyone to use.



Pierre glanced at him with amazement, unable to understand what he

wanted.



Though it was tte--tte, Anatole continued, still I cant...



Is it satisfaction you want? said Pierre ironically.



You could at least take back your words. What? If you want me to do as

you wish, eh?



I take them back, I take them back! said Pierre, and I ask you to

forgive me. Pierre involuntarily glanced at the loose button. And if

you require money for your journey...



Anatole smiled. The expression of that base and cringing smile, which

Pierre knew so well in his wife, revolted him.



Oh, vile and heartless brood! he exclaimed, and left the room.



Next day Anatole left for Petersburg.











CHAPTER XXI



Pierre drove to Mrya Dmtrievnas to tell her of the fulfillment of her

wish that Kurgin should be banished from Moscow. The whole house was in

a state of alarm and commotion. Natsha was very ill, having, as Mrya

Dmtrievna told him in secret, poisoned herself the night after she had

been told that Anatole was married, with some arsenic she had stealthily

procured. After swallowing a little she had been so frightened that she

woke Snya and told her what she had done. The necessary antidotes had

been administered in time and she was now out of danger, though still so

weak that it was out of the question to move her to the country, and

so the countess had been sent for. Pierre saw the distracted count, and

Snya, who had a tear-stained face, but he could not see Natsha.



Pierre dined at the club that day and heard on all sides gossip about

the attempted abduction of Rostva. He resolutely denied these

rumors, assuring everyone that nothing had happened except that his

brother-in-law had proposed to her and been refused. It seemed to

Pierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole affair and re-establish

Natshas reputation.



He was awaiting Prince Andrews return with dread and went every day to

the old princes for news of him.



Old Prince Bolknski heard all the rumors current in the town from

Mademoiselle Bourienne and had read the note to Princess Mary in which

Natsha had broken off her engagement. He seemed in better spirits than

usual and awaited his son with great impatience.



Some days after Anatoles departure Pierre received a note from Prince

Andrew, informing him of his arrival and asking him to come to see him.



As soon as he reached Moscow, Prince Andrew had received from his

father Natshas note to Princess Mary breaking off her engagement

(Mademoiselle Bourienne had purloined it from Princess Mary and given

it to the old prince), and he heard from him the story of Natshas

elopement, with additions.



Prince Andrew had arrived in the evening and Pierre came to see him next

morning. Pierre expected to find Prince Andrew in almost the same state

as Natsha and was therefore surprised on entering the drawing room

to hear him in the study talking in a loud animated voice about some

intrigue going on in Petersburg. The old princes voice and another now

and then interrupted him. Princess Mary came out to meet Pierre. She

sighed, looking toward the door of the room where Prince Andrew was,

evidently intending to express her sympathy with his sorrow, but Pierre

saw by her face that she was glad both at what had happened and at the

way her brother had taken the news of Natshas faithlessness.



He says he expected it, she remarked. I know his pride will not let

him express his feelings, but still he has taken it better, far better,

than I expected. Evidently it had to be....



But is it possible that all is really ended? asked Pierre.



Princess Mary looked at him with astonishment. She did not understand

how he could ask such a question. Pierre went into the study. Prince

Andrew, greatly changed and plainly in better health, but with a fresh

horizontal wrinkle between his brows, stood in civilian dress facing

his father and Prince Meshchrski, warmly disputing and vigorously

gesticulating. The conversation was about Spernskithe news of whose

sudden exile and alleged treachery had just reached Moscow.



Now he is censured and accused by all who were enthusiastic about him

a month ago, Prince Andrew was saying, and by those who were unable to

understand his aims. To judge a man who is in disfavor and to throw on

him all the blame of other mens mistakes is very easy, but I maintain

that if anything good has been accomplished in this reign it was done by

him, by him alone.



He paused at the sight of Pierre. His face quivered and immediately

assumed a vindictive expression.



Posterity will do him justice, he concluded, and at once turned to

Pierre.



Well, how are you? Still getting stouter? he said with animation, but

the new wrinkle on his forehead deepened. Yes, I am well, he said in

answer to Pierres question, and smiled.



To Pierre that smile said plainly I am well, but my health is now of

no use to anyone.



After a few words to Pierre about the awful roads from the Polish

frontier, about people he had met in Switzerland who knew Pierre, and

about M. Dessalles, whom he had brought from abroad to be his sons

tutor, Prince Andrew again joined warmly in the conversation about

Spernski which was still going on between the two old men.



If there were treason, or proofs of secret relations with Napoleon,

they would have been made public, he said with warmth and haste. I do

not, and never did, like Spernski personally, but I like justice!



Pierre now recognized in his friend a need with which he was only too

familiar, to get excited and to have arguments about extraneous matters

in order to stifle thoughts that were too oppressive and too intimate.

When Prince Meshchrski had left, Prince Andrew took Pierres arm and

asked him into the room that had been assigned him. A bed had been made

up there, and some open portmanteaus and trunks stood about. Prince

Andrew went to one and took out a small casket, from which he drew a

packet wrapped in paper. He did it all silently and very quickly. He

stood up and coughed. His face was gloomy and his lips compressed.



Forgive me for troubling you....



Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natsha, and his

broad face expressed pity and sympathy. This expression irritated Prince

Andrew, and in a determined, ringing, and unpleasant tone he continued



I have received a refusal from Countess Rostva and have heard reports

of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something of that

kind. Is that true?



Both true and untrue, Pierre began but Prince Andrew interrupted him.



Here are her letters and her portrait, said he.



He took the packet from the table and handed it to Pierre.



Give this to the countess... if you see her.



She is very ill, said Pierre.



Then she is here still? said Prince Andrew. And Prince Kurgin? he

added quickly.



He left long ago. She has been at deaths door.



I much regret her illness, said Prince Andrew and he smiled like his

father, coldly, maliciously, and unpleasantly.



So Monsieur Kurgin has not honored Countess Rostva with his hand?

said Prince Andrew, and he snorted several times.



He could not marry, for he was married already, said Pierre.



Prince Andrew laughed disagreeably, again reminding one of his father.



And where is your brother-in-law now, if I may ask? he said.



He has gone to Peters... But I dont know, said Pierre.



Well, it doesnt matter, said Prince Andrew. Tell Countess Rostva

that she was and is perfectly free and that I wish her all that is

good.



Pierre took the packet. Prince Andrew, as if trying to remember whether

he had something more to say, or waiting to see if Pierre would say

anything, looked fixedly at him.



I say, do you remember our discussion in Petersburg? asked Pierre,

about...



Yes, returned Prince Andrew hastily. I said that a fallen woman

should be forgiven, but I didnt say I could forgive her. I cant.



But can this be compared...? said Pierre.



Prince Andrew interrupted him and cried sharply Yes, ask her hand

again, be magnanimous, and so on?... Yes, that would be very noble, but

I am unable to follow in that gentlemans footsteps. If you wish to be

my friend never speak to me of that... of all that! Well, good-by. So

youll give her the packet?



Pierre left the room and went to the old prince and Princess Mary.



The old man seemed livelier than usual. Princess Mary was the same as

always, but beneath her sympathy for her brother, Pierre noticed her

satisfaction that the engagement had been broken off. Looking at them

Pierre realized what contempt and animosity they all felt for the

Rostvs, and that it was impossible in their presence even to mention

the name of her who could give up Prince Andrew for anyone else.



At dinner the talk turned on the war, the approach of which was becoming

evident. Prince Andrew talked incessantly, arguing now with his father,

now with the Swiss tutor Dessalles, and showing an unnatural animation,

the cause of which Pierre so well understood.











CHAPTER XXII



That same evening Pierre went to the Rostvs to fulfill the commission

entrusted to him. Natsha was in bed, the count at the club, and Pierre,

after giving the letters to Snya, went to Mrya Dmtrievna who was

interested to know how Prince Andrew had taken the news. Ten minutes

later Snya came to Mrya Dmtrievna.



Natsha insists on seeing Count Peter Kirlovich, said she.



But how? Are we to take him up to her? The room there has not been

tidied up.



No, she has dressed and gone into the drawing room, said Snya.



Mrya Dmtrievna only shrugged her shoulders.



When will her mother come? She has worried me to death! Now mind, dont

tell her everything! said she to Pierre. One hasnt the heart to scold

her, she is so much to be pitied, so much to be pitied.



Natsha was standing in the middle of the drawing room, emaciated, with

a pale set face, but not at all shamefaced as Pierre expected to find

her. When he appeared at the door she grew flurried, evidently undecided

whether to go to meet him or to wait till he came up.



Pierre hastened to her. He thought she would give him her hand as

usual but she, stepping up to him, stopped, breathing heavily, her arms

hanging lifelessly just in the pose she used to stand in when she

went to the middle of the ballroom to sing, but with quite a different

expression of face.



Peter Kirlovich, she began rapidly, Prince Bolknski was your

friendis your friend, she corrected herself. (It seemed to her that

everything that had once been must now be different.) He told me once

to apply to you...



Pierre sniffed as he looked at her, but did not speak. Till then he had

reproached her in his heart and tried to despise her, but he now felt so

sorry for her that there was no room in his soul for reproach.



He is here now tell him... to for... forgive me! She stopped and

breathed still more quickly, but did not shed tears.



Yes... I will tell him, answered Pierre but...



He did not know what to say.



Natsha was evidently dismayed at the thought of what he might think she

had meant.



No, I know all is over, she said hurriedly. No, that can never be.

Im only tormented by the wrong I have done him. Tell him only that I

beg him to forgive, forgive, forgive me for everything....



She trembled all over and sat down on a chair.



A sense of pity he had never before known overflowed Pierres heart.



I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more, said Pierre.

But... I should like to know one thing....



Know what? Natshas eyes asked.



I should like to know, did you love... Pierre did not know how to

refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of himdid you love that

bad man?



Dont call him bad! said Natsha. But I dont know, dont know at

all....



She began to cry and a still greater sense of pity, tenderness, and love

welled up in Pierre. He felt the tears trickle under his spectacles and

hoped they would not be noticed.



We wont speak of it any more, my dear, said Pierre, and his gentle,

cordial tone suddenly seemed very strange to Natsha.



We wont speak of it, my dearIll tell him everything but one thing

I beg of you, consider me your friend and if you want help, advice,

or simply to open your heart to someonenot now, but when your mind is

clearer think of me! He took her hand and kissed it. I shall be happy

if its in my power...



Pierre grew confused.



Dont speak to me like that. I am not worth it! exclaimed Natsha and

turned to leave the room, but Pierre held her hand.



He knew he had something more to say to her. But when he said it he was

amazed at his own words.



Stop, stop! You have your whole life before you, said he to her.



Before me? No! All is over for me, she replied with shame and

self-abasement.



All over? he repeated. If I were not myself, but the handsomest,

cleverest, and best man in the world, and were free, I would this moment

ask on my knees for your hand and your love!



For the first time for many days Natsha wept tears of gratitude and

tenderness, and glancing at Pierre she went out of the room.



Pierre too when she had gone almost ran into the anteroom, restraining

tears of tenderness and joy that choked him, and without finding the

sleeves of his fur cloak threw it on and got into his sleigh.



Where to now, your excellency? asked the coachman.



Where to? Pierre asked himself. Where can I go now? Surely not to the

Club or to pay calls? All men seemed so pitiful, so poor, in comparison

with this feeling of tenderness and love he experienced in comparison

with that softened, grateful, last look she had given him through her

tears.



Home! said Pierre, and despite twenty-two degrees of frost Fahrenheit

he threw open the bearskin cloak from his broad chest and inhaled the

air with joy.



It was clear and frosty. Above the dirty, ill-lit streets, above the

black roofs, stretched the dark starry sky. Only looking up at the sky

did Pierre cease to feel how sordid and humiliating were all mundane

things compared with the heights to which his soul had just been raised.

At the entrance to the Arbt Square an immense expanse of dark starry

sky presented itself to his eyes. Almost in the center of it, above the

Prechstenka Boulevard, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars

but distinguished from them all by its nearness to the earth, its white

light, and its long uplifted tail, shone the enormous and brilliant

comet of 1812the comet which was said to portend all kinds of woes

and the end of the world. In Pierre, however, that comet with its long

luminous tail aroused no feeling of fear. On the contrary he gazed

joyfully, his eyes moist with tears, at this bright comet which, having

traveled in its orbit with inconceivable velocity through immeasurable

space, seemed suddenlylike an arrow piercing the earthto remain

fixed in a chosen spot, vigorously holding its tail erect, shining and

displaying its white light amid countless other scintillating stars. It

seemed to Pierre that this comet fully responded to what was passing in

his own softened and uplifted soul, now blossoming into a new life.











BOOK NINE 1812











CHAPTER I



From the close of the year 1811 intensified arming and concentrating of

the forces of Western Europe began, and in 1812 these forcesmillions

of men, reckoning those transporting and feeding the armymoved from the

west eastwards to the Russian frontier, toward which since 1811 Russian

forces had been similarly drawn. On the twelfth of June, 1812, the

forces of Western Europe crossed the Russian frontier and war began,

that is, an event took place opposed to human reason and to human

nature. Millions of men perpetrated against one another such innumerable

crimes, frauds, treacheries, thefts, forgeries, issues of false money,

burglaries, incendiarisms, and murders as in whole centuries are not

recorded in the annals of all the law courts of the world, but which

those who committed them did not at the time regard as being crimes.



What produced this extraordinary occurrence? What were its causes? The

historians tell us with nave assurance that its causes were the wrongs

inflicted on the Duke of Oldenburg, the nonobservance of the Continental

System, the ambition of Napoleon, the firmness of Alexander, the

mistakes of the diplomatists, and so on.



Consequently, it would only have been necessary for Metternich,

Rumyntsev, or Talleyrand, between a levee and an evening party, to have

taken proper pains and written a more adroit note, or for Napoleon to

have written to Alexander My respected Brother, I consent to restore

the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburgand there would have been no war.



We can understand that the matter seemed like that to contemporaries.

It naturally seemed to Napoleon that the war was caused by Englands

intrigues (as in fact he said on the island of St. Helena). It naturally

seemed to members of the English Parliament that the cause of the war

was Napoleons ambition to the Duke of Oldenburg, that the cause of the

war was the violence done to him to businessmen that the cause of the

war was the Continental System which was ruining Europe to the generals

and old soldiers that the chief reason for the war was the necessity of

giving them employment to the legitimists of that day that it was the

need of re-establishing les bons principes, and to the diplomatists of

that time that it all resulted from the fact that the alliance between

Russia and Austria in 1809 had not been sufficiently well concealed

from Napoleon, and from the awkward wording of Memorandum No. 178. It

is natural that these and a countless and infinite quantity of other

reasons, the number depending on the endless diversity of points

of view, presented themselves to the men of that day but to us, to

posterity who view the thing that happened in all its magnitude and

perceive its plain and terrible meaning, these causes seem insufficient.

To us it is incomprehensible that millions of Christian men killed and

tortured each other either because Napoleon was ambitious or Alexander

was firm, or because Englands policy was astute or the Duke of

Oldenburg wronged. We cannot grasp what connection such circumstances

have with the actual fact of slaughter and violence why because the

Duke was wronged, thousands of men from the other side of Europe killed

and ruined the people of Smolnsk and Moscow and were killed by them.



To us, their descendants, who are not historians and are not carried

away by the process of research and can therefore regard the event

with unclouded common sense, an incalculable number of causes present

themselves. The deeper we delve in search of these causes the more of

them we find and each separate cause or whole series of causes appears

to us equally valid in itself and equally false by its insignificance

compared to the magnitude of the events, and by its impotenceapart

from the cooperation of all the other coincident causesto occasion the

event. To us, the wish or objection of this or that French corporal to

serve a second term appears as much a cause as Napoleons refusal to

withdraw his troops beyond the Vistula and to restore the duchy of

Oldenburg for had he not wished to serve, and had a second, a third,

and a thousandth corporal and private also refused, there would have

been so many less men in Napoleons army and the war could not have

occurred.



Had Napoleon not taken offense at the demand that he should withdraw

beyond the Vistula, and not ordered his troops to advance, there would

have been no war but had all his sergeants objected to serving a second

term then also there could have been no war. Nor could there have been

a war had there been no English intrigues and no Duke of Oldenburg, and

had Alexander not felt insulted, and had there not been an autocratic

government in Russia, or a Revolution in France and a subsequent

dictatorship and Empire, or all the things that produced the French

Revolution, and so on. Without each of these causes nothing could have

happened. So all these causesmyriads of causescoincided to bring it

about. And so there was no one cause for that occurrence, but it had

to occur because it had to. Millions of men, renouncing their human

feelings and reason, had to go from west to east to slay their fellows,

just as some centuries previously hordes of men had come from the east

to the west, slaying their fellows.



The actions of Napoleon and Alexander, on whose words the event seemed

to hang, were as little voluntary as the actions of any soldier who was

drawn into the campaign by lot or by conscription. This could not be

otherwise, for in order that the will of Napoleon and Alexander (on whom

the event seemed to depend) should be carried out, the concurrence of

innumerable circumstances was needed without anyone of which the event

could not have taken place. It was necessary that millions of men in

whose hands lay the real powerthe soldiers who fired, or transported

provisions and gunsshould consent to carry out the will of these weak

individuals, and should have been induced to do so by an infinite number

of diverse and complex causes.



We are forced to fall back on fatalism as an explanation of irrational

events (that is to say, events the reasonableness of which we do

not understand). The more we try to explain such events in history

reasonably, the more unreasonable and incomprehensible do they become to

us.



Each man lives for himself, using his freedom to attain his personal

aims, and feels with his whole being that he can now do or abstain from

doing this or that action but as soon as he has done it, that action

performed at a certain moment in time becomes irrevocable and belongs to

history, in which it has not a free but a predestined significance.



There are two sides to the life of every man, his individual life, which

is the more free the more abstract its interests, and his elemental hive

life in which he inevitably obeys laws laid down for him.



Man lives consciously for himself, but is an unconscious instrument in

the attainment of the historic, universal, aims of humanity. A deed done

is irrevocable, and its result coinciding in time with the actions of

millions of other men assumes an historic significance. The higher a man

stands on the social ladder, the more people he is connected with

and the more power he has over others, the more evident is the

predestination and inevitability of his every action.



The kings heart is in the hands of the Lord.



A king is historys slave.



History, that is, the unconscious, general, hive life of mankind, uses

every moment of the life of kings as a tool for its own purposes.



Though Napoleon at that time, in 1812, was more convinced than ever that

it depended on him, verser (ou ne pas verser) le sang de ses peuples

*as Alexander expressed it in the last letter he wrote himhe had never

been so much in the grip of inevitable laws, which compelled him, while

thinking that he was acting on his own volition, to perform for the hive

lifethat is to say, for historywhatever had to be performed.



    * To shed (or not to shed) the blood of his peoples.





The people of the west moved eastwards to slay their fellow men, and

by the law of coincidence thousands of minute causes fitted in and

co-ordinated to produce that movement and war reproaches for the

nonobservance of the Continental System, the Duke of Oldenburgs

wrongs, the movement of troops into Prussiaundertaken (as it seemed to

Napoleon) only for the purpose of securing an armed peace, the

French Emperors love and habit of war coinciding with his peoples

inclinations, allurement by the grandeur of the preparations, and the

expenditure on those preparations and the need of obtaining advantages

to compensate for that expenditure, the intoxicating honors he received

in Dresden, the diplomatic negotiations which, in the opinion of

contemporaries, were carried on with a sincere desire to attain peace,

but which only wounded the self-love of both sides, and millions of

other causes that adapted themselves to the event that was happening or

coincided with it.



When an apple has ripened and falls, why does it fall? Because of its

attraction to the earth, because its stalk withers, because it is dried

by the sun, because it grows heavier, because the wind shakes it, or

because the boy standing below wants to eat it?



Nothing is the cause. All this is only the coincidence of conditions in

which all vital organic and elemental events occur. And the botanist

who finds that the apple falls because the cellular tissue decays and so

forth is equally right with the child who stands under the tree and says

the apple fell because he wanted to eat it and prayed for it. Equally

right or wrong is he who says that Napoleon went to Moscow because he

wanted to, and perished because Alexander desired his destruction, and

he who says that an undermined hill weighing a million tons fell because

the last navvy struck it for the last time with his mattock. In historic

events the so-called great men are labels giving names to events, and

like labels they have but the smallest connection with the event itself.



Every act of theirs, which appears to them an act of their own will, is

in an historical sense involuntary and is related to the whole course of

history and predestined from eternity.











CHAPTER II



On the twenty-ninth of May Napoleon left Dresden, where he had spent

three weeks surrounded by a court that included princes, dukes, kings,

and even an emperor. Before leaving, Napoleon showed favor to the

emperor, kings, and princes who had deserved it, reprimanded the kings

and princes with whom he was dissatisfied, presented pearls and diamonds

of his ownthat is, which he had taken from other kingsto the Empress

of Austria, and having, as his historian tells us, tenderly embraced the

Empress Marie Louisewho regarded him as her husband, though he had left

another wife in Parisleft her grieved by the parting which she seemed

hardly able to bear. Though the diplomatists still firmly believed in

the possibility of peace and worked zealously to that end, and though

the Emperor Napoleon himself wrote a letter to Alexander, calling him

Monsieur mon frre, and sincerely assured him that he did not want war

and would always love and honor himyet he set off to join his army,

and at every station gave fresh orders to accelerate the movement of his

troops from west to east. He went in a traveling coach with six horses,

surrounded by pages, aides-de-camp, and an escort, along the road to

Posen, Thorn, Danzig, and Knigsberg. At each of these towns thousands

of people met him with excitement and enthusiasm.



The army was moving from west to east, and relays of six horses carried

him in the same direction. On the tenth of June, * coming up with the

army, he spent the night in apartments prepared for him on the estate of

a Polish count in the Vilkavisski forest.



    * Old style.



Next day, overtaking the army, he went in a carriage to the Niemen, and,

changing into a Polish uniform, he drove to the riverbank in order to

select a place for the crossing.



Seeing, on the other side, some Cossacks (les Cosaques) and the

wide-spreading steppes in the midst of which lay the holy city of Moscow

(Moscou, la ville sainte), the capital of a realm such as the Scythia

into which Alexander the Great had marchedNapoleon unexpectedly, and

contrary alike to strategic and diplomatic considerations, ordered an

advance, and the next day his army began to cross the Niemen.



Early in the morning of the twelfth of June he came out of his tent,

which was pitched that day on the steep left bank of the Niemen, and

looked through a spyglass at the streams of his troops pouring out of

the Vilkavisski forest and flowing over the three bridges thrown across

the river. The troops, knowing of the Emperors presence, were on the

lookout for him, and when they caught sight of a figure in an overcoat

and a cocked hat standing apart from his suite in front of his tent on

the hill, they threw up their caps and shouted Vive lEmpereur! and

one after another poured in a ceaseless stream out of the vast forest

that had concealed them and, separating, flowed on and on by the three

bridges to the other side.



Now well go into action. Oh, when he takes it in hand himself, things

get hot... by heaven!... There he is!... Vive lEmpereur! So these

are the steppes of Asia! Its a nasty country all the same. Au revoir,

Beauch Ill keep the best palace in Moscow for you! Au revoir. Good

luck!... Did you see the Emperor? Vive lEmpereur!... preur!If

they make me Governor of India, Grard, Ill make you Minister of

Kashmirthats settled. Vive lEmpereur! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! The

Cossacksthose rascalssee how they run! Vive lEmpereur! There he

is, do you see him? Ive seen him twice, as I see you now. The little

corporal... I saw him give the cross to one of the veterans.... Vive

lEmpereur! came the voices of men, old and young, of most diverse

characters and social positions. On the faces of all was one common

expression of joy at the commencement of the long-expected campaign and

of rapture and devotion to the man in the gray coat who was standing on

the hill.



On the thirteenth of June a rather small, thoroughbred Arab horse was

brought to Napoleon. He mounted it and rode at a gallop to one of the

bridges over the Niemen, deafened continually by incessant and rapturous

acclamations which he evidently endured only because it was impossible

to forbid the soldiers to express their love of him by such shouting,

but the shouting which accompanied him everywhere disturbed him and

distracted him from the military cares that had occupied him from the

time he joined the army. He rode across one of the swaying pontoon

bridges to the farther side, turned sharply to the left, and galloped in

the direction of Kvno, preceded by enraptured, mounted chasseurs of the

Guard who, breathless with delight, galloped ahead to clear a path for

him through the troops. On reaching the broad river Vliya, he stopped

near a regiment of Polish Uhlans stationed by the river.



Vivat! shouted the Poles, ecstatically, breaking their ranks and

pressing against one another to see him.



Napoleon looked up and down the river, dismounted, and sat down on a log

that lay on the bank. At a mute sign from him, a telescope was handed

him which he rested on the back of a happy page who had run up to him,

and he gazed at the opposite bank. Then he became absorbed in a map laid

out on the logs. Without lifting his head he said something, and two of

his aides-de-camp galloped off to the Polish Uhlans.



What? What did he say? was heard in the ranks of the Polish Uhlans

when one of the aides-de-camp rode up to them.



The order was to find a ford and to cross the river. The colonel of the

Polish Uhlans, a handsome old man, flushed and, fumbling in his speech

from excitement, asked the aide-de-camp whether he would be permitted

to swim the river with his Uhlans instead of seeking a ford. In evident

fear of refusal, like a boy asking for permission to get on a horse, he

begged to be allowed to swim across the river before the Emperors

eyes. The aide-de-camp replied that probably the Emperor would not be

displeased at this excess of zeal.



As soon as the aide-de-camp had said this, the old mustached officer,

with happy face and sparkling eyes, raised his saber, shouted Vivat!

and, commanding the Uhlans to follow him, spurred his horse and galloped

into the river. He gave an angry thrust to his horse, which had grown

restive under him, and plunged into the water, heading for the deepest

part where the current was swift. Hundreds of Uhlans galloped in after

him. It was cold and uncanny in the rapid current in the middle of the

stream, and the Uhlans caught hold of one another as they fell off their

horses. Some of the horses were drowned and some of the men the others

tried to swim on, some in the saddle and some clinging to their horses

manes. They tried to make their way forward to the opposite bank and,

though there was a ford one third of a mile away, were proud that they

were swimming and drowning in this river under the eyes of the man who

sat on the log and was not even looking at what they were doing. When

the aide-de-camp, having returned and choosing an opportune moment,

ventured to draw the Emperors attention to the devotion of the Poles

to his person, the little man in the gray overcoat got up and, having

summoned Berthier, began pacing up and down the bank with him, giving

him instructions and occasionally glancing disapprovingly at the

drowning Uhlans who distracted his attention.



For him it was no new conviction that his presence in any part of

the world, from Africa to the steppes of Muscovy alike, was enough to

dumfound people and impel them to insane self-oblivion. He called for

his horse and rode to his quarters.



Some forty Uhlans were drowned in the river, though boats were sent to

their assistance. The majority struggled back to the bank from which

they had started. The colonel and some of his men got across and with

difficulty clambered out on the further bank. And as soon as they had

got out, in their soaked and streaming clothes, they shouted Vivat!

and looked ecstatically at the spot where Napoleon had been but where he

no longer was and at that moment considered themselves happy.



That evening, between issuing one order that the forged Russian paper

money prepared for use in Russia should be delivered as quickly as

possible and another that a Saxon should be shot, on whom a letter

containing information about the orders to the French army had been

found, Napoleon also gave instructions that the Polish colonel who

had needlessly plunged into the river should be enrolled in the Lgion

dhonneur of which Napoleon was himself the head.



Quos vult perdere dementat. *



    * Those whom (God) wishes to destroy he drives mad.











CHAPTER III



The Emperor of Russia had, meanwhile, been in Vlna for more than a

month, reviewing troops and holding maneuvers. Nothing was ready for the

war that everyone expected and to prepare for which the Emperor had come

from Petersburg. There was no general plan of action. The vacillation

between the various plans that were proposed had even increased after

the Emperor had been at headquarters for a month. Each of the three

armies had its own commander in chief, but there was no supreme

commander of all the forces, and the Emperor did not assume that

responsibility himself.



The longer the Emperor remained in Vlna the less did everybodytired of

waitingprepare for the war. All the efforts of those who surrounded the

sovereign seemed directed merely to making him spend his time pleasantly

and forget that war was impending.



In June, after many balls and fetes given by the Polish magnates, by the

courtiers, and by the Emperor himself, it occurred to one of the Polish

aides-de-camp in attendance that a dinner and ball should be given for

the Emperor by his aides-de-camp. This idea was eagerly received.

The Emperor gave his consent. The aides-de-camp collected money by

subscription. The lady who was thought to be most pleasing to the

Emperor was invited to act as hostess. Count Bennigsen, being a

landowner in the Vlna province, offered his country house for the fete,

and the thirteenth of June was fixed for a ball, dinner, regatta, and

fireworks at Zakret, Count Bennigsens country seat.



The very day that Napoleon issued the order to cross the Niemen, and

his vanguard, driving off the Cossacks, crossed the Russian frontier,

Alexander spent the evening at the entertainment given by his

aides-de-camp at Bennigsens country house.



It was a gay and brilliant fete. Connoisseurs of such matters declared

that rarely had so many beautiful women been assembled in one place.

Countess Bezkhova was present among other Russian ladies who had

followed the sovereign from Petersburg to Vlna and eclipsed the refined

Polish ladies by her massive, so-called Russian type of beauty. The

Emperor noticed her and honored her with a dance.



Bors Drubetsky, having left his wife in Moscow and being for the

present en garon (as he phrased it), was also there and, though not an

aide-de-camp, had subscribed a large sum toward the expenses. Bors

was now a rich man who had risen to high honors and no longer sought

patronage but stood on an equal footing with the highest of those of his

own age. He was meeting Hlne in Vlna after not having seen her for

a long time and did not recall the past, but as Hlne was enjoying

the favors of a very important personage and Bors had only recently

married, they met as good friends of long standing.



At midnight dancing was still going on. Hlne, not having a suitable

partner, herself offered to dance the mazurka with Bors. They were the

third couple. Bors, coolly looking at Hlnes dazzling bare shoulders

which emerged from a dark, gold-embroidered, gauze gown, talked to her

of old acquaintances and at the same time, unaware of it himself and

unnoticed by others, never for an instant ceased to observe the Emperor

who was in the same room. The Emperor was not dancing, he stood in the

doorway, stopping now one pair and now another with gracious words which

he alone knew how to utter.



As the mazurka began, Bors saw that Adjutant General Balashv, one of

those in closest attendance on the Emperor, went up to him and contrary

to court etiquette stood near him while he was talking to a Polish

lady. Having finished speaking to her, the Emperor looked inquiringly

at Balashv and, evidently understanding that he only acted thus because

there were important reasons for so doing, nodded slightly to the lady

and turned to him. Hardly had Balashv begun to speak before a look of

amazement appeared on the Emperors face. He took Balashv by the arm

and crossed the room with him, unconsciously clearing a path seven

yards wide as the people on both sides made way for him. Bors noticed

Arakchevs excited face when the sovereign went out with Balashv.

Arakchev looked at the Emperor from under his brow and, sniffing with

his red nose, stepped forward from the crowd as if expecting the Emperor

to address him. (Bors understood that Arakchev envied Balashv and

was displeased that evidently important news had reached the Emperor

otherwise than through himself.)



But the Emperor and Balashv passed out into the illuminated garden

without noticing Arakchev who, holding his sword and glancing

wrathfully around, followed some twenty paces behind them.



All the time Bors was going through the figures of the mazurka, he was

worried by the question of what news Balashv had brought and how he

could find it out before others. In the figure in which he had to choose

two ladies, he whispered to Hlne that he meant to choose Countess

Potocka who, he thought, had gone out onto the veranda, and glided over

the parquet to the door opening into the garden, where, seeing Balashv

and the Emperor returning to the veranda, he stood still. They were

moving toward the door. Bors, fluttering as if he had not had time to

withdraw, respectfully pressed close to the doorpost with bowed head.



The Emperor, with the agitation of one who has been personally

affronted, was finishing with these words



To enter Russia without declaring war! I will not make peace as long as

a single armed enemy remains in my country! It seemed to Bors that it

gave the Emperor pleasure to utter these words. He was satisfied with

the form in which he had expressed his thoughts, but displeased that

Bors had overheard it.



Let no one know of it! the Emperor added with a frown.



Bors understood that this was meant for him and, closing his eyes,

slightly bowed his head. The Emperor re-entered the ballroom and

remained there about another half-hour.



Bors was thus the first to learn the news that the French army had

crossed the Niemen and, thanks to this, was able to show certain

important personages that much that was concealed from others was

usually known to him, and by this means he rose higher in their

estimation.





The unexpected news of the French having crossed the Niemen was

particularly startling after a month of unfulfilled expectations, and at

a ball. On first receiving the news, under the influence of indignation

and resentment the Emperor had found a phrase that pleased him, fully

expressed his feelings, and has since become famous. On returning home

at two oclock that night he sent for his secretary, Shishkv, and told

him to write an order to the troops and a rescript to Field Marshal

Prince Saltykv, in which he insisted on the words being inserted that

he would not make peace so long as a single armed Frenchman remained on

Russian soil.



Next day the following letter was sent to Napoleon



Monsieur mon frre,



Yesterday I learned that, despite the loyalty with which I have kept

my engagements with Your Majesty, your troops have crossed the Russian

frontier, and I have this moment received from Petersburg a note, in

which Count Lauriston informs me, as a reason for this aggression, that

Your Majesty has considered yourself to be in a state of war with me

from the time Prince Kurkin asked for his passports. The reasons on

which the Duc de Bassano based his refusal to deliver them to him would

never have led me to suppose that that could serve as a pretext for

aggression. In fact, the ambassador, as he himself has declared, was

never authorized to make that demand, and as soon as I was informed of

it I let him know how much I disapproved of it and ordered him to remain

at his post. If Your Majesty does not intend to shed the blood of our

peoples for such a misunderstanding, and consents to withdraw your

troops from Russian territory, I will regard what has passed as not

having occurred and an understanding between us will be possible. In

the contrary case, Your Majesty, I shall see myself forced to repel an

attack that nothing on my part has provoked. It still depends on Your

Majesty to preserve humanity from the calamity of another war.



I am, etc.,



(signed) Alexander











CHAPTER IV



At two in the morning of the fourteenth of June, the Emperor, having

sent for Balashv and read him his letter to Napoleon, ordered him to

take it and hand it personally to the French Emperor. When dispatching

Balashv, the Emperor repeated to him the words that he would not make

peace so long as a single armed enemy remained on Russian soil and told

him to transmit those words to Napoleon. Alexander did not insert them

in his letter to Napoleon, because with his characteristic tact he felt

it would be injudicious to use them at a moment when a last attempt at

reconciliation was being made, but he definitely instructed Balashv to

repeat them personally to Napoleon.



Having set off in the small hours of the fourteenth, accompanied by a

bugler and two Cossacks, Balashv reached the French outposts at the

village of Ryknty, on the Russian side of the Niemen, by dawn. There he

was stopped by French cavalry sentinels.



A French noncommissioned officer of hussars, in crimson uniform and a

shaggy cap, shouted to the approaching Balashv to halt. Balashv did

not do so at once, but continued to advance along the road at a walking

pace.



The noncommissioned officer frowned and, muttering words of abuse,

advanced his horses chest against Balashv, put his hand to his saber,

and shouted rudely at the Russian general, asking was he deaf that

he did not do as he was told? Balashv mentioned who he was. The

noncommissioned officer began talking with his comrades about regimental

matters without looking at the Russian general.



After living at the seat of the highest authority and power, after

conversing with the Emperor less than three hours before, and in general

being accustomed to the respect due to his rank in the service, Balashv

found it very strange here on Russian soil to encounter this hostile,

and still more this disrespectful, application of brute force to

himself.



The sun was only just appearing from behind the clouds, the air was

fresh and dewy. A herd of cattle was being driven along the road from

the village, and over the fields the larks rose trilling, one after

another, like bubbles rising in water.



Balashv looked around him, awaiting the arrival of an officer from the

village. The Russian Cossacks and bugler and the French hussars looked

silently at one another from time to time.



A French colonel of hussars, who had evidently just left his bed, came

riding from the village on a handsome sleek gray horse, accompanied

by two hussars. The officer, the soldiers, and their horses all looked

smart and well kept.



It was that first period of a campaign when troops are still in full

trim, almost like that of peacetime maneuvers, but with a shade of

martial swagger in their clothes, and a touch of the gaiety and spirit

of enterprise which always accompany the opening of a campaign.



The French colonel with difficulty repressed a yawn, but was polite and

evidently understood Balashvs importance. He led him past his soldiers

and behind the outposts and told him that his wish to be presented to

the Emperor would most likely be satisfied immediately, as the Emperors

quarters were, he believed, not far off.



They rode through the village of Ryknty, past tethered French hussar

horses, past sentinels and men who saluted their colonel and stared with

curiosity at a Russian uniform, and came out at the other end of the

village. The colonel said that the commander of the division was a mile

and a quarter away and would receive Balashv and conduct him to his

destination.



The sun had by now risen and shone gaily on the bright verdure.



They had hardly ridden up a hill, past a tavern, before they saw a group

of horsemen coming toward them. In front of the group, on a black horse

with trappings that glittered in the sun, rode a tall man with plumes

in his hat and black hair curling down to his shoulders. He wore a red

mantle, and stretched his long legs forward in French fashion. This man

rode toward Balashv at a gallop, his plumes flowing and his gems and

gold lace glittering in the bright June sunshine.



Balashv was only two horses length from the equestrian with the

bracelets, plumes, necklaces, and gold embroidery, who was galloping

toward him with a theatrically solemn countenance, when Julner, the

French colonel, whispered respectfully The King of Naples! It was,

in fact, Murat, now called King of Naples. Though it was quite

incomprehensible why he should be King of Naples, he was called so,

and was himself convinced that he was so, and therefore assumed a more

solemn and important air than formerly. He was so sure that he really

was the King of Naples that when, on the eve of his departure from that

city, while walking through the streets with his wife, some Italians

called out to him Viva il re! * he turned to his wife with a pensive

smile and said Poor fellows, they dont know that I am leaving them

tomorrow!



    * Long live the king.





But though he firmly believed himself to be King of Naples and pitied

the grief felt by the subjects he was abandoning, latterly, after he had

been ordered to return to military serviceand especially since his last

interview with Napoleon in Danzig, when his august brother-in-law had

told him I made you King that you should reign in my way, but not in

yours!he had cheerfully taken up his familiar business, andlike a

well-fed but not overfat horse that feels himself in harness and grows

skittish between the shaftshe dressed up in clothes as variegated and

expensive as possible, and gaily and contentedly galloped along the

roads of Poland, without himself knowing why or whither.



On seeing the Russian general he threw back his head, with its long hair

curling to his shoulders, in a majestically royal manner, and looked

inquiringly at the French colonel. The colonel respectfully informed His

Majesty of Balashvs mission, whose name he could not pronounce.



De Bal-machve! said the King (overcoming by his assurance the

difficulty that had presented itself to the colonel). Charmed to

make your acquaintance, General! he added, with a gesture of kingly

condescension.



As soon as the King began to speak loud and fast his royal dignity

instantly forsook him, and without noticing it he passed into his

natural tone of good-natured familiarity. He laid his hand on the

withers of Balashvs horse and said



Well, General, it all looks like war, as if regretting a circumstance

of which he was unable to judge.



Your Majesty, replied Balashv, my master, the Emperor, does not

desire war and as Your Majesty sees... said Balashv, using the words

Your Majesty at every opportunity, with the affectation unavoidable in

frequently addressing one to whom the title was still a novelty.



Murats face beamed with stupid satisfaction as he listened to Monsieur

de Bal-machve. But royaut oblige! * and he felt it incumbent on

him, as a king and an ally, to confer on state affairs with Alexanders

envoy. He dismounted, took Balashvs arm, and moving a few steps away

from his suite, which waited respectfully, began to pace up and down

with him, trying to speak significantly. He referred to the fact that

the Emperor Napoleon had resented the demand that he should withdraw his

troops from Prussia, especially when that demand became generally known

and the dignity of France was thereby offended.



    * Royalty has its obligations.





Balashv replied that there was nothing offensive in the demand,

because... but Murat interrupted him.



Then you dont consider the Emperor Alexander the aggressor? he asked

unexpectedly, with a kindly and foolish smile.



Balashv told him why he considered Napoleon to be the originator of the

war.



Oh, my dear general! Murat again interrupted him, with all my heart I

wish the Emperors may arrange the affair between them, and that the war

begun by no wish of mine may finish as quickly as possible! said he,

in the tone of a servant who wants to remain good friends with another

despite a quarrel between their masters.



And he went on to inquiries about the Grand Duke and the state of his

health, and to reminiscences of the gay and amusing times he had spent

with him in Naples. Then suddenly, as if remembering his royal dignity,

Murat solemnly drew himself up, assumed the pose in which he had stood

at his coronation, and, waving his right arm, said



I wont detain you longer, General. I wish success to your mission,

and with his embroidered red mantle, his flowing feathers, and his

glittering ornaments, he rejoined his suite who were respectfully

awaiting him.



Balashv rode on, supposing from Murats words that he would very soon

be brought before Napoleon himself. But instead of that, at the next

village the sentinels of Davouts infantry corps detained him as

the pickets of the vanguard had done, and an adjutant of the corps

commander, who was fetched, conducted him into the village to Marshal

Davout.











CHAPTER V



Davout was to Napoleon what Arakchev was to Alexanderthough not a

coward like Arakchev, he was as precise, as cruel, and as unable to

express his devotion to his monarch except by cruelty.



In the organism of states such men are necessary, as wolves are

necessary in the organism of nature, and they always exist, always

appear and hold their own, however incongruous their presence and their

proximity to the head of the government may be. This inevitability alone

can explain how the cruel Arakchev, who tore out a grenadiers mustache

with his own hands, whose weak nerves rendered him unable to face

danger, and who was neither an educated man nor a courtier, was able to

maintain his powerful position with Alexander, whose own character was

chivalrous, noble, and gentle.



Balashv found Davout seated on a barrel in the shed of a peasants hut,

writinghe was auditing accounts. Better quarters could have been

found him, but Marshal Davout was one of those men who purposely put

themselves in most depressing conditions to have a justification for

being gloomy. For the same reason they are always hard at work and in a

hurry. How can I think of the bright side of life when, as you see, I

am sitting on a barrel and working in a dirty shed? the expression of

his face seemed to say. The chief pleasure and necessity of such men,

when they encounter anyone who shows animation, is to flaunt their own

dreary, persistent activity. Davout allowed himself that pleasure when

Balashv was brought in. He became still more absorbed in his task when

the Russian general entered, and after glancing over his spectacles at

Balashvs face, which was animated by the beauty of the morning and

by his talk with Murat, he did not rise or even stir, but scowled still

more and sneered malevolently.



When he noticed in Balashvs face the disagreeable impression this

reception produced, Davout raised his head and coldly asked what he

wanted.



Thinking he could have been received in such a manner only because

Davout did not know that he was adjutant general to the Emperor

Alexander and even his envoy to Napoleon, Balashv hastened to inform

him of his rank and mission. Contrary to his expectation, Davout, after

hearing him, became still surlier and ruder.



Where is your dispatch? he inquired. Give it to me. I will send it to

the Emperor.



Balashv replied that he had been ordered to hand it personally to the

Emperor.



Your Emperors orders are obeyed in your army, but here, said Davout,

you must do as youre told.



And, as if to make the Russian general still more conscious of his

dependence on brute force, Davout sent an adjutant to call the officer

on duty.



Balashv took out the packet containing the Emperors letter and laid it

on the table (made of a door with its hinges still hanging on it, laid

across two barrels). Davout took the packet and read the inscription.



You are perfectly at liberty to treat me with respect or not,

protested Balashv, but permit me to observe that I have the honor to

be adjutant general to His Majesty....



Davout glanced at him silently and plainly derived pleasure from the

signs of agitation and confusion which appeared on Balashvs face.



You will be treated as is fitting, said he and, putting the packet in

his pocket, left the shed.



A minute later the marshals adjutant, de Castrs, came in and conducted

Balashv to the quarters assigned him.



That day he dined with the marshal, at the same board on the barrels.



Next day Davout rode out early and, after asking Balashv to come to

him, peremptorily requested him to remain there, to move on with the

baggage train should orders come for it to move, and to talk to no one

except Monsieur de Castrs.



After four days of solitude, ennui, and consciousness of his impotence

and insignificanceparticularly acute by contrast with the sphere of

power in which he had so lately movedand after several marches with

the marshals baggage and the French army, which occupied the

whole district, Balashv was brought to Vlnanow occupied by the

Frenchthrough the very gate by which he had left it four days

previously.



Next day the imperial gentleman-in-waiting, the Comte de Turenne, came

to Balashv and informed him of the Emperor Napoleons wish to honor him

with an audience.



Four days before, sentinels of the Preobrazhnsk regiment had stood in

front of the house to which Balashv was conducted, and now two French

grenadiers stood there in blue uniforms unfastened in front and with

shaggy caps on their heads, and an escort of hussars and Uhlans and a

brilliant suite of aides-de-camp, pages, and generals, who were waiting

for Napoleon to come out, were standing at the porch, round his saddle

horse and his Mameluke, Rustan. Napoleon received Balashv in the very

house in Vlna from which Alexander had dispatched him on his mission.











CHAPTER VI



Though Balashv was used to imperial pomp, he was amazed at the luxury

and magnificence of Napoleons court.



The Comte de Turenne showed him into a big reception room where many

generals, gentlemen-in-waiting, and Polish magnatesseveral of whom

Balashv had seen at the court of the Emperor of Russiawere waiting.

Duroc said that Napoleon would receive the Russian general before going

for his ride.



After some minutes, the gentleman-in-waiting who was on duty came into

the great reception room and, bowing politely, asked Balashv to follow

him.



Balashv went into a small reception room, one door of which led into a

study, the very one from which the Russian Emperor had dispatched him

on his mission. He stood a minute or two, waiting. He heard hurried

footsteps beyond the door, both halves of it were opened rapidly all

was silent and then from the study the sound was heard of other steps,

firm and resolutethey were those of Napoleon. He had just finished

dressing for his ride, and wore a blue uniform, opening in front over

a white waistcoat so long that it covered his rotund stomach, white

leather breeches tightly fitting the fat thighs of his short legs, and

Hessian boots. His short hair had evidently just been brushed, but one

lock hung down in the middle of his broad forehead. His plump white neck

stood out sharply above the black collar of his uniform, and he smelled

of Eau de Cologne. His full face, rather young-looking, with its

prominent chin, wore a gracious and majestic expression of imperial

welcome.



He entered briskly, with a jerk at every step and his head slightly

thrown back. His whole short corpulent figure with broad thick

shoulders, and chest and stomach involuntarily protruding, had that

imposing and stately appearance one sees in men of forty who live in

comfort. It was evident, too, that he was in the best of spirits that

day.



He nodded in answer to Balashvs low and respectful bow, and coming up

to him at once began speaking like a man who values every moment of his

time and does not condescend to prepare what he has to say but is sure

he will always say the right thing and say it well.



Good day, General! said he. I have received the letter you brought

from the Emperor Alexander and am very glad to see you. He glanced with

his large eyes into Balashvs face and immediately looked past him.



It was plain that Balashvs personality did not interest him at all.

Evidently only what took place within his own mind interested him.

Nothing outside himself had any significance for him, because everything

in the world, it seemed to him, depended entirely on his will.



I do not, and did not, desire war, he continued, but it has been

forced on me. Even now (he emphasized the word) I am ready to receive

any explanations you can give me.



And he began clearly and concisely to explain his reasons for

dissatisfaction with the Russian government. Judging by the calmly

moderate and amicable tone in which the French Emperor spoke, Balashv

was firmly persuaded that he wished for peace and intended to enter into

negotiations.



When Napoleon, having finished speaking, looked inquiringly at the

Russian envoy, Balashv began a speech he had prepared long before

Sire! The Emperor, my master... but the sight of the Emperors eyes

bent on him confused him. You are flurriedcompose yourself! Napoleon

seemed to say, as with a scarcely perceptible smile he looked at

Balashvs uniform and sword.



Balashv recovered himself and began to speak. He said that the

Emperor Alexander did not consider Kurkins demand for his passports a

sufficient cause for war that Kurkin had acted on his own initiative

and without his sovereigns assent, that the Emperor Alexander did not

desire war, and had no relations with England.



Not yet! interposed Napoleon, and, as if fearing to give vent to his

feelings, he frowned and nodded slightly as a sign that Balashv might

proceed.



After saying all he had been instructed to say, Balashv added that

the Emperor Alexander wished for peace, but would not enter into

negotiations except on condition that... Here Balashv hesitated

he remembered the words the Emperor Alexander had not written in his

letter, but had specially inserted in the rescript to Saltykv and had

told Balashv to repeat to Napoleon. Balashv remembered these words,

So long as a single armed foe remains on Russian soil, but some

complex feeling restrained him. He could not utter them, though he

wished to do so. He grew confused and said On condition that the

French army retires beyond the Niemen.



Napoleon noticed Balashvs embarrassment when uttering these last

words his face twitched and the calf of his left leg began to quiver

rhythmically. Without moving from where he stood he began speaking in

a louder tone and more hurriedly than before. During the speech that

followed, Balashv, who more than once lowered his eyes, involuntarily

noticed the quivering of Napoleons left leg which increased the more

Napoleon raised his voice.



I desire peace, no less than the Emperor Alexander, he began. Have

I not for eighteen months been doing everything to obtain it? I

have waited eighteen months for explanations. But in order to begin

negotiations, what is demanded of me? he said, frowning and making an

energetic gesture of inquiry with his small white plump hand.



The withdrawal of your army beyond the Niemen, sire, replied Balashv.



The Niemen? repeated Napoleon. So now you want me to retire beyond

the Niemenonly the Niemen? repeated Napoleon, looking straight at

Balashv.



The latter bowed his head respectfully.



Instead of the demand of four months earlier to withdraw from Pomerania,

only a withdrawal beyond the Niemen was now demanded. Napoleon turned

quickly and began to pace the room.



You say the demand now is that I am to withdraw beyond the Niemen

before commencing negotiations, but in just the same way two months ago

the demand was that I should withdraw beyond the Vistula and the Oder,

and yet you are willing to negotiate.



He went in silence from one corner of the room to the other and again

stopped in front of Balashv. Balashv noticed that his left leg was

quivering faster than before and his face seemed petrified in its stern

expression. This quivering of his left leg was a thing Napoleon was

conscious of. The vibration of my left calf is a great sign with me,

he remarked at a later date.



Such demands as to retreat beyond the Vistula and Oder may be made to a

Prince of Baden, but not to me! Napoleon almost screamed, quite to his

own surprise. If you gave me Petersburg and Moscow I could not accept

such conditions. You say I have begun this war! But who first joined his

army? The Emperor Alexander, not I! And you offer me negotiations when I

have expended millions, when you are in alliance with England, and when

your position is a bad one. You offer me negotiations! But what is the

aim of your alliance with England? What has she given you? he continued

hurriedly, evidently no longer trying to show the advantages of peace

and discuss its possibility, but only to prove his own rectitude and

power and Alexanders errors and duplicity.



The commencement of his speech had obviously been made with the

intention of demonstrating the advantages of his position and showing

that he was nevertheless willing to negotiate. But he had begun talking,

and the more he talked the less could he control his words.



The whole purport of his remarks now was evidently to exalt himself and

insult Alexanderjust what he had least desired at the commencement of

the interview.



I hear you have made peace with Turkey?



Balashv bowed his head affirmatively.



Peace has been concluded... he began.



But Napoleon did not let him speak. He evidently wanted to do all the

talking himself, and continued to talk with the sort of eloquence and

unrestrained irritability to which spoiled people are so prone.



Yes, I know you have made peace with the Turks without obtaining

Moldavia and Wallachia I would have given your sovereign those

provinces as I gave him Finland. Yes, he went on, I promised and would

have given the Emperor Alexander Moldavia and Wallachia, and now he

wont have those splendid provinces. Yet he might have united them to

his empire and in a single reign would have extended Russia from the

Gulf of Bothnia to the mouths of the Danube. Catherine the Great could

not have done more, said Napoleon, growing more and more excited as he

paced up and down the room, repeating to Balashv almost the very words

he had used to Alexander himself at Tilsit. All that, he would have

owed to my friendship. Oh, what a splendid reign! he repeated several

times, then paused, drew from his pocket a gold snuffbox, lifted it to

his nose, and greedily sniffed at it.



What a splendid reign the Emperor Alexanders might have been!



He looked compassionately at Balashv, and as soon as the latter tried

to make some rejoinder hastily interrupted him.



What could he wish or look for that he would not have obtained

through my friendship? demanded Napoleon, shrugging his shoulders

in perplexity. But no, he has preferred to surround himself with

my enemies, and with whom? With Steins, Armfeldts, Bennigsens, and

Wintzingerodes! Stein, a traitor expelled from his own country

Armfeldt, a rake and an intriguer Wintzingerode, a fugitive French

subject Bennigsen, rather more of a soldier than the others, but all

the same an incompetent who was unable to do anything in 1807 and who

should awaken terrible memories in the Emperor Alexanders mind....

Granted that were they competent they might be made use of, continued

Napoleonhardly able to keep pace in words with the rush of thoughts

that incessantly sprang up, proving how right and strong he was (in his

perception the two were one and the same)but they are not even that!

They are neither fit for war nor peace! Barclay is said to be the

most capable of them all, but I cannot say so, judging by his first

movements. And what are they doing, all these courtiers? Pfuel proposes,

Armfeldt disputes, Bennigsen considers, and Barclay, called on to act,

does not know what to decide on, and time passes bringing no result.

Bagratin alone is a military man. Hes stupid, but he has experience,

a quick eye, and resolution.... And what role is your young monarch

playing in that monstrous crowd? They compromise him and throw on him

the responsibility for all that happens. A sovereign should not be with

the army unless he is a general! said Napoleon, evidently uttering

these words as a direct challenge to the Emperor. He knew how Alexander

desired to be a military commander.



The campaign began only a week ago, and you havent even been able to

defend Vlna. You are cut in two and have been driven out of the Polish

provinces. Your army is grumbling.



On the contrary, Your Majesty, said Balashv, hardly able to remember

what had been said to him and following these verbal fireworks with

difficulty, the troops are burning with eagerness...



I know everything! Napoleon interrupted him. I know everything. I

know the number of your battalions as exactly as I know my own. You have

not two hundred thousand men, and I have three times that number. I give

you my word of honor, said Napoleon, forgetting that his word of honor

could carry no weightI give you my word of honor that I have five

hundred and thirty thousand men this side of the Vistula. The Turks will

be of no use to you they are worth nothing and have shown it by making

peace with you. As for the Swedesit is their fate to be governed by

mad kings. Their king was insane and they changed him for

anotherBernadotte, who promptly went madfor no Swede would ally

himself with Russia unless he were mad.



Napoleon grinned maliciously and again raised his snuffbox to his nose.



Balashv knew how to reply to each of Napoleons remarks, and would

have done so he continually made the gesture of a man wishing to say

something, but Napoleon always interrupted him. To the alleged insanity

of the Swedes, Balashv wished to reply that when Russia is on her side

Sweden is practically an island but Napoleon gave an angry exclamation

to drown his voice. Napoleon was in that state of irritability in which

a man has to talk, talk, and talk, merely to convince himself that he is

in the right. Balashv began to feel uncomfortable as envoy he feared

to demean his dignity and felt the necessity of replying but, as a man,

he shrank before the transport of groundless wrath that had evidently

seized Napoleon. He knew that none of the words now uttered by Napoleon

had any significance, and that Napoleon himself would be ashamed of them

when he came to his senses. Balashv stood with downcast eyes, looking

at the movements of Napoleons stout legs and trying to avoid meeting

his eyes.



But what do I care about your allies? said Napoleon. I have

alliesthe Poles. There are eighty thousand of them and they fight like

lions. And there will be two hundred thousand of them.



And probably still more perturbed by the fact that he had uttered this

obvious falsehood, and that Balashv still stood silently before him in

the same attitude of submission to fate, Napoleon abruptly turned

round, drew close to Balashvs face, and, gesticulating rapidly and

energetically with his white hands, almost shouted



Know that if you stir up Prussia against me, Ill wipe it off the map

of Europe! he declared, his face pale and distorted by anger, and he

struck one of his small hands energetically with the other. Yes, I

will throw you back beyond the Dvna and beyond the Dnieper, and will

re-erect against you that barrier which it was criminal and blind of

Europe to allow to be destroyed. Yes, that is what will happen to you.

That is what you have gained by alienating me! And he walked silently

several times up and down the room, his fat shoulders twitching.



He put his snuffbox into his waistcoat pocket, took it out again, lifted

it several times to his nose, and stopped in front of Balashv. He

paused, looked ironically straight into Balashvs eyes, and said in a

quiet voice



And yet what a splendid reign your master might have had!



Balashv, feeling it incumbent on him to reply, said that from the

Russian side things did not appear in so gloomy a light. Napoleon was

silent, still looking derisively at him and evidently not listening to

him. Balashv said that in Russia the best results were expected from

the war. Napoleon nodded condescendingly, as if to say, I know its

your duty to say that, but you dont believe it yourself. I have

convinced you.



When Balashv had ended, Napoleon again took out his snuffbox, sniffed

at it, and stamped his foot twice on the floor as a signal. The door

opened, a gentleman-in-waiting, bending respectfully, handed the Emperor

his hat and gloves another brought him a pocket handkerchief. Napoleon,

without giving them a glance, turned to Balashv



Assure the Emperor Alexander from me, said he, taking his hat, that

I am as devoted to him as before I know him thoroughly and very highly

esteem his lofty qualities. I will detain you no longer, General you

shall receive my letter to the Emperor.



And Napoleon went quickly to the door. Everyone in the reception room

rushed forward and descended the staircase.











CHAPTER VII



After all that Napoleon had said to himthose bursts of anger and the

last dryly spoken words I will detain you no longer, General you

shall receive my letter, Balashv felt convinced that Napoleon would

not wish to see him, and would even avoid another meeting with himan

insulted envoyespecially as he had witnessed his unseemly anger. But,

to his surprise, Balashv received, through Duroc, an invitation to dine

with the Emperor that day.



Bessires, Caulaincourt, and Berthier were present at that dinner.



Napoleon met Balashv cheerfully and amiably. He not only showed no sign

of constraint or self-reproach on account of his outburst that morning,

but, on the contrary, tried to reassure Balashv. It was evident that

he had long been convinced that it was impossible for him to make a

mistake, and that in his perception whatever he did was right, not

because it harmonized with any idea of right and wrong, but because he

did it.



The Emperor was in very good spirits after his ride through Vlna, 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 Balashv beside him, Napoleon not only treated

him amiably but behaved as if Balashv were one of his own courtiers,

one of those who sympathized with his plans and ought to rejoice at

his success. In the course of conversation he mentioned Moscow and

questioned Balashv about the Russian capital, not merely as an

interested traveler asks about a new city he intends to visit, but as

if convinced that Balashv, as a Russian, must be flattered by his

curiosity.



How many inhabitants are there in Moscow? How many houses? Is it true

that Moscow is called Holy Moscow? How many churches are there in

Moscow? he asked.



And receiving the reply that there were more than two hundred churches,

he remarked



Why such a quantity of churches?



The Russians are very devout, replied Balashv.



But a large number of monasteries and churches is always a sign of the

backwardness of a people, said Napoleon, turning to Caulaincourt for

appreciation of this remark.



Balashv 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 Majestys pardon, returned Balashv, besides Russia there

is Spain, where there are also many churches and monasteries.



This reply of Balashvs, which hinted at the recent defeats of the

French in Spain, was much appreciated when he related it at Alexanders

court, but it was not much appreciated at Napoleons dinner, where it

passed unnoticed.



The uninterested and perplexed faces of the marshals showed that they

were puzzled as to what Balashvs tone suggested. If there is a point

we dont see it, or it is not at all witty, their expressions seemed

to say. So little was his rejoinder appreciated that Napoleon did not

notice it at all and navely asked Balashv through what towns the

direct road from there to Moscow passed. Balashv, who was on the alert

all through the dinner, replied that just as all roads lead to Rome,

so all roads lead to Moscow there were many roads, and among them the

road through Poltva, which Charles XII chose. Balashv involuntarily

flushed with pleasure at the aptitude of this reply, but hardly had

he uttered the word Poltva before Caulaincourt began speaking of the

badness of the road from Petersburg to Moscow and of his Petersburg

reminiscences.



After dinner they went to drink coffee in Napoleons study, which four

days previously had been that of the Emperor Alexander. Napoleon sat

down, toying with his Svres coffee cup, and motioned Balashv to a

chair beside him.



Napoleon was in that well-known after-dinner mood which, more than

any reasoned cause, makes a man contented with himself and disposed to

consider everyone his friend. It seemed to him that he was surrounded

by men who adored him and he felt convinced that, after his dinner,

Balashv too was his friend and worshiper. Napoleon turned to him with a

pleasant, though slightly ironic, smile.



They tell me this is the room the Emperor Alexander occupied? Strange,

isnt it, General? he said, evidently not doubting that this remark

would be agreeable to his hearer since it went to prove his, Napoleons,

superiority to Alexander.



Balashv made no reply and bowed his head in silence.



Yes. Four days ago in this room, Wintzingerode and Stein were

deliberating, continued Napoleon with the same derisive and

self-confident smile. What I cant understand, he went on, is that

the Emperor Alexander has surrounded himself with my personal enemies.

That I do not... understand. Has he not thought that I may do the same?

and he turned inquiringly to Balashv, and evidently this thought turned

him back on to the track of his mornings anger, which was still fresh

in him.



And let him know that I will do so! said Napoleon, rising and pushing

his cup away with his hand. Ill drive all his Wrttemberg, Baden, and

Weimar relations out of Germany.... Yes. Ill drive them out. Let him

prepare an asylum for them in Russia!



Balashv bowed his head with an air indicating that he would like to

make his bow and leave, and only listened because he could not help

hearing what was said to him. Napoleon did not notice this expression

he treated Balashv not as an envoy from his enemy, but as a man

now fully devoted to him and who must rejoice at his former masters

humiliation.



And why has the Emperor Alexander taken command of the armies? What is

the good of that? War is my profession, but his business is to reign

and not to command armies! Why has he taken on himself such a

responsibility?



Again Napoleon brought out his snuffbox, paced several times up and down

the room in silence, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, went up to

Balashv and with a slight smile, as confidently, quickly, and simply

as if he were doing something not merely important but pleasing to

Balashv, he raised his hand to the forty-year-old Russian generals

face and, taking him by the ear, pulled it gently, smiling with his lips

only.



To have ones ear pulled by the Emperor was considered the greatest

honor and mark of favor at the French court.



Well, adorer and courtier of the Emperor Alexander, why dont you say

anything? said he, as if it was ridiculous, in his presence, to be the

adorer and courtier of anyone but himself, Napoleon. Are the horses

ready for the general? he added, with a slight inclination of his head

in reply to Balashvs bow. Let him have mine, he has a long way to

go!



The letter taken by Balashv was the last Napoleon sent to Alexander.

Every detail of the interview was communicated to the Russian monarch,

and the war began....











CHAPTER VIII



After his interview with Pierre in Moscow, Prince Andrew went to

Petersburg, on business as he told his family, but really to meet

Anatole Kurgin whom he felt it necessary to encounter. On reaching

Petersburg he inquired for Kurgin but the latter had already left the

city. Pierre had warned his brother-in-law that Prince Andrew was on

his track. Anatole Kurgin promptly obtained an appointment from

the Minister of War and went to join the army in Moldavia. While in

Petersburg Prince Andrew met Kutzov, his former commander who was

always well disposed toward him, and Kutzov suggested that he should

accompany him to the army in Moldavia, to which the old general had

been appointed commander in chief. So Prince Andrew, having received an

appointment on the headquarters staff, left for Turkey.



Prince Andrew did not think it proper to write and challenge Kurgin.

He thought that if he challenged him without some fresh cause it might

compromise the young Countess Rostva and so he wanted to meet Kurgin

personally in order to find a fresh pretext for a duel. But he again

failed to meet Kurgin in Turkey, for soon after Prince Andrew arrived,

the latter returned to Russia. In a new country, amid new conditions,

Prince Andrew found life easier to bear. After his betrothed had broken

faith with himwhich he felt the more acutely the more he tried to

conceal its effectsthe surroundings in which he had been happy became

trying to him, and the freedom and independence he had once prized

so highly were still more so. Not only could he no longer think the

thoughts that had first come to him as he lay gazing at the sky on the

field of Austerlitz and had later enlarged upon with Pierre, and which

had filled his solitude at Boguchrovo and then in Switzerland and Rome,

but he even dreaded to recall them and the bright and boundless horizons

they had revealed. He was now concerned only with the nearest practical

matters unrelated to his past interests, and he seized on these the more

eagerly the more those past interests were closed to him. It was as if

that lofty, infinite canopy of heaven that had once towered above him

had suddenly turned into a low, solid vault that weighed him down, in

which all was clear, but nothing eternal or mysterious.



Of the activities that presented themselves to him, army service was the

simplest and most familiar. As a general on duty on Kutzovs staff,

he applied himself to business with zeal and perseverance and surprised

Kutzov by his willingness and accuracy in work. Not having found

Kurgin in Turkey, Prince Andrew did not think it necessary to rush back

to Russia after him, but all the same he knew that however long it might

be before he met Kurgin, despite his contempt for him and despite all

the proofs he deduced to convince himself that it was not worth stooping

to a conflict with himhe knew that when he did meet him he would not

be able to resist calling him out, any more than a ravenous man can help

snatching at food. And the consciousness that the insult was not yet

avenged, that his rancor was still unspent, weighed on his heart and

poisoned the artificial tranquillity which he managed to obtain in

Turkey by means of restless, plodding, and rather vainglorious and

ambitious activity.



In the year 1812, when news of the war with Napoleon reached

Bucharestwhere Kutzov had been living for two months, passing his

days and nights with a Wallachian womanPrince Andrew asked Kutzov

to transfer him to the Western Army. Kutzov, who was already weary of

Bolknskis activity which seemed to reproach his own idleness, very

readily let him go and gave him a mission to Barclay de Tolly.



Before joining the Western Army which was then, in May, encamped at

Drissa, Prince Andrew visited Bald Hills which was directly on his way,

being only two miles off the Smolnsk highroad. During the last three

years there had been so many changes in his life, he had thought, felt,

and seen so much (having traveled both in the east and the west), that

on reaching Bald Hills it struck him as strange and unexpected to find

the way of life there unchanged and still the same in every detail.

He entered through the gates with their stone pillars and drove up

the avenue leading to the house as if he were entering an enchanted,

sleeping castle. The same old stateliness, the same cleanliness, the

same stillness reigned there, and inside there was the same furniture,

the same walls, sounds, and smell, and the same timid faces, only

somewhat older. Princess Mary was still the same timid, plain maiden

getting on in years, uselessly and joylessly passing the best years of

her life in fear and constant suffering. Mademoiselle Bourienne was

the same coquettish, self-satisfied girl, enjoying every moment of her

existence and full of joyous hopes for the future. She had merely become

more self-confident, Prince Andrew thought. Dessalles, the tutor he had

brought from Switzerland, was wearing a coat of Russian cut and

talking broken Russian to the servants, but was still the same narrowly

intelligent, conscientious, and pedantic preceptor. The old prince

had changed in appearance only by the loss of a tooth, which left a

noticeable gap on one side of his mouth in character he was the same as

ever, only showing still more irritability and skepticism as to what was

happening in the world. Little Nicholas alone had changed. He had grown,

become rosier, had curly dark hair, and, when merry and laughing, quite

unconsciously lifted the upper lip of his pretty little mouth just

as the little princess used to do. He alone did not obey the law of

immutability in the enchanted, sleeping castle. But though externally

all remained as of old, the inner relations of all these people had

changed since Prince Andrew had seen them last. The household was

divided into two alien and hostile camps, who changed their habits for

his sake and only met because he was there. To the one camp belonged

the old prince, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the architect to the other

Princess Mary, Dessalles, little Nicholas, and all the old nurses and

maids.



During his stay at Bald Hills all the family dined together, but they

were ill at ease and Prince Andrew felt that he was a visitor for whose

sake an exception was being made and that his presence made them all

feel awkward. Involuntarily feeling this at dinner on the first day, he

was taciturn, and the old prince noticing this also became morosely dumb

and retired to his apartments directly after dinner. In the evening,

when Prince Andrew went to him and, trying to rouse him, began to

tell him of the young Count Kmenskys campaign, the old prince

began unexpectedly to talk about Princess Mary, blaming her for her

superstitions and her dislike of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who, he said,

was the only person really attached to him.



The old prince said that if he was ill it was only because of Princess

Mary that she purposely worried and irritated him, and that by

indulgence and silly talk she was spoiling little Prince Nicholas. The

old prince knew very well that he tormented his daughter and that her

life was very hard, but he also knew that he could not help tormenting

her and that she deserved it. Why does Prince Andrew, who sees this,

say nothing to me about his sister? Does he think me a scoundrel, or an

old fool who, without any reason, keeps his own daughter at a distance

and attaches this Frenchwoman to himself? He doesnt understand, so I

must explain it, and he must hear me out, thought the old prince.

And he began explaining why he could not put up with his daughters

unreasonable character.



If you ask me, said Prince Andrew, without looking up (he was

censuring his father for the first time in his life), I did not wish to

speak about it, but as you ask me I will give you my frank opinion. If

there is any misunderstanding and discord between you and Mary, I cant

blame her for it at all. I know how she loves and respects you. Since

you ask me, continued Prince Andrew, becoming irritableas he was

always liable to do of lateI can only say that if there are any

misunderstandings they are caused by that worthless woman, who is not

fit to be my sisters companion.



The old man at first stared fixedly at his son, and an unnatural smile

disclosed the fresh gap between his teeth to which Prince Andrew could

not get accustomed.



What companion, my dear boy? Eh? Youve already been talking it over!

Eh?



Father, I did not want to judge, said Prince Andrew, in a hard and

bitter tone, but you challenged me, and I have said, and always shall

say, that Mary is not to blame, but those to blamethe one to blameis

that Frenchwoman.



Ah, he has passed judgment... passed judgement! said the old man in a

low voice and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, with some embarrassment,

but then he suddenly jumped up and cried Be off, be off! Let not a

trace of you remain here!...





Prince Andrew wished to leave at once, but Princess Mary persuaded him

to stay another day. That day he did not see his father, who did not

leave his room and admitted no one but Mademoiselle Bourienne and

Tkhon, but asked several times whether his son had gone. Next day,

before leaving, Prince Andrew went to his sons rooms. The boy,

curly-headed like his mother and glowing with health, sat on his knee,

and Prince Andrew began telling him the story of Bluebeard, but fell

into a reverie without finishing the story. He thought not of this

pretty child, his son whom he held on his knee, but of himself. He

sought in himself either remorse for having angered his father or regret

at leaving home for the first time in his life on bad terms with him,

and was horrified to find neither. What meant still more to him was that

he sought and did not find in himself the former tenderness for his son

which he had hoped to reawaken by caressing the boy and taking him on

his knee.



Well, go on! said his son.



Prince Andrew, without replying, put him down from his knee and went out

of the room.



As soon as Prince Andrew had given up his daily occupations, and

especially on returning to the old conditions of life amid which he had

been happy, weariness of life overcame him with its former intensity,

and he hastened to escape from these memories and to find some work as

soon as possible.



So youve decided to go, Andrew? asked his sister.



Thank God that I can, replied Prince Andrew. I am very sorry you

cant.



Why do you say that? replied Princess Mary. Why do you say that,

when you are going to this terrible war, and he is so old? Mademoiselle

Bourienne says he has been asking about you....



As soon as she began to speak of that, her lips trembled and her tears

began to fall. Prince Andrew turned away and began pacing the room.



Ah, my God! my God! When one thinks who and whatwhat trashcan cause

people misery! he said with a malignity that alarmed Princess Mary.



She understood that when speaking of trash he referred not only to

Mademoiselle Bourienne, the cause of her misery, but also to the man who

had ruined his own happiness.



Andrew! One thing I beg, I entreat of you! she said, touching his

elbow and looking at him with eyes that shone through her tears. I

understand you (she looked down). Dont imagine that sorrow is the

work of men. Men are His tools. She looked a little above Prince

Andrews head with the confident, accustomed look with which one looks

at the place where a familiar portrait hangs. Sorrow is sent by Him,

not by men. Men are His instruments, they are not to blame. If you think

someone has wronged you, forget it and forgive! We have no right to

punish. And then you will know the happiness of forgiving.



If I were a woman I would do so, Mary. That is a womans virtue. But

a man should not and cannot forgive and forget, he replied, and though

till that moment he had not been thinking of Kurgin, all his unexpended

anger suddenly swelled up in his heart.



If Mary is already persuading me to forgive, it means that I ought long

ago to have punished him, he thought. And giving her no further reply,

he began thinking of the glad vindictive moment when he would meet

Kurgin who he knew was now in the army.



Princess Mary begged him to stay one day more, saying that she knew how

unhappy her father would be if Andrew left without being reconciled to

him, but Prince Andrew replied that he would probably soon be back again

from the army and would certainly write to his father, but that the

longer he stayed now the more embittered their differences would become.



Good-by, Andrew! Remember that misfortunes come from God, and men are

never to blame, were the last words he heard from his sister when he

took leave of her.



Then it must be so! thought Prince Andrew as he drove out of the

avenue from the house at Bald Hills. She, poor innocent creature, is

left to be victimized by an old man who has outlived his wits. The old

man feels he is guilty, but cannot change himself. My boy is growing up

and rejoices in life, in which like everybody else he will deceive or be

deceived. And I am off to the army. Why? I myself dont know. I want

to meet that man whom I despise, so as to give him a chance to kill and

laugh at me!



These conditions of life had been the same before, but then they were

all connected, while now they had all tumbled to pieces. Only senseless

things, lacking coherence, presented themselves one after another to

Prince Andrews mind.











CHAPTER IX



Prince Andrew reached the general headquarters of the army at the end of

June. The first army, with which was the Emperor, occupied the fortified

camp at Drissa the second army was retreating, trying to effect a

junction with the first one from which it was said to be cut off by

large French forces. Everyone was dissatisfied with the general course

of affairs in the Russian army, but no one anticipated any danger of

invasion of the Russian provinces, and no one thought the war would

extend farther than the western, the Polish, provinces.



Prince Andrew found Barclay de Tolly, to whom he had been assigned, on

the bank of the Drissa. As there was not a single town or large

village in the vicinity of the camp, the immense number of generals and

courtiers accompanying the army were living in the best houses of the

villages on both sides of the river, over a radius of six miles. Barclay

de Tolly was quartered nearly three miles from the Emperor. He received

Bolknski stiffly and coldly and told him in his foreign accent that he

would mention him to the Emperor for a decision as to his employment,

but asked him meanwhile to remain on his staff. Anatole Kurgin, whom

Prince Andrew had hoped to find with the army, was not there. He had

gone to Petersburg, but Prince Andrew was glad to hear this. His mind

was occupied by the interests of the center that was conducting

a gigantic war, and he was glad to be free for a while from the

distraction caused by the thought of Kurgin. During the first four

days, while no duties were required of him, Prince Andrew rode round the

whole fortified camp and, by the aid of his own knowledge and by

talks with experts, tried to form a definite opinion about it. But the

question whether the camp was advantageous or disadvantageous remained

for him undecided. Already from his military experience and what he had

seen in the Austrian campaign, he had come to the conclusion that in

war the most deeply considered plans have no significance and that all

depends on the way unexpected movements of the enemythat cannot be

foreseenare met, and on how and by whom the whole matter is handled.

To clear up this last point for himself, Prince Andrew, utilizing his

position and acquaintances, tried to fathom the character of the control

of the army and of the men and parties engaged in it, and he deduced for

himself the following of the state of affairs.



While the Emperor had still been at Vlna, the forces had been divided

into three armies. First, the army under Barclay de Tolly, secondly, the

army under Bagratin, and thirdly, the one commanded by Tormsov. The

Emperor was with the first army, but not as commander in chief. In the

orders issued it was stated, not that the Emperor would take command,

but only that he would be with the army. The Emperor, moreover, had

with him not a commander in chiefs staff but the imperial headquarters

staff. In attendance on him was the head of the imperial staff,

Quartermaster General Prince Volknski, as well as generals, imperial

aides-de-camp, diplomatic officials, and a large number of foreigners,

but not the army staff. Besides these, there were in attendance on the

Emperor without any definite appointments Arakchev, the ex-Minister

of War Count Bennigsen, the senior general in rank the Grand Duke

Tsarvich Constantine Pvlovich Count Rumyntsev, the Chancellor

Stein, a former Prussian minister Armfeldt, a Swedish general Pfuel,

the chief author of the plan of campaign Paulucci, an adjutant general

and Sardinian migr Wolzogenand many others. Though these men had no

military appointment in the army, their position gave them influence,

and often a corps commander, or even the commander in chief, did not

know in what capacity he was questioned by Bennigsen, the Grand Duke,

Arakchev, or Prince Volknski, or was given this or that advice and did

not know whether a certain order received in the form of advice emanated

from the man who gave it or from the Emperor and whether it had to be

executed or not. But this was only the external condition the essential

significance of the presence of the Emperor and of all these people,

from a courtiers point of view (and in an Emperors vicinity all became

courtiers), was clear to everyone. It was this the Emperor did not

assume the title of commander in chief, but disposed of all the armies

the men around him were his assistants. Arakchev was a faithful

custodian to enforce order and acted as the sovereigns bodyguard.

Bennigsen was a landlord in the Vlna province who appeared to be doing

the honors of the district, but was in reality a good general, useful

as an adviser and ready at hand to replace Barclay. The Grand Duke

was there because it suited him to be. The ex-Minister Stein was there

because his advice was useful and the Emperor Alexander held him in high

esteem personally. Armfeldt virulently hated Napoleon and was a general

full of self-confidence, a quality that always influenced Alexander.

Paulucci was there because he was bold and decided in speech. The

adjutants general were there because they always accompanied the

Emperor, and lastly and chiefly Pfuel was there because he had drawn up

the plan of campaign against Napoleon and, having induced Alexander to

believe in the efficacy of that plan, was directing the whole business

of the war. With Pfuel was Wolzogen, who expressed Pfuels thoughts in

a more comprehensible way than Pfuel himself (who was a harsh, bookish

theorist, self-confident to the point of despising everyone else) was

able to do.



Besides these Russians and foreigners who propounded new and unexpected

ideas every dayespecially the foreigners, who did so with a boldness

characteristic of people employed in a country not their ownthere were

many secondary personages accompanying the army because their principals

were there.



Among the opinions and voices in this immense, restless, brilliant,

and proud sphere, Prince Andrew noticed the following sharply defined

subdivisions of tendencies and parties



The first party consisted of Pfuel and his adherentsmilitary theorists

who believed in a science of war with immutable lawslaws of oblique

movements, outflankings, and so forth. Pfuel and his adherents demanded

a retirement into the depths of the country in accordance with precise

laws defined by a pseudo-theory of war, and they saw only barbarism,

ignorance, or evil intention in every deviation from that theory. To

this party belonged the foreign nobles, Wolzogen, Wintzingerode, and

others, chiefly Germans.



The second party was directly opposed to the first one extreme, as

always happens, was met by representatives of the other. The members of

this party were those who had demanded an advance from Vlna into Poland

and freedom from all prearranged plans. Besides being advocates of bold

action, this section also represented nationalism, which made them still

more one-sided in the dispute. They were Russians Bagratin, Ermlov

(who was beginning to come to the front), and others. At that time a

famous joke of Ermlovs was being circulated, that as a great favor he

had petitioned the Emperor to make him a German. The men of that party,

remembering Suvrov, said that what one had to do was not to reason,

or stick pins into maps, but to fight, beat the enemy, keep him out of

Russia, and not let the army get discouraged.



To the third partyin which the Emperor had most confidencebelonged the

courtiers who tried to arrange compromises between the other two. The

members of this party, chiefly civilians and to whom Arakchev belonged,

thought and said what men who have no convictions but wish to seem to

have some generally say. They said that undoubtedly war, particularly

against such a genius as Bonaparte (they called him Bonaparte now),

needs most deeply devised plans and profound scientific knowledge and

in that respect Pfuel was a genius, but at the same time it had to be

acknowledged that the theorists are often one-sided, and therefore one

should not trust them absolutely, but should also listen to what Pfuels

opponents and practical men of experience in warfare had to say, and

then choose a middle course. They insisted on the retention of the camp

at Drissa, according to Pfuels plan, but on changing the movements of

the other armies. Though, by this course, neither one aim nor the other

could be attained, yet it seemed best to the adherents of this third

party.



Of a fourth opinion the most conspicuous representative was the

Tsarvich, who could not forget his disillusionment at Austerlitz, where

he had ridden out at the head of the Guards, in his casque and cavalry

uniform as to a review, expecting to crush the French gallantly but

unexpectedly finding himself in the front line had narrowly escaped amid

the general confusion. The men of this party had both the quality

and the defect of frankness in their opinions. They feared Napoleon,

recognized his strength and their own weakness, and frankly said so.

They said Nothing but sorrow, shame, and ruin will come of all this!

We have abandoned Vlna and Vtebsk and shall abandon Drissa. The only

reasonable thing left to do is to conclude peace as soon as possible,

before we are turned out of Petersburg.



This view was very general in the upper army circles and found support

also in Petersburg and from the chancellor, Rumyntsev, who, for other

reasons of state, was in favor of peace.



The fifth party consisted of those who were adherents of Barclay de

Tolly, not so much as a man but as minister of war and commander in

chief. Be he what he may (they always began like that), he is an

honest, practical man and we have nobody better. Give him real power,

for war cannot be conducted successfully without unity of command, and

he will show what he can do, as he did in Finland. If our army is well

organized and strong and has withdrawn to Drissa without suffering

any defeats, we owe this entirely to Barclay. If Barclay is now to

be superseded by Bennigsen all will be lost, for Bennigsen showed his

incapacity already in 1807.



The sixth party, the Bennigsenites, said, on the contrary, that at any

rate there was no one more active and experienced than Bennigsen and

twist about as you may, you will have to come to Bennigsen eventually.

Let the others make mistakes now! said they, arguing that our

retirement to Drissa was a most shameful reverse and an unbroken series

of blunders. The more mistakes that are made the better. It will at any

rate be understood all the sooner that things cannot go on like this.

What is wanted is not some Barclay or other, but a man like Bennigsen,

who made his mark in 1807, and to whom Napoleon himself did justicea

man whose authority would be willingly recognized, and Bennigsen is the

only such man.



The seventh party consisted of the sort of people who are always to

be found, especially around young sovereigns, and of whom there were

particularly many round Alexandergenerals and imperial aides-de-camp

passionately devoted to the Emperor, not merely as a monarch but as a

man, adoring him sincerely and disinterestedly, as Rostv had done

in 1805, and who saw in him not only all the virtues but all human

capabilities as well. These men, though enchanted with the sovereign

for refusing the command of the army, yet blamed him for such excessive

modesty, and only desired and insisted that their adored sovereign

should abandon his diffidence and openly announce that he would place

himself at the head of the army, gather round him a commander in chiefs

staff, and, consulting experienced theoreticians and practical men where

necessary, would himself lead the troops, whose spirits would thereby be

raised to the highest pitch.



The eighth and largest group, which in its enormous numbers was to the

others as ninety-nine to one, consisted of men who desired neither

peace nor war, neither an advance nor a defensive camp at the Drissa

or anywhere else, neither Barclay nor the Emperor, neither Pfuel nor

Bennigsen, but only the one most essential thingas much advantage

and pleasure for themselves as possible. In the troubled waters of

conflicting and intersecting intrigues that eddied about the Emperors

headquarters, it was possible to succeed in many ways unthinkable at

other times. A man who simply wished to retain his lucrative post would

today agree with Pfuel, tomorrow with his opponent, and the day after,

merely to avoid responsibility or to please the Emperor, would declare

that he had no opinion at all on the matter. Another who wished to

gain some advantage would attract the Emperors attention by loudly

advocating the very thing the Emperor had hinted at the day before,

and would dispute and shout at the council, beating his breast and

challenging those who did not agree with him to duels, thereby proving

that he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the common good. A third,

in the absence of opponents, between two councils would simply solicit

a special gratuity for his faithful services, well knowing that at that

moment people would be too busy to refuse him. A fourth while seemingly

overwhelmed with work would often come accidentally under the Emperors

eye. A fifth, to achieve his long-cherished aim of dining with the

Emperor, would stubbornly insist on the correctness or falsity of some

newly emerging opinion and for this object would produce arguments more

or less forcible and correct.



All the men of this party were fishing for rubles, decorations, and

promotions, and in this pursuit watched only the weathercock of imperial

favor, and directly they noticed it turning in any direction, this whole

drone population of the army began blowing hard that way, so that it

was all the harder for the Emperor to turn it elsewhere. Amid the

uncertainties of the position, with the menace of serious danger giving

a peculiarly threatening character to everything, amid this vortex of

intrigue, egotism, conflict of views and feelings, and the diversity

of race among these peoplethis eighth and largest party of those

preoccupied with personal interests imparted great confusion and

obscurity to the common task. Whatever question arose, a swarm of these

drones, without having finished their buzzing on a previous theme, flew

over to the new one and by their hum drowned and obscured the voices of

those who were disputing honestly.



From among all these parties, just at the time Prince Andrew reached

the army, another, a ninth party, was being formed and was beginning

to raise its voice. This was the party of the elders, reasonable men

experienced and capable in state affairs, who, without sharing any of

those conflicting opinions, were able to take a detached view of what

was going on at the staff at headquarters and to consider means of

escape from this muddle, indecision, intricacy, and weakness.



The men of this party said and thought that what was wrong resulted

chiefly from the Emperors presence in the army with his military court

and from the consequent presence there of an indefinite, conditional,

and unsteady fluctuation of relations, which is in place at court but

harmful in an army that a sovereign should reign but not command the

army, and that the only way out of the position would be for the Emperor

and his court to leave the army that the mere presence of the Emperor

paralyzed the action of fifty thousand men required to secure his

personal safety, and that the worst commander in chief, if independent,

would be better than the very best one trammeled by the presence and

authority of the monarch.



Just at the time Prince Andrew was living unoccupied at Drissa,

Shishkv, the Secretary of State and one of the chief representatives of

this party, wrote a letter to the Emperor which Arakchev and Balashv

agreed to sign. In this letter, availing himself of permission given him

by the Emperor to discuss the general course of affairs, he respectfully

suggestedon the plea that it was necessary for the sovereign to arouse

a warlike spirit in the people of the capitalthat the Emperor should

leave the army.



That arousing of the people by their sovereign and his call to them to

defend their countrythe very incitement which was the chief cause of

Russias triumph in so far as it was produced by the Tsars personal

presence in Moscowwas suggested to the Emperor, and accepted by him, as

a pretext for quitting the army.











CHAPTER X



This letter had not yet been presented to the Emperor when Barclay, one

day at dinner, informed Bolknski that the sovereign wished to see him

personally, to question him about Turkey, and that Prince Andrew was to

present himself at Bennigsens quarters at six that evening.



News was received at the Emperors quarters that very day of a fresh

movement by Napoleon which might endanger the armynews subsequently

found to be false. And that morning Colonel Michaud had ridden round the

Drissa fortifications with the Emperor and had pointed out to him that

this fortified camp constructed by Pfuel, and till then considered

a chef-doeuvre of tactical science which would ensure Napoleons

destruction, was an absurdity, threatening the destruction of the

Russian army.



Prince Andrew arrived at Bennigsens quartersa country gentlemans

house of moderate size, situated on the very banks of the river. Neither

Bennigsen nor the Emperor was there, but Chernshev, the Emperors

aide-de-camp, received Bolknski and informed him that the Emperor,

accompanied by General Bennigsen and Marquis Paulucci, had gone a second

time that day to inspect the fortifications of the Drissa camp, of the

suitability of which serious doubts were beginning to be felt.



Chernshev was sitting at a window in the first room with a French novel

in his hand. This room had probably been a music room there was still

an organ in it on which some rugs were piled, and in one corner stood

the folding bedstead of Bennigsens adjutant. This adjutant was also

there and sat dozing on the rolled-up bedding, evidently exhausted by

work or by feasting. Two doors led from the room, one straight on into

what had been the drawing room, and another, on the right, to the study.

Through the first door came the sound of voices conversing in German

and occasionally in French. In that drawing room were gathered, by

the Emperors wish, not a military council (the Emperor preferred

indefiniteness), but certain persons whose opinions he wished to know in

view of the impending difficulties. It was not a council of war, but,

as it were, a council to elucidate certain questions for the Emperor

personally. To this semicouncil had been invited the Swedish General

Armfeldt, Adjutant General Wolzogen, Wintzingerode (whom Napoleon had

referred to as a renegade French subject), Michaud, Toll, Count Stein

who was not a military man at all, and Pfuel himself, who, as Prince

Andrew had heard, was the mainspring of the whole affair. Prince Andrew

had an opportunity of getting a good look at him, for Pfuel arrived soon

after himself and, in passing through to the drawing room, stopped a

minute to speak to Chernshev.



At first sight, Pfuel, in his ill-made uniform of a Russian general,

which fitted him badly like a fancy costume, seemed familiar to Prince

Andrew, though he saw him now for the first time. There was about

him something of Weyrother, Mack, and Schmidt, and many other German

theorist-generals whom Prince Andrew had seen in 1805, but he was more

typical than any of them. Prince Andrew had never yet seen a German

theorist in whom all the characteristics of those others were united to

such an extent.



Pfuel was short and very thin but broad-boned, of coarse, robust build,

broad in the hips, and with prominent shoulder blades. His face was

much wrinkled and his eyes deep set. His hair had evidently been hastily

brushed smooth in front of the temples, but stuck up behind in quaint

little tufts. He entered the room, looking restlessly and angrily

around, as if afraid of everything in that large apartment. Awkwardly

holding up his sword, he addressed Chernshev and asked in German where

the Emperor was. One could see that he wished to pass through the rooms

as quickly as possible, finish with the bows and greetings, and sit down

to business in front of a map, where he would feel at home. He nodded

hurriedly in reply to Chernshev, and smiled ironically on hearing that

the sovereign was inspecting the fortifications that he, Pfuel, had

planned in accord with his theory. He muttered something to himself

abruptly and in a bass voice, as self-assured Germans doit might

have been stupid fellow... or the whole affair will be ruined, or

something absurd will come of it.... Prince Andrew did not catch

what he said and would have passed on, but Chernshev introduced him to

Pfuel, remarking that Prince Andrew was just back from Turkey where the

war had terminated so fortunately. Pfuel barely glancednot so much at

Prince Andrew as past himand said, with a laugh That must have been a

fine tactical war and, laughing contemptuously, went on into the room

from which the sound of voices was heard.



Pfuel, always inclined to be irritably sarcastic, was particularly

disturbed that day, evidently by the fact that they had dared to inspect

and criticize his camp in his absence. From this short interview with

Pfuel, Prince Andrew, thanks to his Austerlitz experiences, was able to

form a clear conception of the man. Pfuel was one of those hopelessly

and immutably self-confident men, self-confident to the point of

martyrdom as only Germans are, because only Germans are self-confident

on the basis of an abstract notionscience, that is, the supposed

knowledge of absolute truth. A Frenchman is self-assured because he

regards himself personally, both in mind and body, as irresistibly

attractive to men and women. An Englishman is self-assured, as being a

citizen of the best-organized state in the world, and therefore as an

Englishman always knows what he should do and knows that all he does as

an Englishman is undoubtedly correct. An Italian is self-assured because

he is excitable and easily forgets himself and other people. A Russian

is self-assured just because he knows nothing and does not want to know

anything, since he does not believe that anything can be known. The

Germans self-assurance is worst of all, stronger and more

repulsive than any other, because he imagines that he knows the

truthsciencewhich he himself has invented but which is for him the

absolute truth.



Pfuel was evidently of that sort. He had a sciencethe theory of oblique

movements deduced by him from the history of Frederick the Greats wars,

and all he came across in the history of more recent warfare seemed to

him absurd and barbarousmonstrous collisions in which so many blunders

were committed by both sides that these wars could not be called wars,

they did not accord with the theory, and therefore could not serve as

material for science.



In 1806 Pfuel had been one of those responsible, for the plan of

campaign that ended in Jena and Auerstdt, but he did not see the least

proof of the fallibility of his theory in the disasters of that war. On

the contrary, the deviations made from his theory were, in his opinion,

the sole cause of the whole disaster, and with characteristically

gleeful sarcasm he would remark, There, I said the whole affair would

go to the devil! Pfuel was one of those theoreticians who so love

their theory that they lose sight of the theorys objectits practical

application. His love of theory made him hate everything practical, and

he would not listen to it. He was even pleased by failures, for failures

resulting from deviations in practice from the theory only proved to him

the accuracy of his theory.



He said a few words to Prince Andrew and Chernshev about the present

war, with the air of a man who knows beforehand that all will go wrong,

and who is not displeased that it should be so. The unbrushed tufts

of hair sticking up behind and the hastily brushed hair on his temples

expressed this most eloquently.



He passed into the next room, and the deep, querulous sounds of his

voice were at once heard from there.











CHAPTER XI



Prince Andrews eyes were still following Pfuel out of the room when

Count Bennigsen entered hurriedly, and nodding to Bolknski, but not

pausing, went into the study, giving instructions to his adjutant as he

went. The Emperor was following him, and Bennigsen had hastened on

to make some preparations and to be ready to receive the sovereign.

Chernshev and Prince Andrew went out into the porch, where the Emperor,

who looked fatigued, was dismounting. Marquis Paulucci was talking to

him with particular warmth and the Emperor, with his head bent to the

left, was listening with a dissatisfied air. The Emperor moved forward

evidently wishing to end the conversation, but the flushed and excited

Italian, oblivious of decorum, followed him and continued to speak.



And as for the man who advised forming this campthe Drissa camp, said

Paulucci, as the Emperor mounted the steps and noticing Prince Andrew

scanned his unfamiliar face, as to that person, sire... continued

Paulucci, desperately, apparently unable to restrain himself, the man

who advised the Drissa campI see no alternative but the lunatic asylum

or the gallows!



Without heeding the end of the Italians remarks, and as though

not hearing them, the Emperor, recognizing Bolknski, addressed him

graciously.



I am very glad to see you! Go in there where they are meeting, and wait

for me.



The Emperor went into the study. He was followed by Prince Peter

Mikhylovich Volknski and Baron Stein, and the door closed behind them.

Prince Andrew, taking advantage of the Emperors permission, accompanied

Paulucci, whom he had known in Turkey, into the drawing room where the

council was assembled.



Prince Peter Mikhylovich Volknski occupied the position, as it were,

of chief of the Emperors staff. He came out of the study into the

drawing room with some maps which he spread on a table, and put

questions on which he wished to hear the opinion of the gentlemen

present. What had happened was that news (which afterwards proved to be

false) had been received during the night of a movement by the French to

outflank the Drissa camp.



The first to speak was General Armfeldt who, to meet the difficulty that

presented itself, unexpectedly proposed a perfectly new position

away from the Petersburg and Moscow roads. The reason for this was

inexplicable (unless he wished to show that he, too, could have an

opinion), but he urged that at this point the army should unite and

there await the enemy. It was plain that Armfeldt had thought out that

plan long ago and now expounded it not so much to answer the questions

putwhich, in fact, his plan did not answeras to avail himself of the

opportunity to air it. It was one of the millions of proposals, one as

good as another, that could be made as long as it was quite unknown

what character the war would take. Some disputed his arguments, others

defended them. Young Count Toll objected to the Swedish generals views

more warmly than anyone else, and in the course of the dispute drew from

his side pocket a well-filled notebook, which he asked permission to

read to them. In these voluminous notes Toll suggested another scheme,

totally different from Armfeldts or Pfuels plan of campaign. In answer

to Toll, Paulucci suggested an advance and an attack, which, he urged,

could alone extricate us from the present uncertainty and from the trap

(as he called the Drissa camp) in which we were situated.



During all these discussions Pfuel and his interpreter, Wolzogen

(his bridge in court relations), were silent. Pfuel only snorted

contemptuously and turned away, to show that he would never demean

himself by replying to such nonsense as he was now hearing. So when

Prince Volknski, who was in the chair, called on him to give his

opinion, he merely said



Why ask me? General Armfeldt has proposed a splendid position with an

exposed rear, or why not this Italian gentlemans attackvery fine, or

a retreat, also good! Why ask me? said he. Why, you yourselves know

everything better than I do.



But when Volknski said, with a frown, that it was in the Emperors name

that he asked his opinion, Pfuel rose and, suddenly growing animated,

began to speak



Everything has been spoiled, everything muddled, everybody thought they

knew better than I did, and now you come to me! How mend matters? There

is nothing to mend! The principles laid down by me must be strictly

adhered to, said he, drumming on the table with his bony fingers. What

is the difficulty? Nonsense, childishness!



He went up to the map and speaking rapidly began proving that no

eventuality could alter the efficiency of the Drissa camp, that

everything had been foreseen, and that if the enemy were really going to

outflank it, the enemy would inevitably be destroyed.



Paulucci, who did not know German, began questioning him in French.

Wolzogen came to the assistance of his chief, who spoke French badly,

and began translating for him, hardly able to keep pace with Pfuel, who

was rapidly demonstrating that not only all that had happened, but all

that could happen, had been foreseen in his scheme, and that if there

were now any difficulties the whole fault lay in the fact that his plan

had not been precisely executed. He kept laughing sarcastically, he

demonstrated, and at last contemptuously ceased to demonstrate, like

a mathematician who ceases to prove in various ways the accuracy of

a problem that has already been proved. Wolzogen took his place and

continued to explain his views in French, every now and then turning to

Pfuel and saying, Is it not so, your excellency? But Pfuel, like a man

heated in a fight who strikes those on his own side, shouted angrily at

his own supporter, Wolzogen



Well, of course, what more is there to explain?



Paulucci and Michaud both attacked Wolzogen simultaneously in French.

Armfeldt addressed Pfuel in German. Toll explained to Volknski in

Russian. Prince Andrew listened and observed in silence.



Of all these men Prince Andrew sympathized most with Pfuel, angry,

determined, and absurdly self-confident as he was. Of all those present,

evidently he alone was not seeking anything for himself, nursed no

hatred against anyone, and only desired that the plan, formed on a

theory arrived at by years of toil, should be carried out. He was

ridiculous, and unpleasantly sarcastic, but yet he inspired involuntary

respect by his boundless devotion to an idea. Besides this, the remarks

of all except Pfuel had one common trait that had not been noticeable

at the council of war in 1805 there was now a panic fear of Napoleons

genius, which, though concealed, was noticeable in every rejoinder.

Everything was assumed to be possible for Napoleon, they expected him

from every side, and invoked his terrible name to shatter each others

proposals. Pfuel alone seemed to consider Napoleon a barbarian like

everyone else who opposed his theory. But besides this feeling of

respect, Pfuel evoked pity in Prince Andrew. From the tone in which

the courtiers addressed him and the way Paulucci had allowed himself to

speak of him to the Emperor, but above all from a certain desperation

in Pfuels own expressions, it was clear that the others knew, and Pfuel

himself felt, that his fall was at hand. And despite his self-confidence

and grumpy German sarcasm he was pitiable, with his hair smoothly

brushed on the temples and sticking up in tufts behind. Though he

concealed the fact under a show of irritation and contempt, he was

evidently in despair that the sole remaining chance of verifying his

theory by a huge experiment and proving its soundness to the whole world

was slipping away from him.



The discussions continued a long time, and the longer they lasted

the more heated became the disputes, culminating in shouts and

personalities, and the less was it possible to arrive at any general

conclusion from all that had been said. Prince Andrew, listening to this

polyglot talk and to these surmises, plans, refutations, and shouts,

felt nothing but amazement at what they were saying. A thought that had

long since and often occurred to him during his military activitiesthe

idea that there is not and cannot be any science of war, and that

therefore there can be no such thing as a military geniusnow appeared

to him an obvious truth. What theory and science is possible about a

matter the conditions and circumstances of which are unknown and cannot

be defined, especially when the strength of the acting forces cannot be

ascertained? No one was or is able to foresee in what condition our or

the enemys armies will be in a days time, and no one can gauge the

force of this or that detachment. Sometimeswhen there is not a coward

at the front to shout, We are cut off! and start running, but a brave

and jolly lad who shouts, Hurrah!a detachment of five thousand

is worth thirty thousand, as at Schn Grabern, while at times fifty

thousand run from eight thousand, as at Austerlitz. What science can

there be in a matter in which, as in all practical matters, nothing

can be defined and everything depends on innumerable conditions, the

significance of which is determined at a particular moment which arrives

no one knows when? Armfeldt says our army is cut in half, and Paulucci

says we have got the French army between two fires Michaud says that

the worthlessness of the Drissa camp lies in having the river behind it,

and Pfuel says that is what constitutes its strength Toll proposes

one plan, Armfeldt another, and they are all good and all bad, and the

advantages of any suggestions can be seen only at the moment of trial.

And why do they all speak of a military genius? Is a man a genius who

can order bread to be brought up at the right time and say who is to go

to the right and who to the left? It is only because military men are

invested with pomp and power and crowds of sychophants flatter power,

attributing to it qualities of genius it does not possess. The best

generals I have known were, on the contrary, stupid or absent-minded

men. Bagratin was the best, Napoleon himself admitted that. And of

Bonaparte himself! I remember his limited, self-satisfied face on the

field of Austerlitz. Not only does a good army commander not need any

special qualities, on the contrary he needs the absence of the highest

and best human attributeslove, poetry, tenderness, and philosophic

inquiring doubt. He should be limited, firmly convinced that what he

is doing is very important (otherwise he will not have sufficient

patience), and only then will he be a brave leader. God forbid that he

should be humane, should love, or pity, or think of what is just

and unjust. It is understandable that a theory of their genius was

invented for them long ago because they have power! The success of a

military action depends not on them, but on the man in the ranks who

shouts, We are lost! or who shouts, Hurrah! And only in the ranks

can one serve with assurance of being useful.



So thought Prince Andrew as he listened to the talking, and he roused

himself only when Paulucci called him and everyone was leaving.



At the review next day the Emperor asked Prince Andrew where he would

like to serve, and Prince Andrew lost his standing in court circles

forever by not asking to remain attached to the sovereigns person, but

for permission to serve in the army.











CHAPTER XII



Before the beginning of the campaign, Rostv had received a letter from

his parents in which they told him briefly of Natshas illness and the

breaking off of her engagement to Prince Andrew (which they explained by

Natshas having rejected him) and again asked Nicholas to retire from

the army and return home. On receiving this letter, Nicholas did not

even make any attempt to get leave of absence or to retire from the

army, but wrote to his parents that he was sorry Natsha was ill and her

engagement broken off, and that he would do all he could to meet their

wishes. To Snya he wrote separately.



Adored friend of my soul! he wrote. Nothing but honor could keep

me from returning to the country. But now, at the commencement of the

campaign, I should feel dishonored, not only in my comrades eyes but

in my own, if I preferred my own happiness to my love and duty to the

Fatherland. But this shall be our last separation. Believe me, directly

the war is over, if I am still alive and still loved by you, I will

throw up everything and fly to you, to press you forever to my ardent

breast.



It was, in fact, only the commencement of the campaign that prevented

Rostv from returning home as he had promised and marrying Snya. The

autumn in Otrdnoe with the hunting, and the winter with the Christmas

holidays and Snyas love, had opened out to him a vista of tranquil

rural joys and peace such as he had never known before, and which now

allured him. A splendid wife, children, a good pack of hounds, a

dozen leashes of smart borzois, agriculture, neighbors, service by

election... thought he. But now the campaign was beginning, and he had

to remain with his regiment. And since it had to be so, Nicholas Rostv,

as was natural to him, felt contented with the life he led in the

regiment and was able to find pleasure in that life.



On his return from his furlough Nicholas, having been joyfully welcomed

by his comrades, was sent to obtain remounts and brought back from the

Ukraine excellent horses which pleased him and earned him commendation

from his commanders. During his absence he had been promoted captain,

and when the regiment was put on war footing with an increase in

numbers, he was again allotted his old squadron.



The campaign began, the regiment was moved into Poland on double pay,

new officers arrived, new men and horses, and above all everybody was

infected with the merrily excited mood that goes with the commencement

of a war, and Rostv, conscious of his advantageous position in the

regiment, devoted himself entirely to the pleasures and interests of

military service, though he knew that sooner or later he would have to

relinquish them.



The troops retired from Vlna for various complicated reasons of state,

political and strategic. Each step of the retreat was accompanied by

a complicated interplay of interests, arguments, and passions at

headquarters. For the Pvlograd hussars, however, the whole of this

retreat during the finest period of summer and with sufficient supplies

was a very simple and agreeable business.



It was only at headquarters that there was depression, uneasiness, and

intriguing in the body of the army they did not ask themselves where

they were going or why. If they regretted having to retreat, it was only

because they had to leave billets they had grown accustomed to, or some

pretty young Polish lady. If the thought that things looked bad chanced

to enter anyones head, he tried to be as cheerful as befits a good

soldier and not to think of the general trend of affairs, but only of

the task nearest to hand. First they camped gaily before Vlna, making

acquaintance with the Polish landowners, preparing for reviews and being

reviewed by the Emperor and other high commanders. Then came an order

to retreat to Sventsyni and destroy any provisions they could not carry

away with them. Sventsyni was remembered by the hussars only as the

drunken camp, a name the whole army gave to their encampment there,

and because many complaints were made against the troops, who, taking

advantage of the order to collect provisions, took also horses,

carriages, and carpets from the Polish proprietors. Rostv remembered

Sventsyni, because on the first day of their arrival at that small town

he changed his sergeant major and was unable to manage all the drunken

men of his squadron who, unknown to him, had appropriated five barrels

of old beer. From Sventsyni they retired farther and farther to Drissa,

and thence again beyond Drissa, drawing near to the frontier of Russia

proper.



On the thirteenth of July the Pvlograds took part in a serious action

for the first time.



On the twelfth of July, on the eve of that action, there was a heavy

storm of rain and hail. In general, the summer of 1812 was remarkable

for its storms.



The two Pvlograd squadrons were bivouacking on a field of rye, which

was already in ear but had been completely trodden down by cattle and

horses. The rain was descending in torrents, and Rostv, with a young

officer named Ilyn, his protg, was sitting in a hastily constructed

shelter. An officer of their regiment, with long mustaches extending

onto his cheeks, who after riding to the staff had been overtaken by the

rain, entered Rostvs shelter.



I have come from the staff, Count. Have you heard of Ravskis

exploit?



And the officer gave them details of the Saltnov battle, which he had

heard at the staff.



Rostv, smoking his pipe and turning his head about as the water

trickled down his neck, listened inattentively, with an occasional

glance at Ilyn, who was pressing close to him. This officer, a lad

of sixteen who had recently joined the regiment, was now in the same

relation to Nicholas that Nicholas had been to Densov seven years

before. Ilyn tried to imitate Rostv in everything and adored him as a

girl might have done.



Zdrzhinski, the officer with the long mustache, spoke grandiloquently of

the Saltnov dam being a Russian Thermopylae, and of how a deed worthy

of antiquity had been performed by General Ravski. He recounted how

Ravski had led his two sons onto the dam under terrific fire and had

charged with them beside him. Rostv heard the story and not only said

nothing to encourage Zdrzhinskis enthusiasm but, on the contrary,

looked like a man ashamed of what he was hearing, though with no

intention of contradicting it. Since the campaigns of Austerlitz and

of 1807 Rostv knew by experience that men always lie when describing

military exploits, as he himself had done when recounting them besides

that, he had experience enough to know that nothing happens in war at

all as we can imagine or relate it. And so he did not like Zdrzhinskis

tale, nor did he like Zdrzhinski himself who, with his mustaches

extending over his cheeks, bent low over the face of his hearer, as was

his habit, and crowded Rostv in the narrow shanty. Rostv looked at him

in silence. In the first place, there must have been such a confusion

and crowding on the dam that was being attacked that if Ravski did lead

his sons there, it could have had no effect except perhaps on some dozen

men nearest to him, thought he, the rest could not have seen how or

with whom Ravski came onto the dam. And even those who did see it

would not have been much stimulated by it, for what had they to do with

Ravskis tender paternal feelings when their own skins were in danger?

And besides, the fate of the Fatherland did not depend on whether

they took the Saltnov dam or not, as we are told was the case at

Thermopylae. So why should he have made such a sacrifice? And why expose

his own children in the battle? I would not have taken my brother Ptya

there, or even Ilyn, whos a stranger to me but a nice lad, but would

have tried to put them somewhere under cover, Nicholas continued

to think, as he listened to Zdrzhinski. But he did not express his

thoughts, for in such matters, too, he had gained experience. He knew

that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms and so one had to

pretend not to doubt it. And he acted accordingly.



I cant stand this any more, said Ilyn, noticing that Rostv did not

relish Zdrzhinskis conversation. My stockings and shirt... and the

water is running on my seat! Ill go and look for shelter. The rain

seems less heavy.



Ilyn went out and Zdrzhinski rode away.



Five minutes later Ilyn, splashing through the mud, came running back

to the shanty.



Hurrah! Rostv, come quick! Ive found it! About two hundred yards away

theres a tavern where ours have already gathered. We can at least get

dry there, and Mary Hendrkhovnas there.



Mary Hendrkhovna was the wife of the regimental doctor, a pretty young

German woman he had married in Poland. The doctor, whether from lack

of means or because he did not like to part from his young wife in

the early days of their marriage, took her about with him wherever the

hussar regiment went and his jealousy had become a standing joke among

the hussar officers.



Rostv threw his cloak over his shoulders, shouted to Lavrshka to

follow with the things, andnow slipping in the mud, now splashing right

through itset off with Ilyn in the lessening rain and the darkness

that was occasionally rent by distant lightning.



Rostv, where are you?



Here. What lightning! they called to one another.











CHAPTER XIII



In the tavern, before which stood the doctors covered cart, there were

already some five officers. Mary Hendrkhovna, a plump little blonde

German, in a dressing jacket and nightcap, was sitting on a broad bench

in the front corner. Her husband, the doctor, lay asleep behind her.

Rostv and Ilyn, on entering the room, were welcomed with merry shouts

and laughter.



Dear me, how jolly we are! said Rostv laughing.



And why do you stand there gaping?



What swells they are! Why, the water streams from them! Dont make our

drawing room so wet.



Dont mess Mary Hendrkhovnas dress! cried other voices.



Rostv and Ilyn hastened to find a corner where they could change into

dry clothes without offending Mary Hendrkhovnas modesty. They were

going into a tiny recess behind a partition to change, but found it

completely filled by three officers who sat playing cards by the light

of a solitary candle on an empty box, and these officers would on no

account yield their position. Mary Hendrkhovna obliged them with the

loan of a petticoat to be used as a curtain, and behind that screen

Rostv and Ilyn, helped by Lavrshka who had brought their kits,

changed their wet things for dry ones.



A fire was made up in the dilapidated brick stove. A board was found,

fixed on two saddles and covered with a horsecloth, a small samovar was

produced and a cellaret and half a bottle of rum, and having asked Mary

Hendrkhovna to preside, they all crowded round her. One offered her a

clean handkerchief to wipe her charming hands, another spread a jacket

under her little feet to keep them from the damp, another hung his coat

over the window to keep out the draft, and yet another waved the flies

off her husbands face, lest he should wake up.



Leave him alone, said Mary Hendrkhovna, smiling timidly and happily.

He is sleeping well as it is, after a sleepless night.



Oh, no, Mary Hendrkhovna, replied the officer, one must look after

the doctor. Perhaps hell take pity on me someday, when it comes to

cutting off a leg or an arm for me.



There were only three tumblers, the water was so muddy that one could

not make out whether the tea was strong or weak, and the samovar held

only six tumblers of water, but this made it all the pleasanter to

take turns in order of seniority to receive ones tumbler from Mary

Hendrkhovnas plump little hands with their short and not overclean

nails. All the officers appeared to be, and really were, in love with

her that evening. Even those playing cards behind the partition soon

left their game and came over to the samovar, yielding to the general

mood of courting Mary Hendrkhovna. She, seeing herself surrounded by

such brilliant and polite young men, beamed with satisfaction, try as

she might to hide it, and perturbed as she evidently was each time her

husband moved in his sleep behind her.



There was only one spoon, sugar was more plentiful than anything

else, but it took too long to dissolve, so it was decided that Mary

Hendrkhovna should stir the sugar for everyone in turn. Rostv received

his tumbler, and adding some rum to it asked Mary Hendrkhovna to stir

it.



But you take it without sugar? she said, smiling all the time, as if

everything she said and everything the others said was very amusing and

had a double meaning.



It is not the sugar I want, but only that your little hand should stir

my tea.



Mary Hendrkhovna assented and began looking for the spoon which someone

meanwhile had pounced on.



Use your finger, Mary Hendrkhovna, it will be still nicer, said

Rostv.



Too hot! she replied, blushing with pleasure.



Ilyn put a few drops of rum into the bucket of water and brought it to

Mary Hendrkhovna, asking her to stir it with her finger.



This is my cup, said he. Only dip your finger in it and Ill drink it

all up.



When they had emptied the samovar, Rostv took a pack of cards and

proposed that they should play Kings with Mary Hendrkhovna. They drew

lots to settle who should make up her set. At Rostvs suggestion it

was agreed that whoever became King should have the right to kiss Mary

Hendrkhovnas hand, and that the Booby should go to refill and reheat

the samovar for the doctor when the latter awoke.



Well, but supposing Mary Hendrkhovna is King? asked Ilyn.



As it is, she is Queen, and her word is law!



They had hardly begun to play before the doctors disheveled head

suddenly appeared from behind Mary Hendrkhovna. He had been awake for

some time, listening to what was being said, and evidently found nothing

entertaining or amusing in what was going on. His face was sad and

depressed. Without greeting the officers, he scratched himself and asked

to be allowed to pass as they were blocking the way. As soon as he

had left the room all the officers burst into loud laughter and Mary

Hendrkhovna blushed till her eyes filled with tears and thereby became

still more attractive to them. Returning from the yard, the doctor

told his wife (who had ceased to smile so happily, and looked at him in

alarm, awaiting her sentence) that the rain had ceased and they must go

to sleep in their covered cart, or everything in it would be stolen.



But Ill send an orderly.... Two of them! said Rostv. What an idea,

doctor!



Ill stand guard on it myself! said Ilyn.



No, gentlemen, you have had your sleep, but I have not slept for two

nights, replied the doctor, and he sat down morosely beside his wife,

waiting for the game to end.



Seeing his gloomy face as he frowned at his wife, the officers grew

still merrier, and some of them could not refrain from laughter, for

which they hurriedly sought plausible pretexts. When he had gone, taking

his wife with him, and had settled down with her in their covered cart,

the officers lay down in the tavern, covering themselves with their

wet cloaks, but they did not sleep for a long time now they exchanged

remarks, recalling the doctors uneasiness and his wifes delight, now

they ran out into the porch and reported what was taking place in the

covered trap. Several times Rostv, covering his head, tried to go

to sleep, but some remark would arouse him and conversation would be

resumed, to the accompaniment of unreasoning, merry, childlike laughter.











CHAPTER XIV



It was nearly three oclock but no one was yet asleep, when the

quartermaster appeared with an order to move on to the little town

of Ostrvna. Still laughing and talking, the officers began hurriedly

getting ready and again boiled some muddy water in the samovar. But

Rostv went off to his squadron without waiting for tea. Day was

breaking, the rain had ceased, and the clouds were dispersing. It felt

damp and cold, especially in clothes that were still moist. As they left

the tavern in the twilight of the dawn, Rostv and Ilyn both glanced

under the wet and glistening leather hood of the doctors cart, from

under the apron of which his feet were sticking out, and in the middle

of which his wifes nightcap was visible and her sleepy breathing

audible.



She really is a dear little thing, said Rostv to Ilyn, who was

following him.



A charming woman! said Ilyn, with all the gravity of a boy of

sixteen.



Half an hour later the squadron was lined up on the road. The command

was heard to mount and the soldiers crossed themselves and mounted.

Rostv riding in front gave the order Forward! and the hussars, with

clanking sabers and subdued talk, their horses hoofs splashing in the

mud, defiled in fours and moved along the broad road planted with birch

trees on each side, following the infantry and a battery that had gone

on in front.



Tattered, blue-purple clouds, reddening in the east, were scudding

before the wind. It was growing lighter and lighter. That curly grass

which always grows by country roadsides became clearly visible, still

wet with the nights rain the drooping branches of the birches, also

wet, swayed in the wind and flung down bright drops of water to one

side. The soldiers faces were more and more clearly visible. Rostv,

always closely followed by Ilyn, rode along the side of the road

between two rows of birch trees.



When campaigning, Rostv allowed himself the indulgence of riding not

a regimental but a Cossack horse. A judge of horses and a sportsman,

he had lately procured himself a large, fine, mettlesome, Donts horse,

dun-colored, with light mane and tail, and when he rode it no one could

outgallop him. To ride this horse was a pleasure to him, and he thought

of the horse, of the morning, of the doctors wife, but not once of the

impending danger.



Formerly, when going into action, Rostv had felt afraid now he had

not the least feeling of fear. He was fearless, not because he had grown

used to being under fire (one cannot grow used to danger), but because

he had learned how to manage his thoughts when in danger. He had grown

accustomed when going into action to think about anything but what would

seem most likely to interest himthe impending danger. During the

first period of his service, hard as he tried and much as he reproached

himself with cowardice, he had not been able to do this, but with time

it had come of itself. Now he rode beside Ilyn under the birch trees,

occasionally plucking leaves from a branch that met his hand, sometimes

touching his horses side with his foot, or, without turning round,

handing a pipe he had finished to an hussar riding behind him, with as

calm and careless an air as though he were merely out for a ride. He

glanced with pity at the excited face of Ilyn, who talked much and in

great agitation. He knew from experience the tormenting expectation of

terror and death the cornet was suffering and knew that only time could

help him.



As soon as the sun appeared in a clear strip of sky beneath the clouds,

the wind fell, as if it dared not spoil the beauty of the summer morning

after the storm drops still continued to fall, but vertically now, and

all was still. The whole sun appeared on the horizon and disappeared

behind a long narrow cloud that hung above it. A few minutes later it

reappeared brighter still from behind the top of the cloud, tearing its

edge. Everything grew bright and glittered. And with that light, and as

if in reply to it, came the sound of guns ahead of them.



Before Rostv had had time to consider and determine the distance of

that firing, Count Ostermann-Tolstys adjutant came galloping from

Vtebsk with orders to advance at a trot along the road.



The squadron overtook and passed the infantry and the batterywhich had

also quickened their pacerode down a hill, and passing through an empty

and deserted village again ascended. The horses began to lather and the

men to flush.



Halt! Dress your ranks! the order of the regimental commander was

heard ahead. Forward by the left. Walk, march! came the order from in

front.



And the hussars, passing along the line of troops on the left flank of

our position, halted behind our Uhlans who were in the front line. To

the right stood our infantry in a dense column they were the reserve.

Higher up the hill, on the very horizon, our guns were visible through

the wonderfully clear air, brightly illuminated by slanting morning

sunbeams. In front, beyond a hollow dale, could be seen the enemys

columns and guns. Our advanced line, already in action, could be heard

briskly exchanging shots with the enemy in the dale.



At these sounds, long unheard, Rostvs spirits rose, as at the strains

of the merriest music. Trap-ta-ta-tap! cracked the shots, now together,

now several quickly one after another. Again all was silent and then

again it sounded as if someone were walking on detonators and exploding

them.



The hussars remained in the same place for about an hour. A cannonade

began. Count Ostermann with his suite rode up behind the squadron,

halted, spoke to the commander of the regiment, and rode up the hill to

the guns.



After Ostermann had gone, a command rang out to the Uhlans.



Form column! Prepare to charge!



The infantry in front of them parted into platoons to allow the cavalry

to pass. The Uhlans started, the streamers on their spears fluttering,

and trotted downhill toward the French cavalry which was seen below to

the left.



As soon as the Uhlans descended the hill, the hussars were ordered up

the hill to support the battery. As they took the places vacated by the

Uhlans, bullets came from the front, whining and whistling, but fell

spent without taking effect.



The sounds, which he had not heard for so long, had an even more

pleasurable and exhilarating effect on Rostv than the previous sounds

of firing. Drawing himself up, he viewed the field of battle opening out

before him from the hill, and with his whole soul followed the movement

of the Uhlans. They swooped down close to the French dragoons, something

confused happened there amid the smoke, and five minutes later our

Uhlans were galloping back, not to the place they had occupied but more

to the left, and among the orange-colored Uhlans on chestnut horses and

behind them, in a large group, blue French dragoons on gray horses could

be seen.











CHAPTER XV



Rostv, with his keen sportsmans eye, was one of the first to catch

sight of these blue French dragoons pursuing our Uhlans. Nearer and

nearer in disorderly crowds came the Uhlans and the French dragoons

pursuing them. He could already see how these men, who looked so small

at the foot of the hill, jostled and overtook one another, waving their

arms and their sabers in the air.



Rostv gazed at what was happening before him as at a hunt. He felt

instinctively that if the hussars struck at the French dragoons now, the

latter could not withstand them, but if a charge was to be made it must

be done now, at that very moment, or it would be too late. He looked

around. A captain, standing beside him, was gazing like himself with

eyes fixed on the cavalry below them.



Andrew Sevastynych! said Rostv. You know, we could crush them....



A fine thing too! replied the captain, and really...



Rostv, without waiting to hear him out, touched his horse, galloped to

the front of his squadron, and before he had time to finish giving the

word of command, the whole squadron, sharing his feeling, was following

him. Rostv himself did not know how or why he did it. He acted as he

did when hunting, without reflecting or considering. He saw the dragoons

near and that they were galloping in disorder he knew they could not

withstand an attackknew there was only that moment and that if he let

it slip it would not return. The bullets were whining and whistling so

stimulatingly around him and his horse was so eager to go that he could

not restrain himself. He touched his horse, gave the word of command,

and immediately, hearing behind him the tramp of the horses of his

deployed squadron, rode at full trot downhill toward the dragoons.

Hardly had they reached the bottom of the hill before their pace

instinctively changed to a gallop, which grew faster and faster as they

drew nearer to our Uhlans and the French dragoons who galloped after

them. The dragoons were now close at hand. On seeing the hussars, the

foremost began to turn, while those behind began to halt. With the same

feeling with which he had galloped across the path of a wolf, Rostv

gave rein to his Donts horse and galloped to intersect the path of the

dragoons disordered lines. One Uhlan stopped, another who was on foot

flung himself to the ground to avoid being knocked over, and a riderless

horse fell in among the hussars. Nearly all the French dragoons were

galloping back. Rostv, picking out one on a gray horse, dashed after

him. On the way he came upon a bush, his gallant horse cleared it, and

almost before he had righted himself in his saddle he saw that he would

immediately overtake the enemy he had selected. That Frenchman, by his

uniform an officer, was going at a gallop, crouching on his gray horse

and urging it on with his saber. In another moment Rostvs horse dashed

its breast against the hindquarters of the officers horse, almost

knocking it over, and at the same instant Rostv, without knowing why,

raised his saber and struck the Frenchman with it.



The instant he had done this, all Rostvs animation vanished. The

officer fell, not so much from the blowwhich had but slightly cut his

arm above the elbowas from the shock to his horse and from fright.

Rostv reined in his horse, and his eyes sought his foe to see whom he

had vanquished. The French dragoon officer was hopping with one foot on

the ground, the other being caught in the stirrup. His eyes, screwed

up with fear as if he every moment expected another blow, gazed up at

Rostv with shrinking terror. His pale and mud-stained facefair and

young, with a dimple in the chin and light-blue eyeswas not an enemys

face at all suited to a battlefield, but a most ordinary, homelike face.

Before Rostv had decided what to do with him, the officer cried, I

surrender! He hurriedly but vainly tried to get his foot out of the

stirrup and did not remove his frightened blue eyes from Rostvs face.

Some hussars who galloped up disengaged his foot and helped him into the

saddle. On all sides, the hussars were busy with the dragoons one was

wounded, but though his face was bleeding, he would not give up his

horse another was perched up behind an hussar with his arms round him

a third was being helped by an hussar to mount his horse. In front, the

French infantry were firing as they ran. The hussars galloped hastily

back with their prisoners. Rostv galloped back with the rest, aware of

an unpleasant feeling of depression in his heart. Something vague and

confused, which he could not at all account for, had come over him with

the capture of that officer and the blow he had dealt him.



Count Ostermann-Tolsty met the returning hussars, sent for Rostv,

thanked him, and said he would report his gallant deed to the Emperor

and would recommend him for a St. Georges Cross. When sent for by Count

Ostermann, Rostv, remembering that he had charged without orders,

felt sure his commander was sending for him to punish him for breach of

discipline. Ostermanns flattering words and promise of a reward should

therefore have struck him all the more pleasantly, but he still felt

that same vaguely disagreeable feeling of moral nausea. But what

on earth is worrying me? he asked himself as he rode back from the

general. Ilyn? No, hes safe. Have I disgraced myself in any way? No,

thats not it. Something else, resembling remorse, tormented him. Yes,

oh yes, that French officer with the dimple. And I remember how my arm

paused when I raised it.



Rostv saw the prisoners being led away and galloped after them to have

a look at his Frenchman with the dimple on his chin. He was sitting in

his foreign uniform on an hussar packhorse and looked anxiously about

him. The sword cut on his arm could scarcely be called a wound. He

glanced at Rostv with a feigned smile and waved his hand in greeting.

Rostv still had the same indefinite feeling, as of shame.



All that day and the next his friends and comrades noticed that Rostv,

without being dull or angry, was silent, thoughtful, and preoccupied.

He drank reluctantly, tried to remain alone, and kept turning something

over in his mind.



Rostv was always thinking about that brilliant exploit of his, which to

his amazement had gained him the St. Georges Cross and even given him

a reputation for bravery, and there was something he could not at all

understand. So others are even more afraid than I am! he thought. So

thats all there is in what is called heroism! And did I do it for my

countrys sake? And how was he to blame, with his dimple and blue eyes?

And how frightened he was! He thought that I should kill him. Why should

I kill him? My hand trembled. And they have given me a St. Georges

Cross.... I cant make it out at all.



But while Nicholas was considering these questions and still could reach

no clear solution of what puzzled him so, the wheel of fortune in the

service, as often happens, turned in his favor. After the affair at

Ostrvna he was brought into notice, received command of an hussar

battalion, and when a brave officer was needed he was chosen.











CHAPTER XVI



On receiving news of Natshas illness, the countess, though not quite

well yet and still weak, went to Moscow with Ptya and the rest of the

household, and the whole family moved from Mrya Dmtrievnas house to

their own and settled down in town.



Natshas illness was so serious that, fortunately for her and for

her parents, the consideration of all that had caused the illness,

her conduct and the breaking off of her engagement, receded into the

background. She was so ill that it was impossible for them to consider

in how far she was to blame for what had happened. She could not eat

or sleep, grew visibly thinner, coughed, and, as the doctors made them

feel, was in danger. They could not think of anything but how to help

her. Doctors came to see her singly and in consultation, talked much in

French, German, and Latin, blamed one another, and prescribed a great

variety of medicines for all the diseases known to them, but the simple

idea never occurred to any of them that they could not know the disease

Natsha was suffering from, as no disease suffered by a live man can be

known, for every living person has his own peculiarities and always

has his own peculiar, personal, novel, complicated disease, unknown to

medicinenot a disease of the lungs, liver, skin, heart, nerves, and so

on mentioned in medical books, but a disease consisting of one of the

innumerable combinations of the maladies of those organs. This simple

thought could not occur to the doctors (as it cannot occur to a wizard

that he is unable to work his charms) because the business of their

lives was to cure, and they received money for it and had spent the best

years of their lives on that business. But, above all, that thought

was kept out of their minds by the fact that they saw they were

really useful, as in fact they were to the whole Rostv family. Their

usefulness did not depend on making the patient swallow substances for

the most part harmful (the harm was scarcely perceptible, as they

were given in small doses), but they were useful, necessary, and

indispensable because they satisfied a mental need of the invalid and

of those who loved herand that is why there are, and always will be,

pseudo-healers, wise women, homeopaths, and allopaths. They satisfied

that eternal human need for hope of relief, for sympathy, and that

something should be done, which is felt by those who are suffering. They

satisfied the need seen in its most elementary form in a child, when it

wants to have a place rubbed that has been hurt. A child knocks itself

and runs at once to the arms of its mother or nurse to have the aching

spot rubbed or kissed, and it feels better when this is done. The child

cannot believe that the strongest and wisest of its people have no

remedy for its pain, and the hope of relief and the expression of its

mothers sympathy while she rubs the bump comforts it. The doctors were

of use to Natsha because they kissed and rubbed her bump, assuring her

that it would soon pass if only the coachman went to the chemists in

the Arbt and got a powder and some pills in a pretty box for a ruble

and seventy kopeks, and if she took those powders in boiled water at

intervals of precisely two hours, neither more nor less.



What would Snya and the count and countess have done, how would they

have looked, if nothing had been done, if there had not been those pills

to give by the clock, the warm drinks, the chicken cutlets, and all the

other details of life ordered by the doctors, the carrying out of which

supplied an occupation and consolation to the family circle? How would

the count have borne his dearly loved daughters illness had he not

known that it was costing him a thousand rubles, and that he would not

grudge thousands more to benefit her, or had he not known that if her

illness continued he would not grudge yet other thousands and would take

her abroad for consultations there, and had he not been able to explain

the details of how Mtivier and Feller had not understood the symptoms,

but Frise had, and Mdrov had diagnosed them even better? What would the

countess have done had she not been able sometimes to scold the invalid

for not strictly obeying the doctors orders?



Youll never get well like that, she would say, forgetting her grief

in her vexation, if you wont obey the doctor and take your medicine at

the right time! You mustnt trifle with it, you know, or it may turn to

pneumonia, she would go on, deriving much comfort from the utterance of

that foreign word, incomprehensible to others as well as to herself.



What would Snya have done without the glad consciousness that she had

not undressed during the first three nights, in order to be ready to

carry out all the doctors injunctions with precision, and that she

still kept awake at night so as not to miss the proper time when the

slightly harmful pills in the little gilt box had to be administered?

Even to Natsha herself it was pleasant to see that so many sacrifices

were being made for her sake, and to know that she had to take medicine

at certain hours, though she declared that no medicine would cure her

and that it was all nonsense. And it was even pleasant to be able to

show, by disregarding the orders, that she did not believe in medical

treatment and did not value her life.



The doctor came every day, felt her pulse, looked at her tongue, and

regardless of her grief-stricken face joked with her. But when he had

gone into another room, to which the countess hurriedly followed him, he

assumed a grave air and thoughtfully shaking his head said that though

there was danger, he had hopes of the effect of this last medicine and

one must wait and see, that the malady was chiefly mental, but... And

the countess, trying to conceal the action from herself and from him,

slipped a gold coin into his hand and always returned to the patient

with a more tranquil mind.



The symptoms of Natshas illness were that she ate little, slept

little, coughed, and was always low-spirited. The doctors said that

she could not get on without medical treatment, so they kept her in the

stifling atmosphere of the town, and the Rostvs did not move to the

country that summer of 1812.



In spite of the many pills she swallowed and the drops and powders out

of the little bottles and boxes of which Madame Schoss who was fond of

such things made a large collection, and in spite of being deprived of

the country life to which she was accustomed, youth prevailed. Natshas

grief began to be overlaid by the impressions of daily life, it ceased

to press so painfully on her heart, it gradually faded into the past,

and she began to recover physically.











CHAPTER XVII



Natsha was calmer but no happier. She not merely avoided all external

forms of pleasureballs, promenades, concerts, and theatersbut she

never laughed without a sound of tears in her laughter. She could not

sing. As soon as she began to laugh, or tried to sing by herself, tears

choked her tears of remorse, tears at the recollection of those pure

times which could never return, tears of vexation that she should so

uselessly have ruined her young life which might have been so happy.

Laughter and singing in particular seemed to her like a blasphemy,

in face of her sorrow. Without any need of self-restraint, no wish to

coquet ever entered her head. She said and felt at that time that no

man was more to her than Nastsya Ivnovna, the buffoon. Something stood

sentinel within her and forbade her every joy. Besides, she had lost all

the old interests of her carefree girlish life that had been so full

of hope. The previous autumn, the hunting, Uncle, and the Christmas

holidays spent with Nicholas at Otrdnoe were what she recalled oftenest

and most painfully. What would she not have given to bring back even a

single day of that time! But it was gone forever. Her presentiment at

the time had not deceived herthat that state of freedom and readiness

for any enjoyment would not return again. Yet it was necessary to live

on.



It comforted her to reflect that she was not better as she had formerly

imagined, but worse, much worse, than anybody else in the world. But

this was not enough. She knew that, and asked herself, What next?

But there was nothing to come. There was no joy in life, yet life was

passing. Natsha apparently tried not to be a burden or a hindrance to

anyone, but wanted nothing for herself. She kept away from everyone in

the house and felt at ease only with her brother Ptya. She liked to

be with him better than with the others, and when alone with him she

sometimes laughed. She hardly ever left the house and of those who came

to see them was glad to see only one person, Pierre. It would have been

impossible to treat her with more delicacy, greater care, and at the

same time more seriously than did Count Bezkhov. Natsha unconsciously

felt this delicacy and so found great pleasure in his society. But

she was not even grateful to him for it nothing good on Pierres part

seemed to her to be an effort, it seemed so natural for him to be kind

to everyone that there was no merit in his kindness. Sometimes Natsha

noticed embarrassment and awkwardness on his part in her presence,

especially when he wanted to do something to please her, or feared that

something they spoke of would awaken memories distressing to her. She

noticed this and attributed it to his general kindness and shyness,

which she imagined must be the same toward everyone as it was to her.

After those involuntary wordsthat if he were free he would have asked

on his knees for her hand and her loveuttered at a moment when she was

so strongly agitated, Pierre never spoke to Natsha of his feelings

and it seemed plain to her that those words, which had then so comforted

her, were spoken as all sorts of meaningless words are spoken to comfort

a crying child. It was not because Pierre was a married man, but because

Natsha felt very strongly with him that moral barrier the absence of

which she had experienced with Kurgin that it never entered her head

that the relations between him and herself could lead to love on her

part, still less on his, or even to the kind of tender, self-conscious,

romantic friendship between a man and a woman of which she had known

several instances.



Before the end of the fast of St. Peter, Agrafna Ivnovna Belva, a

country neighbor of the Rostvs, came to Moscow to pay her devotions at

the shrines of the Moscow saints. She suggested that Natsha should fast

and prepare for Holy Communion, and Natsha gladly welcomed the idea.

Despite the doctors orders that she should not go out early in the

morning, Natsha insisted on fasting and preparing for the sacrament,

not as they generally prepared for it in the Rostv family by attending

three services in their own house, but as Agrafna Ivnovna did, by

going to church every day for a week and not once missing Vespers,

Matins, or Mass.



The countess was pleased with Natshas zeal after the poor results of

the medical treatment, in the depths of her heart she hoped that prayer

might help her daughter more than medicines and, though not without

fear and concealing it from the doctor, she agreed to Natshas wish and

entrusted her to Belva. Agrafna Ivnovna used to come to wake Natsha

at three in the morning, but generally found her already awake. She was

afraid of being late for Matins. Hastily washing, and meekly putting on

her shabbiest dress and an old mantilla, Natsha, shivering in the fresh

air, went out into the deserted streets lit by the clear light of dawn.

By Agrafna Ivnovnas advice Natsha prepared herself not in their

own parish, but at a church where, according to the devout Agrafna

Ivnovna, the priest was a man of very severe and lofty life. There were

never many people in the church Natsha always stood beside Belva in

the customary place before an icon of the Blessed Virgin, let into the

screen before the choir on the left side, and a feeling, new to her, of

humility before something great and incomprehensible, seized her when

at that unusual morning hour, gazing at the dark face of the Virgin

illuminated by the candles burning before it and by the morning light

falling from the window, she listened to the words of the service which

she tried to follow with understanding. When she understood them her

personal feeling became interwoven in the prayers with shades of its

own. When she did not understand, it was sweeter still to think that

the wish to understand everything is pride, that it is impossible to

understand all, that it is only necessary to believe and to commit

oneself to God, whom she felt guiding her soul at those moments. She

crossed herself, bowed low, and when she did not understand, in horror

at her own vileness, simply asked God to forgive her everything,

everything, to have mercy upon her. The prayers to which she surrendered

herself most of all were those of repentance. On her way home at an

early hour when she met no one but bricklayers going to work or men

sweeping the street, and everybody within the houses was still asleep,

Natsha experienced a feeling new to her, a sense of the possibility

of correcting her faults, the possibility of a new, clean life, and of

happiness.



During the whole week she spent in this way, that feeling grew every

day. And the happiness of taking communion, or communing as Agrafna

Ivnovna, joyously playing with the word, called it, seemed to Natsha

so great that she felt she should never live till that blessed Sunday.



But the happy day came, and on that memorable Sunday, when, dressed in

white muslin, she returned home after communion, for the first time for

many months she felt calm and not oppressed by the thought of the life

that lay before her.



The doctor who came to see her that day ordered her to continue the

powders he had prescribed a fortnight previously.



She must certainly go on taking them morning and evening, said

he, evidently sincerely satisfied with his success. Only, please be

particular about it.



Be quite easy, he continued playfully, as he adroitly took the gold

coin in his palm. She will soon be singing and frolicking about. The

last medicine has done her a very great deal of good. She has freshened

up very much.



The countess, with a cheerful expression on her face, looked down at her

nails and spat a little for luck as she returned to the drawing room.











CHAPTER XVIII



At the beginning of July more and more disquieting reports about the war

began to spread in Moscow people spoke of an appeal by the Emperor to

the people, and of his coming himself from the army to Moscow. And as

up to the eleventh of July no manifesto or appeal had been received,

exaggerated reports became current about them and about the position of

Russia. It was said that the Emperor was leaving the army because it was

in danger, it was said that Smolnsk had surrendered, that Napoleon had

an army of a million and only a miracle could save Russia.



On the eleventh of July, which was Saturday, the manifesto was received

but was not yet in print, and Pierre, who was at the Rostvs, promised

to come to dinner next day, Sunday, and bring a copy of the manifesto

and appeal, which he would obtain from Count Rostopchn.



That Sunday, the Rostvs went to Mass at the Razumvskis private chapel

as usual. It was a hot July day. Even at ten oclock, when the Rostvs

got out of their carriage at the chapel, the sultry air, the shouts of

hawkers, the light and gay summer clothes of the crowd, the dusty leaves

of the trees on the boulevard, the sounds of the band and the white

trousers of a battalion marching to parade, the rattling of wheels on

the cobblestones, and the brilliant, hot sunshine were all full of that

summer languor, that content and discontent with the present, which

is most strongly felt on a bright, hot day in town. All the Moscow

notabilities, all the Rostvs acquaintances, were at the Razumvskis

chapel, for, as if expecting something to happen, many wealthy families

who usually left town for their country estates had not gone away that

summer. As Natsha, at her mothers side, passed through the crowd

behind a liveried footman who cleared the way for them, she heard a

young man speaking about her in too loud a whisper.



Thats Rostva, the one who...



Shes much thinner, but all the same shes pretty!



She heard, or thought she heard, the names of Kurgin and Bolknski. But

she was always imagining that. It always seemed to her that everyone

who looked at her was thinking only of what had happened to her. With a

sinking heart, wretched as she always was now when she found herself

in a crowd, Natsha in her lilac silk dress trimmed with black lace

walkedas women can walkwith the more repose and stateliness the

greater the pain and shame in her soul. She knew for certain that she

was pretty, but this no longer gave her satisfaction as it used to.

On the contrary it tormented her more than anything else of late, and

particularly so on this bright, hot summer day in town. Its Sunday

againanother week past, she thought, recalling that she had been here

the Sunday before, and always the same life that is no life, and the

same surroundings in which it used to be so easy to live. Im pretty,

Im young, and I know that now I am good. I used to be bad, but now I

know I am good, she thought, but yet my best years are slipping by

and are no good to anyone. She stood by her mothers side and exchanged

nods with acquaintances near her. From habit she scrutinized the ladies

dresses, condemned the bearing of a lady standing close by who was not

crossing herself properly but in a cramped manner, and again she thought

with vexation that she was herself being judged and was judging others,

and suddenly, at the sound of the service, she felt horrified at her own

vileness, horrified that the former purity of her soul was again lost to

her.



A comely, fresh-looking old man was conducting the service with that

mild solemnity which has so elevating and soothing an effect on the

souls of the worshipers. The gates of the sanctuary screen were closed,

the curtain was slowly drawn, and from behind it a soft mysterious voice

pronounced some words. Tears, the cause of which she herself did not

understand, made Natshas breast heave, and a joyous but oppressive

feeling agitated her.



Teach me what I should do, how to live my life, how I may grow good

forever, forever! she pleaded.



The deacon came out onto the raised space before the altar screen and,

holding his thumb extended, drew his long hair from under his dalmatic

and, making the sign of the cross on his breast, began in a loud and

solemn voice to recite the words of the prayer....



In peace let us pray unto the Lord.



As one community, without distinction of class, without enmity, united

by brotherly lovelet us pray! thought Natsha.



For the peace that is from above, and for the salvation of our souls.



For the world of angels and all the spirits who dwell above us, prayed

Natsha.



When they prayed for the warriors, she thought of her brother and

Densov. When they prayed for all traveling by land and sea, she

remembered Prince Andrew, prayed for him, and asked God to forgive her

all the wrongs she had done him. When they prayed for those who love us,

she prayed for the members of her own family, her father and mother and

Snya, realizing for the first time how wrongly she had acted toward

them, and feeling all the strength of her love for them. When they

prayed for those who hate us, she tried to think of her enemies and

people who hated her, in order to pray for them. She included among her

enemies the creditors and all who had business dealings with her

father, and always at the thought of enemies and those who hated her she

remembered Anatole who had done her so much harmand though he did not

hate her she gladly prayed for him as for an enemy. Only at prayer did

she feel able to think clearly and calmly of Prince Andrew and Anatole,

as men for whom her feelings were as nothing compared with her awe and

devotion to God. When they prayed for the Imperial family and the Synod,

she bowed very low and made the sign of the cross, saying to herself

that even if she did not understand, still she could not doubt, and at

any rate loved the governing Synod and prayed for it.



When he had finished the Litany the deacon crossed the stole over his

breast and said, Let us commit ourselves and our whole lives to Christ

the Lord!



Commit ourselves to God, Natsha inwardly repeated. Lord God, I

submit myself to Thy will! she thought. I want nothing, wish for

nothing teach me what to do and how to use my will! Take me, take

me! prayed Natsha, with impatient emotion in her heart, not crossing

herself but letting her slender arms hang down as if expecting some

invisible power at any moment to take her and deliver her from herself,

from her regrets, desires, remorse, hopes, and sins.



The countess looked round several times at her daughters softened face

and shining eyes and prayed God to help her.



Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, and not in the usual order

Natsha knew so well, the deacon brought out a small stool, the one he

knelt on when praying on Trinity Sunday, and placed it before the doors

of the sanctuary screen. The priest came out with his purple velvet

biretta on his head, adjusted his hair, and knelt down with an effort.

Everybody followed his example and they looked at one another in

surprise. Then came the prayer just received from the Synoda prayer for

the deliverance of Russia from hostile invasion.



Lord God of might, God of our salvation! began the priest in that

voice, clear, not grandiloquent but mild, in which only the Slav clergy

read and which acts so irresistibly on a Russian heart.



Lord God of might, God of our salvation! Look this day in mercy and

blessing on Thy humble people, and graciously hear us, spare us, and

have mercy upon us! This foe confounding Thy land, desiring to lay

waste the whole world, rises against us these lawless men are gathered

together to overthrow Thy kingdom, to destroy Thy dear Jerusalem, Thy

beloved Russia to defile Thy temples, to overthrow Thine altars, and to

desecrate our holy shrines. How long, O Lord, how long shall the wicked

triumph? How long shall they wield unlawful power?



Lord God! Hear us when we pray to Thee strengthen with Thy might

our most gracious sovereign lord, the Emperor Alexander Pvlovich be

mindful of his uprightness and meekness, reward him according to his

righteousness, and let it preserve us, Thy chosen Israel! Bless his

counsels, his undertakings, and his work strengthen his kingdom by

Thine almighty hand, and give him victory over his enemy, even as Thou

gavest Moses the victory over Amalek, Gideon over Midian, and David over

Goliath. Preserve his army, put a bow of brass in the hands of those who

have armed themselves in Thy Name, and gird their loins with strength

for the fight. Take up the spear and shield and arise to help us

confound and put to shame those who have devised evil against us, may

they be before the faces of Thy faithful warriors as dust before the

wind, and may Thy mighty Angel confound them and put them to flight may

they be ensnared when they know it not, and may the plots they have laid

in secret be turned against them let them fall before Thy servants

feet and be laid low by our hosts! Lord, Thou art able to save both

great and small Thou art God, and man cannot prevail against Thee!



God of our fathers! Remember Thy bounteous mercy and loving-kindness

which are from of old turn not Thy face from us, but be gracious to our

unworthiness, and in Thy great goodness and Thy many mercies regard not

our transgressions and iniquities! Create in us a clean heart and renew

a right spirit within us, strengthen us all in Thy faith, fortify our

hope, inspire us with true love one for another, arm us with unity of

spirit in the righteous defense of the heritage Thou gavest to us and

to our fathers, and let not the scepter of the wicked be exalted against

the destiny of those Thou hast sanctified.



O Lord our God, in whom we believe and in whom we put our trust, let us

not be confounded in our hope of Thy mercy, and give us a token of Thy

blessing, that those who hate us and our Orthodox faith may see it and

be put to shame and perish, and may all the nations know that Thou art

the Lord and we are Thy people. Show Thy mercy upon us this day, O Lord,

and grant us Thy salvation make the hearts of Thy servants to rejoice

in Thy mercy smite down our enemies and destroy them swiftly beneath

the feet of Thy faithful servants! For Thou art the defense, the succor,

and the victory of them that put their trust in Thee, and to Thee be all

glory, to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, now and forever, world without

end. Amen.



In Natshas receptive condition of soul this prayer affected her

strongly. She listened to every word about the victory of Moses over

Amalek, of Gideon over Midian, and of David over Goliath, and about

the destruction of Thy Jerusalem, and she prayed to God with the

tenderness and emotion with which her heart was overflowing, but without

fully understanding what she was asking of God in that prayer. She

shared with all her heart in the prayer for the spirit of righteousness,

for the strengthening of the heart by faith and hope, and its animation

by love. But she could not pray that her enemies might be trampled under

foot when but a few minutes before she had been wishing she had more

of them that she might pray for them. But neither could she doubt the

righteousness of the prayer that was being read on bended knees. She

felt in her heart a devout and tremulous awe at the thought of the

punishment that overtakes men for their sins, and especially of her own

sins, and she prayed to God to forgive them all, and her too, and to

give them all, and her too, peace and happiness. And it seemed to her

that God heard her prayer.











CHAPTER XIX



From the day when Pierre, after leaving the Rostvs with Natshas

grateful look fresh in his mind, had gazed at the comet that seemed to

be fixed in the sky and felt that something new was appearing on his own

horizonfrom that day the problem of the vanity and uselessness of all

earthly things, that had incessantly tormented him, no longer presented

itself. That terrible question Why? Wherefore? which had come to him

amid every occupation, was now replaced, not by another question or by a

reply to the former question, but by her image. When he listened to, or

himself took part in, trivial conversations, when he read or heard of

human baseness or folly, he was not horrified as formerly, and did

not ask himself why men struggled so about these things when all is so

transient and incomprehensiblebut he remembered her as he had last

seen her, and all his doubts vanishednot because she had answered

the questions that had haunted him, but because his conception of her

transferred him instantly to another, a brighter, realm of spiritual

activity in which no one could be justified or guiltya realm of beauty

and love which it was worth living for. Whatever worldly baseness

presented itself to him, he said to himself



Well, supposing N. N. has swindled the country and the Tsar, and the

country and the Tsar confer honors upon him, what does that matter? She

smiled at me yesterday and asked me to come again, and I love her, and

no one will ever know it. And his soul felt calm and peaceful.



Pierre still went into society, drank as much and led the same idle

and dissipated life, because besides the hours he spent at the Rostvs

there were other hours he had to spend somehow, and the habits and

acquaintances he had made in Moscow formed a current that bore him along

irresistibly. But latterly, when more and more disquieting reports came

from the seat of war and Natshas health began to improve and she

no longer aroused in him the former feeling of careful pity, an

ever-increasing restlessness, which he could not explain, took

possession of him. He felt that the condition he was in could not

continue long, that a catastrophe was coming which would change his

whole life, and he impatiently sought everywhere for signs of that

approaching catastrophe. One of his brother Masons had revealed to

Pierre the following prophecy concerning Napoleon, drawn from the

Revelation of St. John.



In chapter 13, verse 18, of the Apocalypse, it is said



Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of

the beast for it is the number of a man and his number is Six hundred

threescore and six.



And in the fifth verse of the same chapter



And there was given unto him a mouth speaking great things and

blasphemies and power was given unto him to continue forty and two

months.





The French alphabet, written out with the same numerical values as the

Hebrew, in which the first nine letters denote units and the others

tens, will have the following significance



      a   b   c   d   e   f   g   h   i   k

      1   2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9   10

       l    m    n    o    p    q    r    s

      20   30   40   50   60   70   80   90

             t    u    v    w    x    y

            100  110  120  130  140  150

                        z

                       160



Writing the words LEmpereur Napolon in numbers, it appears that the

sum of them is 666, and that Napoleon was therefore the beast foretold

in the Apocalypse. Moreover, by applying the same system to the words

quarante-deux, * which was the term allowed to the beast that spoke

great things and blasphemies, the same number 666 was obtained from

which it followed that the limit fixed for Napoleons power had come

in the year 1812 when the French emperor was forty-two. This prophecy

pleased Pierre very much and he often asked himself what would put an

end to the power of the beast, that is, of Napoleon, and tried by the

same system of using letters as numbers and adding them up, to find an

answer to the question that engrossed him. He wrote the words LEmpereur

Alexandre, La nation russe and added up their numbers, but the sums

were either more or less than 666. Once when making such calculations he

wrote down his own name in French, Comte Pierre Besouhoff, but the

sum of the numbers did not come right. Then he changed the spelling,

substituting a z for the s and adding de and the article le, still

without obtaining the desired result. Then it occurred to him if the

answer to the question were contained in his name, his nationality would

also be given in the answer. So he wrote Le russe Besuhof and adding

up the numbers got 671. This was only five too much, and five was

represented by e, the very letter elided from the article le before the

word Empereur. By omitting the e, though incorrectly, Pierre got the

answer he sought. Lrusse Besuhof made 666. This discovery excited him.

How, or by what means, he was connected with the great event foretold in

the Apocalypse he did not know, but he did not doubt that connection for

a moment. His love for Natsha, Antichrist, Napoleon, the invasion, the

comet, 666, LEmpereur Napolon, and Lrusse Besuhofall this had to

mature and culminate, to lift him out of that spellbound, petty sphere

of Moscow habits in which he felt himself held captive and lead him to a

great achievement and great happiness.



    * Forty-two.





On the eve of the Sunday when the special prayer was read, Pierre had

promised the Rostvs to bring them, from Count Rostopchn whom he knew

well, both the appeal to the people and the news from the army. In the

morning, when he went to call at Rostopchns he met there a courier

fresh from the army, an acquaintance of his own, who often danced at

Moscow balls.



Do, please, for heavens sake, relieve me of something! said the

courier. I have a sackful of letters to parents.



Among these letters was one from Nicholas Rostv to his father. Pierre

took that letter, and Rostopchn also gave him the Emperors appeal to

Moscow, which had just been printed, the last army orders, and his own

most recent bulletin. Glancing through the army orders, Pierre found in

one of them, in the lists of killed, wounded, and rewarded, the name of

Nicholas Rostv, awarded a St. Georges Cross of the Fourth Class for

courage shown in the Ostrvna affair, and in the same order the name

of Prince Andrew Bolknski, appointed to the command of a regiment of

Chasseurs. Though he did not want to remind the Rostvs of Bolknski,

Pierre could not refrain from making them happy by the news of their

sons having received a decoration, so he sent that printed army order

and Nicholas letter to the Rostvs, keeping the appeal, the bulletin,

and the other orders to take with him when he went to dinner.



His conversation with Count Rostopchn and the latters tone of anxious

hurry, the meeting with the courier who talked casually of how badly

things were going in the army, the rumors of the discovery of spies in

Moscow and of a leaflet in circulation stating that Napoleon promised

to be in both the Russian capitals by the autumn, and the talk of the

Emperors being expected to arrive next dayall aroused with fresh force

that feeling of agitation and expectation in Pierre which he had been

conscious of ever since the appearance of the comet, and especially

since the beginning of the war.



He had long been thinking of entering the army and would have done so

had he not been hindered, first, by his membership of the Society of

Freemasons to which he was bound by oath and which preached perpetual

peace and the abolition of war, and secondly, by the fact that when he

saw the great mass of Muscovites who had donned uniform and were talking

patriotism, he somehow felt ashamed to take the step. But the chief

reason for not carrying out his intention to enter the army lay in the

vague idea that he was Lrusse Besuhof who had the number of the beast,

666 that his part in the great affair of setting a limit to the

power of the beast that spoke great and blasphemous things had been

predestined from eternity, and that therefore he ought not to undertake

anything, but wait for what was bound to come to pass.











CHAPTER XX



A few intimate friends were dining with the Rostvs that day, as usual

on Sundays.



Pierre came early so as to find them alone.



He had grown so stout this year that he would have been abnormal had he

not been so tall, so broad of limb, and so strong that he carried his

bulk with evident ease.



He went up the stairs, puffing and muttering something. His coachman did

not even ask whether he was to wait. He knew that when his master was

at the Rostvs he stayed till midnight. The Rostvs footman rushed

eagerly forward to help him off with his cloak and take his hat and

stick. Pierre, from club habit, always left both hat and stick in the

anteroom.



The first person he saw in the house was Natsha. Even before he saw

her, while taking off his cloak, he heard her. She was practicing solfa

exercises in the music room. He knew that she had not sung since her

illness, and so the sound of her voice surprised and delighted him. He

opened the door softly and saw her, in the lilac dress she had worn at

church, walking about the room singing. She had her back to him when he

opened the door, but when, turning quickly, she saw his broad, surprised

face, she blushed and came rapidly up to him.



I want to try to sing again, she said, adding as if by way of excuse,

it is, at least, something to do.



Thats capital!



How glad I am youve come! I am so happy today, she said, with the old

animation Pierre had not seen in her for a long time. You know Nicholas

has received a St. Georges Cross? I am so proud of him.



Oh yes, I sent that announcement. But I dont want to interrupt you,

he added, and was about to go to the drawing room.



Natsha stopped him.



Count, is it wrong of me to sing? she said blushing, and fixing her

eyes inquiringly on him.



No... Why should it be? On the contrary... But why do you ask me?



I dont know myself, Natsha answered quickly, but I should not like

to do anything you disapproved of. I believe in you completely. You

dont know how important you are to me, how much youve done for me....

She spoke rapidly and did not notice how Pierre flushed at her words. I

saw in that same army order that he, Bolknski (she whispered the name

hastily), is in Russia, and in the army again. What do you think?she

was speaking hurriedly, evidently afraid her strength might fail

herWill he ever forgive me? Will he not always have a bitter feeling

toward me? What do you think? What do you think?



I think... Pierre replied, that he has nothing to forgive.... If I

were in his place...



By association of ideas, Pierre was at once carried back to the day

when, trying to comfort her, he had said that if he were not himself but

the best man in the world and free, he would ask on his knees for her

hand and the same feeling of pity, tenderness, and love took possession

of him and the same words rose to his lips. But she did not give him

time to say them.



Yes, you... you... she said, uttering the word you rapturouslythats

a different thing. I know no one kinder, more generous, or better than

you nobody could be! Had you not been there then, and now too, I dont

know what would have become of me, because...



Tears suddenly rose in her eyes, she turned away, lifted her music

before her eyes, began singing again, and again began walking up and

down the room.



Just then Ptya came running in from the drawing room.



Ptya was now a handsome rosy lad of fifteen with full red lips and

resembled Natsha. He was preparing to enter the university, but he and

his friend Obolnski had lately, in secret, agreed to join the hussars.



Ptya had come rushing out to talk to his namesake about this affair.

He had asked Pierre to find out whether he would be accepted in the

hussars.



Pierre walked up and down the drawing room, not listening to what Ptya

was saying.



Ptya pulled him by the arm to attract his attention.



Well, what about my plan? Peter Kirlych, for heavens sake! You are my

only hope, said Ptya.



Oh yes, your plan. To join the hussars? Ill mention it, Ill bring it

all up today.



Well, mon cher, have you got the manifesto? asked the old count. The

countess has been to Mass at the Razumvskis and heard the new prayer.

She says its very fine.



Yes, Ive got it, said Pierre. The Emperor is to be here tomorrow...

theres to be an Extraordinary Meeting of the nobility, and they are

talking of a levy of ten men per thousand. Oh yes, let me congratulate

you!



Yes, yes, thank God! Well, and what news from the army?



We are again retreating. They say were already near Smolnsk, replied

Pierre.



O Lord, O Lord! exclaimed the count. Where is the manifesto?



The Emperors appeal? Oh yes!



Pierre began feeling in his pockets for the papers, but could not find

them. Still slapping his pockets, he kissed the hand of the countess

who entered the room and glanced uneasily around, evidently expecting

Natsha, who had left off singing but had not yet come into the drawing

room.



On my word, I dont know what Ive done with it, he said.



There he is, always losing everything! remarked the countess.



Natsha entered with a softened and agitated expression of face and

sat down looking silently at Pierre. As soon as she entered, Pierres

features, which had been gloomy, suddenly lighted up, and while still

searching for the papers he glanced at her several times.



No, really! Ill drive home, I must have left them there. Ill

certainly...



But youll be late for dinner.



Oh! And my coachman has gone.



But Snya, who had gone to look for the papers in the anteroom, had

found them in Pierres hat, where he had carefully tucked them under the

lining. Pierre was about to begin reading.



No, after dinner, said the old count, evidently expecting much

enjoyment from that reading.



At dinner, at which champagne was drunk to the health of the new

chevalier of St. George, Shinshn told them the town news, of the

illness of the old Georgian princess, of Mtiviers disappearance from

Moscow, and of how some German fellow had been brought to Rostopchn

and accused of being a French spyer (so Count Rostopchn had told the

story), and how Rostopchn let him go and assured the people that he was

not a spire at all, but only an old German ruin.



People are being arrested... said the count. Ive told the countess

she should not speak French so much. Its not the time for it now.



And have you heard? Shinshn asked. Prince Goltsyn has engaged a

master to teach him Russian. It is becoming dangerous to speak French in

the streets.



And how about you, Count Peter Kirlych? If they call up the militia,

you too will have to mount a horse, remarked the old count, addressing

Pierre.



Pierre had been silent and preoccupied all through dinner, seeming not

to grasp what was said. He looked at the count.



Oh yes, the war, he said. No! What sort of warrior should I make? And

yet everything is so strange, so strange! I cant make it out. I dont

know, I am very far from having military tastes, but in these times no

one can answer for himself.



After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in an easy chair and

with a serious face asked Snya, who was considered an excellent reader,

to read the appeal.



To Moscow, our ancient Capital!



The enemy has entered the borders of Russia with immense forces. He

comes to despoil our beloved country.



Snya read painstakingly in her high-pitched voice. The count listened

with closed eyes, heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages.



Natsha sat erect, gazing with a searching look now at her father and

now at Pierre.



Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to look round. The countess

shook her head disapprovingly and angrily at every solemn expression

in the manifesto. In all these words she saw only that the danger

threatening her son would not soon be over. Shinshn, with a sarcastic

smile on his lips, was evidently preparing to make fun of anything that

gave him the opportunity Snyas reading, any remark of the counts, or

even the manifesto itself should no better pretext present itself.



After reading about the dangers that threatened Russia, the hopes the

Emperor placed on Moscow and especially on its illustrious nobility,

Snya, with a quiver in her voice due chiefly to the attention that was

being paid to her, read the last words



We ourselves will not delay to appear among our people in that Capital

and in other parts of our realm for consultation, and for the direction

of all our levies, both those now barring the enemys path and those

freshly formed to defeat him wherever he may appear. May the ruin he

hopes to bring upon us recoil on his own head, and may Europe delivered

from bondage glorify the name of Russia!





Yes, thats it! cried the count, opening his moist eyes and sniffing

repeatedly, as if a strong vinaigrette had been held to his nose and he

added, Let the Emperor but say the word and well sacrifice everything

and begrudge nothing.



Before Shinshn had time to utter the joke he was ready to make on the

counts patriotism, Natsha jumped up from her place and ran to her

father.



What a darling our Papa is! she cried, kissing him, and she again

looked at Pierre with the unconscious coquetry that had returned to her

with her better spirits.



There! Heres a patriot for you! said Shinshn.



Not a patriot at all, but simply... Natsha replied in an injured

tone. Everything seems funny to you, but this isnt at all a joke....



A joke indeed! put in the count. Let him but say the word and well

all go.... Were not Germans!



But did you notice, it says, for consultation? said Pierre.



Never mind what its for....



At this moment, Ptya, to whom nobody was paying any attention, came up

to his father with a very flushed face and said in his breaking voice

that was now deep and now shrill



Well, Papa, I tell you definitely, and Mamma too, its as you please,

but I say definitely that you must let me enter the army, because I

cant... thats all....



The countess, in dismay, looked up to heaven, clasped her hands, and

turned angrily to her husband.



That comes of your talking! said she.



But the count had already recovered from his excitement.



Come, come! said he. Heres a fine warrior! No! Nonsense! You must

study.



Its not nonsense, Papa. Fdya Obolnski is younger than I, and hes

going too. Besides, all the same I cant study now when... Ptya

stopped short, flushed till he perspired, but still got out the words,

when our Fatherland is in danger.



Thatll do, thatll dononsense....



But you said yourself that we would sacrifice everything.



Ptya! Be quiet, I tell you! cried the count, with a glance at his

wife, who had turned pale and was staring fixedly at her son.



And I tell youPeter Kirlych here will also tell you...



Nonsense, I tell you. Your mothers milk has hardly dried on your lips

and you want to go into the army! There, there, I tell you, and the

count moved to go out of the room, taking the papers, probably to reread

them in his study before having a nap.



Well, Peter Kirlych, lets go and have a smoke, he said.



Pierre was agitated and undecided. Natshas unwontedly brilliant eyes,

continually glancing at him with a more than cordial look, had reduced

him to this condition.



No, I think Ill go home.



Home? Why, you meant to spend the evening with us.... You dont

often come nowadays as it is, and this girl of mine, said the count

good-naturedly, pointing to Natsha, only brightens up when youre

here.



Yes, I had forgotten... I really must go home... business... said

Pierre hurriedly.



Well, then, au revoir! said the count, and went out of the room.



Why are you going? Why are you upset? asked Natsha, and she looked

challengingly into Pierres eyes.



Because I love you! was what he wanted to say, but he did not say it,

and only blushed till the tears came, and lowered his eyes.



Because it is better for me to come less often... because... No, simply

I have business....



Why? No, tell me! Natsha began resolutely and suddenly stopped.



They looked at each other with dismayed and embarrassed faces. He tried

to smile but could not his smile expressed suffering, and he silently

kissed her hand and went out.



Pierre made up his mind not to go to the Rostvs any more.











CHAPTER XXI



After the definite refusal he had received, Ptya went to his room

and there locked himself in and wept bitterly. When he came in to tea,

silent, morose, and with tear-stained face, everybody pretended not to

notice anything.



Next day the Emperor arrived in Moscow, and several of the Rostvs

domestic serfs begged permission to go to have a look at him. That

morning Ptya was a long time dressing and arranging his hair and

collar to look like a grown-up man. He frowned before his looking glass,

gesticulated, shrugged his shoulders, and finally, without saying a word

to anyone, took his cap and left the house by the back door, trying to

avoid notice. Ptya decided to go straight to where the Emperor was and

to explain frankly to some gentleman-in-waiting (he imagined the Emperor

to be always surrounded by gentlemen-in-waiting) that he, Count Rostv,

in spite of his youth wished to serve his country that youth could be

no hindrance to loyalty, and that he was ready to... While

dressing, Ptya had prepared many fine things he meant to say to the

gentleman-in-waiting.



It was on the very fact of being so young that Ptya counted for success

in reaching the Emperorhe even thought how surprised everyone would be

at his youthfulnessand yet in the arrangement of his collar and hair

and by his sedate deliberate walk he wished to appear a grown-up man.

But the farther he went and the more his attention was diverted by the

ever-increasing crowds moving toward the Krmlin, the less he remembered

to walk with the sedateness and deliberation of a man. As he approached

the Krmlin he even began to avoid being crushed and resolutely stuck

out his elbows in a menacing way. But within the Trinity Gateway he

was so pressed to the wall by people who probably were unaware of the

patriotic intentions with which he had come that in spite of all his

determination he had to give in, and stop while carriages passed in,

rumbling beneath the archway. Beside Ptya stood a peasant woman, a

footman, two tradesmen, and a discharged soldier. After standing some

time in the gateway, Ptya tried to move forward in front of the others

without waiting for all the carriages to pass, and he began resolutely

working his way with his elbows, but the woman just in front of him, who

was the first against whom he directed his efforts, angrily shouted at

him



What are you shoving for, young lordling? Dont you see were all

standing still? Then why push?



Anybody can shove, said the footman, and also began working his elbows

to such effect that he pushed Ptya into a very filthy corner of the

gateway.



Ptya wiped his perspiring face with his hands and pulled up the damp

collar which he had arranged so well at home to seem like a mans.



He felt that he no longer looked presentable, and feared that if he were

now to approach the gentlemen-in-waiting in that plight he would not be

admitted to the Emperor. But it was impossible to smarten oneself up

or move to another place, because of the crowd. One of the generals who

drove past was an acquaintance of the Rostvs, and Ptya thought of

asking his help, but came to the conclusion that that would not be a

manly thing to do. When the carriages had all passed in, the crowd,

carrying Ptya with it, streamed forward into the Krmlin Square which

was already full of people. There were people not only in the square,

but everywhereon the slopes and on the roofs. As soon as Ptya found

himself in the square he clearly heard the sound of bells and the joyous

voices of the crowd that filled the whole Krmlin.



For a while the crowd was less dense, but suddenly all heads were bared,

and everyone rushed forward in one direction. Ptya was being pressed so

that he could scarcely breathe, and everybody shouted, Hurrah! hurrah!

hurrah! Ptya stood on tiptoe and pushed and pinched, but could see

nothing except the people about him.



All the faces bore the same expression of excitement and enthusiasm. A

tradesmans wife standing beside Ptya sobbed, and the tears ran down

her cheeks.



Father! Angel! Dear one! she kept repeating, wiping away her tears

with her fingers.



Hurrah! was heard on all sides.



For a moment the crowd stood still, but then it made another rush

forward.



Quite beside himself, Ptya, clinching his teeth and rolling his eyes

ferociously, pushed forward, elbowing his way and shouting hurrah! as

if he were prepared that instant to kill himself and everyone else, but

on both sides of him other people with similarly ferocious faces pushed

forward and everybody shouted hurrah!



So this is what the Emperor is! thought Ptya. No, I cant petition

him myselfthat would be too bold. But in spite of this he continued

to struggle desperately forward, and from between the backs of those

in front he caught glimpses of an open space with a strip of red cloth

spread out on it but just then the crowd swayed backthe police

in front were pushing back those who had pressed too close to the

procession the Emperor was passing from the palace to the Cathedral of

the Assumptionand Ptya unexpectedly received such a blow on his side

and ribs and was squeezed so hard that suddenly everything grew dim

before his eyes and he lost consciousness. When he came to himself, a

man of clerical appearance with a tuft of gray hair at the back of

his head and wearing a shabby blue cassockprobably a church clerk and

chanterwas holding him under the arm with one hand while warding off

the pressure of the crowd with the other.



Youve crushed the young gentleman! said the clerk. What are you up

to? Gently!... Theyve crushed him, crushed him!



The Emperor entered the Cathedral of the Assumption. The crowd spread

out again more evenly, and the clerk led Ptyapale and breathlessto

the Tsar-cannon. Several people were sorry for Ptya, and suddenly a

crowd turned toward him and pressed round him. Those who stood nearest

him attended to him, unbuttoned his coat, seated him on the raised

platform of the cannon, and reproached those others (whoever they might

be) who had crushed him.



One might easily get killed that way! What do they mean by it? Killing

people! Poor dear, hes as white as a sheet!various voices were heard

saying.



Ptya soon came to himself, the color returned to his face, the pain had

passed, and at the cost of that temporary unpleasantness he had obtained

a place by the cannon from where he hoped to see the Emperor who

would be returning that way. Ptya no longer thought of presenting his

petition. If he could only see the Emperor he would be happy!



While the service was proceeding in the Cathedral of the Assumptionit

was a combined service of prayer on the occasion of the Emperors

arrival and of thanksgiving for the conclusion of peace with the

Turksthe crowd outside spread out and hawkers appeared, selling kvas,

gingerbread, and poppyseed sweets (of which Ptya was particularly

fond), and ordinary conversation could again be heard. A tradesmans

wife was showing a rent in her shawl and telling how much the shawl had

cost another was saying that all silk goods had now got dear. The clerk

who had rescued Ptya was talking to a functionary about the priests who

were officiating that day with the bishop. The clerk several times used

the word plenary (of the service), a word Ptya did not understand.

Two young citizens were joking with some serf girls who were cracking

nuts. All these conversations, especially the joking with the girls,

were such as might have had a particular charm for Ptya at his age, but

they did not interest him now. He sat on his elevationthe pedestal of

the cannonstill agitated as before by the thought of the Emperor and by

his love for him. The feeling of pain and fear he had experienced when

he was being crushed, together with that of rapture, still further

intensified his sense of the importance of the occasion.



Suddenly the sound of a firing of cannon was heard from the embankment,

to celebrate the signing of peace with the Turks, and the crowd rushed

impetuously toward the embankment to watch the firing. Ptya too would

have run there, but the clerk who had taken the young gentleman under

his protection stopped him. The firing was still proceeding when

officers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waiting came running out of the

cathedral, and after them others in a more leisurely manner caps were

again raised, and those who had run to look at the cannon ran back

again. At last four men in uniforms and sashes emerged from the

cathedral doors. Hurrah! hurrah! shouted the crowd again.



Which is he? Which? asked Ptya in a tearful voice, of those around

him, but no one answered him, everybody was too excited and Ptya,

fixing on one of those four men, whom he could not clearly see for the

tears of joy that filled his eyes, concentrated all his enthusiasm

on himthough it happened not to be the Emperorfrantically shouted

Hurrah! and resolved that tomorrow, come what might, he would join the

army.



The crowd ran after the Emperor, followed him to the palace, and began

to disperse. It was already late, and Ptya had not eaten anything and

was drenched with perspiration, yet he did not go home but stood with

that diminishing, but still considerable, crowd before the palace while

the Emperor dinedlooking in at the palace windows, expecting he knew

not what, and envying alike the notables he saw arriving at the entrance

to dine with the Emperor and the court footmen who served at table,

glimpses of whom could be seen through the windows.



While the Emperor was dining, Valev, 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 Ptya among them, rushed

toward the balcony.



Angel! Dear one! Hurrah! Father!... cried the crowd, and Ptya with

it, and again the women and men of weaker mold, Ptya among them, wept

with joy.



A largish piece of the biscuit the Emperor was holding in his hand broke

off, fell on the balcony parapet, and then to the ground. A coachman in

a jerkin, who stood nearest, sprang forward and snatched it up. Several

people in the crowd rushed at the coachman. Seeing this the Emperor had

a plateful of biscuits brought him and began throwing them down from

the balcony. Ptyas eyes grew bloodshot, and still more excited by the

danger of being crushed, he rushed at the biscuits. He did not know why,

but he had to have a biscuit from the Tsars hand and he felt that he

must not give way. He sprang forward and upset an old woman who was

catching at a biscuit the old woman did not consider herself defeated

though she was lying on the groundshe grabbed at some biscuits but

her hand did not reach them. Ptya pushed her hand away with his knee,

seized a biscuit, and as if fearing to be too late, again shouted

Hurrah! with a voice already hoarse.



The Emperor went in, and after that the greater part of the crowd began

to disperse.



There! I said if only we waitedand so it was! was being joyfully said

by various people.



Happy as Ptya was, he felt sad at having to go home knowing that all

the enjoyment of that day was over. He did not go straight home from

the Krmlin, but called on his friend Obolnski, who was fifteen and was

also entering the regiment. On returning home Ptya announced resolutely

and firmly that if he was not allowed to enter the service he would

run away. And next day, Count Ily Rostvthough he had not yet quite

yieldedwent to inquire how he could arrange for Ptya to serve where

there would be least danger.











CHAPTER XXII



Two days later, on the fifteenth of July, an immense number of carriages

were standing outside the Slobda Palace.



The great halls were full. In the first were the nobility and gentry in

their uniforms, in the second bearded merchants in full-skirted coats

of blue cloth and wearing medals. In the noblemens hall there was

an incessant movement and buzz of voices. The chief magnates sat on

high-backed chairs at a large table under the portrait of the Emperor,

but most of the gentry were strolling about the room.



All these nobles, whom Pierre met every day at the Club or in their own

houses, were in uniformsome in that of Catherines day, others in that

of Emperor Paul, others again in the new uniforms of Alexanders time or

the ordinary uniform of the nobility, and the general characteristic

of being in uniform imparted something strange and fantastic to these

diverse and familiar personalities, both old and young. The old men,

dim-eyed, toothless, bald, sallow, and bloated, or gaunt and wrinkled,

were especially striking. For the most part they sat quietly in their

places and were silent, or, if they walked about and talked, attached

themselves to someone younger. On all these faces, as on the faces

of the crowd Ptya had seen in the Square, there was a striking

contradiction the general expectation of a solemn event, and at the

same time the everyday interests in a boston card party, Peter the cook,

Zinada Dmtrievnas health, and so on.



Pierre was there too, buttoned up since early morning in a noblemans

uniform that had become too tight for him. He was agitated

this extraordinary gathering not only of nobles but also of the

merchant-classles tats gnraux (States-General)evoked in him a whole

series of ideas he had long laid aside but which were deeply graven in

his soul thoughts of the Contrat Social and the French Revolution. The

words that had struck him in the Emperors appealthat the sovereign was

coming to the capital for consultation with his peoplestrengthened this

idea. And imagining that in this direction something important which

he had long awaited was drawing near, he strolled about watching and

listening to conversations, but nowhere finding any confirmation of the

ideas that occupied him.



The Emperors manifesto was read, evoking enthusiasm, and then all moved

about discussing it. Besides the ordinary topics of conversation, Pierre

heard questions of where the marshals of the nobility were to stand when

the Emperor entered, when a ball should be given in the Emperors

honor, whether they should group themselves by districts or by whole

provinces... and so on but as soon as the war was touched on, or

what the nobility had been convened for, the talk became undecided and

indefinite. Then all preferred listening to speaking.



A middle-aged man, handsome and virile, in the uniform of a retired

naval officer, was speaking in one of the rooms, and a small crowd was

pressing round him. Pierre went up to the circle that had formed round

the speaker and listened. Count Ily Rostv, in a military uniform of

Catherines time, was sauntering with a pleasant smile among the crowd,

with all of whom he was acquainted. He too approached that group and

listened with a kindly smile and nods of approval, as he always did,

to what the speaker was saying. The retired naval man was speaking very

boldly, as was evident from the expression on the faces of the listeners

and from the fact that some people Pierre knew as the meekest and

quietest of men walked away disapprovingly or expressed disagreement

with him. Pierre pushed his way into the middle of the group, listened,

and convinced himself that the man was indeed a liberal, but of views

quite different from his own. The naval officer spoke in a particularly

sonorous, musical, and aristocratic baritone voice, pleasantly

swallowing his rs and generally slurring his consonants the voice of

a man calling out to his servant, Heah! Bwing me my pipe! It was

indicative of dissipation and the exercise of authority.



What if the Smolnsk people have offahd to waise militia for the

Empewah? Ah we to take Smolnsk as our patten? If the noble awistocwacy

of the pwovince of Moscow thinks fit, it can show its loyalty to our

sovweign the Empewah in other ways. Have we fogotten the waising of

the militia in the yeah seven? All that did was to enwich the pwiests

sons and thieves and wobbahs....



Count Ily Rostv smiled blandly and nodded approval.



And was our militia of any use to the Empia? Not at all! It only wuined

our farming! Bettah have another conscwiption... o ou men will wetun

neithah soldiers no peasants, and well get only depwavity fwom them.

The nobility dont gwudge theah livesevewy one of us will go and bwing

in more wecwuits, and the sovweign (that was the way he referred to

the Emperor) need only say the word and well all die fo him! added

the orator with animation.



Count Rostvs mouth watered with pleasure and he nudged Pierre, but

Pierre wanted to speak himself. He pushed forward, feeling stirred,

but not yet sure what stirred him or what he would say. Scarcely had he

opened his mouth when one of the senators, a man without a tooth in his

head, with a shrewd though angry expression, standing near the first

speaker, interrupted him. Evidently accustomed to managing debates and

to maintaining an argument, he began in low but distinct tones



I imagine, sir, said he, mumbling with his toothless mouth, that we

have been summoned here not to discuss whether its best for the empire

at the present moment to adopt conscription or to call out the militia.

We have been summoned to reply to the appeal with which our sovereign

the Emperor has honored us. But to judge what is bestconscription or

the militiawe can leave to the supreme authority....



Pierre suddenly saw an outlet for his excitement. He hardened his heart

against the senator who was introducing this set and narrow attitude

into the deliberations of the nobility. Pierre stepped forward and

interrupted him. He himself did not yet know what he would say, but he

began to speak eagerly, occasionally lapsing into French or expressing

himself in bookish Russian.



Excuse me, your excellency, he began. (He was well acquainted with

the senator, but thought it necessary on this occasion to address him

formally.) Though I dont agree with the gentleman... (he hesitated

he wished to say, Mon trs honorable propinantMy very honorable

opponent) with the gentleman... whom I have not the honor of knowing,

I suppose that the nobility have been summoned not merely to express

their sympathy and enthusiasm but also to consider the means by which

we can assist our Fatherland! I imagine, he went on, warming to his

subject, that the Emperor himself would not be satisfied to find in us

merely owners of serfs whom we are willing to devote to his service, and

chair  canon * we are ready to make of ourselvesand not to obtain from

us any co-co-counsel.



    * Food for cannon.





Many persons withdrew from the circle, noticing the senators sarcastic

smile and the freedom of Pierres remarks. Only Count Rostv was pleased

with them as he had been pleased with those of the naval officer, the

senator, and in general with whatever speech he had last heard.



I think that before discussing these questions, Pierre continued, we

should ask the Emperormost respectfully ask His Majestyto let us know

the number of our troops and the position in which our army and our

forces now are, and then...



But scarcely had Pierre uttered these words before he was attacked from

three sides. The most vigorous attack came from an old acquaintance,

a boston player who had always been well disposed toward him, Stepn

Stepnovich Adrksin. Adrksin was in uniform, and whether as a result

of the uniform or from some other cause Pierre saw before him quite a

different man. With a sudden expression of malevolence on his aged face,

Adrksin shouted at Pierre



In the first place, I tell you we have no right to question the Emperor

about that, and secondly, if the Russian nobility had that right, the

Emperor could not answer such a question. The troops are moved

according to the enemys movements and the number of men increases and

decreases....



Another voice, that of a nobleman of medium height and about forty years

of age, whom Pierre had formerly met at the gypsies and knew as a bad

cardplayer, and who, also transformed by his uniform, came up to Pierre,

interrupted Adrksin.



Yes, and this is not a time for discussing, he continued, but for

acting there is war in Russia! The enemy is advancing to destroy

Russia, to desecrate the tombs of our fathers, to carry off our wives

and children. The nobleman smote his breast. We will all arise,

everyone of us will go, for our father the Tsar! he shouted, rolling

his bloodshot eyes. Several approving voices were heard in the crowd.

We are Russians and will not grudge our blood in defense of our faith,

the throne, and the Fatherland! We must cease raving if we are sons of

our Fatherland! We will show Europe how Russia rises to the defense of

Russia!



Pierre wished to reply, but could not get in a word. He felt that his

words, apart from what meaning they conveyed, were less audible than the

sound of his opponents voice.



Count Rostv at the back of the crowd was expressing approval several

persons, briskly turning a shoulder to the orator at the end of a

phrase, said



Thats right, quite right! Just so!



Pierre wished to say that he was ready to sacrifice his money, his

serfs, or himself, only one ought to know the state of affairs in

order to be able to improve it, but he was unable to speak. Many voices

shouted and talked at the same time, so that Count Rostv had not time

to signify his approval of them all, and the group increased, dispersed,

re-formed, and then moved with a hum of talk into the largest hall and

to the big table. Not only was Pierres attempt to speak unsuccessful,

but he was rudely interrupted, pushed aside, and people turned away

from him as from a common enemy. This happened not because they were

displeased by the substance of his speech, which had even been forgotten

after the many subsequent speeches, but to animate it the crowd needed a

tangible object to love and a tangible object to hate. Pierre became the

latter. Many other orators spoke after the excited nobleman, and all in

the same tone. Many spoke eloquently and with originality.



Glnka, the editor of the Russian Messenger, who was recognized (cries

of author! author! were heard in the crowd), said that hell must be

repulsed by hell, and that he had seen a child smiling at lightning

flashes and thunderclaps, but we will not be that child.



Yes, yes, at thunderclaps! was repeated approvingly in the back rows

of the crowd.



The crowd drew up to the large table, at which sat gray-haired or bald

seventy-year-old magnates, uniformed and besashed almost all of whom

Pierre had seen in their own homes with their buffoons, or playing

boston at the clubs. With an incessant hum of voices the crowd advanced

to the table. Pressed by the throng against the high backs of the

chairs, the orators spoke one after another and sometimes two together.

Those standing behind noticed what a speaker omitted to say and hastened

to supply it. Others in that heat and crush racked their brains to find

some thought and hastened to utter it. The old magnates, whom Pierre

knew, sat and turned to look first at one and then at another, and their

faces for the most part only expressed the fact that they found it very

hot. Pierre, however, felt excited, and the general desire to show that

they were ready to go to all lengthswhich found expression in the tones

and looks more than in the substance of the speechesinfected him too.

He did not renounce his opinions, but felt himself in some way to blame

and wished to justify himself.



I only said that it would be more to the purpose to make sacrifices

when we know what is needed! said he, trying to be heard above the

other voices.



One of the old men nearest to him looked round, but his attention was

immediately diverted by an exclamation at the other side of the table.



Yes, Moscow will be surrendered! She will be our expiation! shouted

one man.



He is the enemy of mankind! cried another. Allow me to speak....

Gentlemen, you are crushing me!...











CHAPTER XXIII



At that moment Count Rostopchn with his protruding chin and alert eyes,

wearing the uniform of a general with sash over his shoulder, entered

the room, stepping briskly to the front of the crowd of gentry.



Our sovereign the Emperor will be here in a moment, said Rostopchn.

I am straight from the palace. Seeing the position we are in, I think

there is little need for discussion. The Emperor has deigned to summon

us and the merchants. Millions will pour forth from therehe pointed

to the merchants hallbut our business is to supply men and not spare

ourselves.... That is the least we can do!



A conference took place confined to the magnates sitting at the table.

The whole consultation passed more than quietly. After all the preceding

noise the sound of their old voices saying one after another, I

agree, or for variety, I too am of that opinion, and so on had even a

mournful effect.



The secretary was told to write down the resolution of the Moscow

nobility and gentry, that they would furnish ten men, fully equipped,

out of every thousand serfs, as the Smolnsk gentry had done. Their

chairs made a scraping noise as the gentlemen who had conferred rose

with apparent relief, and began walking up and down, arm in arm, to

stretch their legs and converse in couples.



The Emperor! The Emperor! a sudden cry resounded through the halls and

the whole throng hurried to the entrance.



The Emperor entered the hall through a broad path between two lines of

nobles. Every face expressed respectful, awe-struck curiosity. Pierre

stood rather far off and could not hear all that the Emperor said. From

what he did hear he understood that the Emperor spoke of the danger

threatening the empire and of the hopes he placed on the Moscow

nobility. He was answered by a voice which informed him of the

resolution just arrived at.



Gentlemen! said the Emperor with a quivering voice.



There was a rustling among the crowd and it again subsided, so that

Pierre distinctly heard the pleasantly human voice of the Emperor saying

with emotion



I never doubted the devotion of the Russian nobles, but today it has

surpassed my expectations. I thank you in the name of the Fatherland!

Gentlemen, let us act! Time is most precious....



The Emperor ceased speaking, the crowd began pressing round him, and

rapturous exclamations were heard from all sides.



Yes, most precious... a royal word, said Count Rostv, with a sob. He

stood at the back, and, though he had heard hardly anything, understood

everything in his own way.



From the hall of the nobility the Emperor went to that of the merchants.

There he remained about ten minutes. Pierre was among those who saw him

come out from the merchants hall with tears of emotion in his eyes.

As became known later, he had scarcely begun to address the merchants

before tears gushed from his eyes and he concluded in a trembling

voice. When Pierre saw the Emperor he was coming out accompanied by two

merchants, one of whom Pierre knew, a fat otkupshchk. The other was

the mayor, a man with a thin sallow face and narrow beard. Both were

weeping. Tears filled the thin mans eyes, and the fat otkupshchk

sobbed outright like a child and kept repeating



Our lives and propertytake them, Your Majesty!



Pierres one feeling at the moment was a desire to show that he was

ready to go all lengths and was prepared to sacrifice everything. He now

felt ashamed of his speech with its constitutional tendency and sought

an opportunity of effacing it. Having heard that Count Mamnov was

furnishing a regiment, Bezkhov at once informed Rostopchn that he

would give a thousand men and their maintenance.



Old Rostv could not tell his wife of what had passed without tears, and

at once consented to Ptyas request and went himself to enter his name.



Next day the Emperor left Moscow. The assembled nobles all took off

their uniforms and settled down again in their homes and clubs, and not

without some groans gave orders to their stewards about the enrollment,

feeling amazed themselves at what they had done.











BOOK TEN 1812











CHAPTER I



Napoleon began the war with Russia because he could not resist going

to Dresden, could not help having his head turned by the homage he

received, could not help donning a Polish uniform and yielding to the

stimulating influence of a June morning, and could not refrain from

bursts of anger in the presence of Kurkin and then of Balashv.



Alexander refused negotiations because he felt himself to be personally

insulted. Barclay de Tolly tried to command the army in the best

way, because he wished to fulfill his duty and earn fame as a great

commander. Rostv charged the French because he could not restrain

his wish for a gallop across a level field and in the same way the

innumerable people who took part in the war acted in accord with their

personal characteristics, habits, circumstances, and aims. They were

moved by fear or vanity, rejoiced or were indignant, reasoned, imagining

that they knew what they were doing and did it of their own free will,

but they all were involuntary tools of history, carrying on a work

concealed from them but comprehensible to us. Such is the inevitable

fate of men of action, and the higher they stand in the social hierarchy

the less are they free.



The actors of 1812 have long since left the stage, their personal

interests have vanished leaving no trace, and nothing remains of that

time but its historic results.



Providence compelled all these men, striving to attain personal aims, to

further the accomplishment of a stupendous result no one of them at all

expectedneither Napoleon, nor Alexander, nor still less any of those

who did the actual fighting.



The cause of the destruction of the French army in 1812 is clear to us

now. No one will deny that that cause was, on the one hand, its advance

into the heart of Russia late in the season without any preparation for

a winter campaign and, on the other, the character given to the war

by the burning of Russian towns and the hatred of the foe this aroused

among the Russian people. But no one at the time foresaw (what now seems

so evident) that this was the only way an army of eight hundred thousand

menthe best in the world and led by the best generalcould be destroyed

in conflict with a raw army of half its numerical strength, and led by

inexperienced commanders as the Russian army was. Not only did no one

see this, but on the Russian side every effort was made to hinder the

only thing that could save Russia, while on the French side, despite

Napoleons experience and so-called military genius, every effort was

directed to pushing on to Moscow at the end of the summer, that is, to

doing the very thing that was bound to lead to destruction.



In historical works on the year 1812 French writers are very fond of

saying that Napoleon felt the danger of extending his line, that he

sought a battle and that his marshals advised him to stop at Smolnsk,

and of making similar statements to show that the danger of the campaign

was even then understood. Russian authors are still fonder of telling

us that from the commencement of the campaign a Scythian war plan was

adopted to lure Napoleon into the depths of Russia, and this plan some

of them attribute to Pfuel, others to a certain Frenchman, others to

Toll, and others again to Alexander himselfpointing to notes, projects,

and letters which contain hints of such a line of action. But all these

hints at what happened, both from the French side and the Russian, are

advanced only because they fit in with the event. Had that event not

occurred these hints would have been forgotten, as we have forgotten the

thousands and millions of hints and expectations to the contrary

which were current then but have now been forgotten because the event

falsified them. There are always so many conjectures as to the issue of

any event that however it may end there will always be people to say

I said then that it would be so, quite forgetting that amid their

innumerable conjectures many were to quite the contrary effect.



Conjectures as to Napoleons awareness of the danger of extending his

line, and (on the Russian side) as to luring the enemy into the depths

of Russia, are evidently of that kind, and only by much straining can

historians attribute such conceptions to Napoleon and his marshals,

or such plans to the Russian commanders. All the facts are in flat

contradiction to such conjectures. During the whole period of the war

not only was there no wish on the Russian side to draw the French

into the heart of the country, but from their first entry into Russia

everything was done to stop them. And not only was Napoleon not afraid

to extend his line, but he welcomed every step forward as a triumph and

did not seek battle as eagerly as in former campaigns, but very lazily.



At the very beginning of the war our armies were divided, and our sole

aim was to unite them, though uniting the armies was no advantage if we

meant to retire and lure the enemy into the depths of the country. Our

Emperor joined the army to encourage it to defend every inch of Russian

soil and not to retreat. The enormous Drissa camp was formed on Pfuels

plan, and there was no intention of retiring farther. The Emperor

reproached the commanders in chief for every step they retired. He could

not bear the idea of letting the enemy even reach Smolnsk, still less

could he contemplate the burning of Moscow, and when our armies did

unite he was displeased that Smolnsk was abandoned and burned without a

general engagement having been fought under its walls.



So thought the Emperor, and the Russian commanders and people were still

more provoked at the thought that our forces were retreating into the

depths of the country.



Napoleon having cut our armies apart advanced far into the country and

missed several chances of forcing an engagement. In August he was at

Smolnsk and thought only of how to advance farther, though as we now

see that advance was evidently ruinous to him.



The facts clearly show that Napoleon did not foresee the danger of the

advance on Moscow, nor did Alexander and the Russian commanders then

think of luring Napoleon on, but quite the contrary. The luring of

Napoleon into the depths of the country was not the result of any plan,

for no one believed it to be possible it resulted from a most complex

interplay of intrigues, aims, and wishes among those who took part in

the war and had no perception whatever of the inevitable, or of the one

way of saving Russia. Everything came about fortuitously. The armies

were divided at the commencement of the campaign. We tried to unite

them, with the evident intention of giving battle and checking the

enemys advance, and by this effort to unite them while avoiding battle

with a much stronger enemy, and necessarily withdrawing the armies at

an acute anglewe led the French on to Smolnsk. But we withdrew at an

acute angle not only because the French advanced between our two armies

the angle became still more acute and we withdrew still farther, because

Barclay de Tolly was an unpopular foreigner disliked by Bagratin (who

would come under his command), and Bagratinbeing in command of the

second armytried to postpone joining up and coming under Barclays

command as long as he could. Bagratin was slow in effecting the

junctionthough that was the chief aim of all at headquartersbecause,

as he alleged, he exposed his army to danger on this march, and it was

best for him to retire more to the left and more to the south, worrying

the enemy from flank and rear and securing from the Ukraine recruits for

his army and it looks as if he planned this in order not to come under

the command of the detested foreigner Barclay, whose rank was inferior

to his own.



The Emperor was with the army to encourage it, but his presence and

ignorance of what steps to take, and the enormous number of advisers and

plans, destroyed the first armys energy and it retired.



The intention was to make a stand at the Drissa camp, but Paulucci,

aiming at becoming commander in chief, unexpectedly employed his energy

to influence Alexander, and Pfuels whole plan was abandoned and the

command entrusted to Barclay. But as Barclay did not inspire confidence

his power was limited. The armies were divided, there was no unity of

command, and Barclay was unpopular but from this confusion, division,

and the unpopularity of the foreign commander in chief, there resulted

on the one hand indecision and the avoidance of a battle (which we could

not have refrained from had the armies been united and had someone else,

instead of Barclay, been in command) and on the other an ever-increasing

indignation against the foreigners and an increase in patriotic zeal.



At last the Emperor left the army, and as the most convenient and indeed

the only pretext for his departure it was decided that it was necessary

for him to inspire the people in the capitals and arouse the nation in

general to a patriotic war. And by this visit of the Emperor to Moscow

the strength of the Russian army was trebled.



He left in order not to obstruct the commander in chiefs undivided

control of the army, and hoping that more decisive action would then

be taken, but the command of the armies became still more confused and

enfeebled. Bennigsen, the Tsarvich, and a swarm of adjutants general

remained with the army to keep the commander in chief under observation

and arouse his energy, and Barclay, feeling less free than ever under

the observation of all these eyes of the Emperor, became still more

cautious of undertaking any decisive action and avoided giving battle.



Barclay stood for caution. The Tsarvich hinted at treachery and

demanded a general engagement. Lubomrski, Bronntski, Wlocki, and the

others of that group stirred up so much trouble that Barclay, under

pretext of sending papers to the Emperor, dispatched these Polish

adjutants general to Petersburg and plunged into an open struggle with

Bennigsen and the Tsarvich.



At Smolnsk the armies at last reunited, much as Bagratin disliked it.



Bagratin drove up in a carriage to the house occupied by Barclay.

Barclay donned his sash and came out to meet and report to his senior

officer Bagratin.



Despite his seniority in rank Bagratin, in this contest of magnanimity,

took his orders from Barclay, but, having submitted, agreed with him

less than ever. By the Emperors orders Bagratin reported direct to

him. He wrote to Arakchev, the Emperors confidant It must be as

my sovereign pleases, but I cannot work with the Minister (meaning

Barclay). For Gods sake send me somewhere else if only in command of

a regiment. I cannot stand it here. Headquarters are so full of Germans

that a Russian cannot exist and there is no sense in anything. I thought

I was really serving my sovereign and the Fatherland, but it turns out

that I am serving Barclay. I confess I do not want to.



The swarm of Bronntskis and Wintzingerodes and their like still further

embittered the relations between the commanders in chief, and even

less unity resulted. Preparations were made to fight the French before

Smolnsk. A general was sent to survey the position. This general,

hating Barclay, rode to visit a friend of his own, a corps commander,

and, having spent the day with him, returned to Barclay and condemned,

as unsuitable from every point of view, the battleground he had not

seen.



While disputes and intrigues were going on about the future field of

battle, and while we were looking for the Frenchhaving lost touch with

themthe French stumbled upon Nevrovskis division and reached the

walls of Smolnsk.



It was necessary to fight an unexpected battle at Smolnsk to save our

lines of communication. The battle was fought and thousands were killed

on both sides.



Smolnsk was abandoned contrary to the wishes of the Emperor and of the

whole people. But Smolnsk was burned by its own inhabitants who had

been misled by their governor. And these ruined inhabitants, setting

an example to other Russians, went to Moscow thinking only of their own

losses but kindling hatred of the foe. Napoleon advanced farther and we

retired, thus arriving at the very result which caused his destruction.











CHAPTER II



The day after his son had left, Prince Nicholas sent for Princess Mary

to come to his study.



Well? Are you satisfied now? said he. Youve made me quarrel with my

son! Satisfied, are you? Thats all you wanted! Satisfied?... It hurts

me, it hurts. Im old and weak and this is what you wanted. Well then,

gloat over it! Gloat over it!



After that Princess Mary did not see her father for a whole week. He was

ill and did not leave his study.



Princess Mary noticed to her surprise that during this illness the

old prince not only excluded her from his room, but did not admit

Mademoiselle Bourienne either. Tkhon alone attended him.



At the end of the week the prince reappeared and resumed his former way

of life, devoting himself with special activity to building operations

and the arrangement of the gardens and completely breaking off his

relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and cold tone to his

daughter seemed to say There, you see? You plotted against me, you

lied to Prince Andrew about my relations with that Frenchwoman and made

me quarrel with him, but you see I need neither her nor you!



Princess Mary spent half of every day with little Nicholas, watching

his lessons, teaching him Russian and music herself, and talking to

Dessalles the rest of the day she spent over her books, with her old

nurse, or with Gods folk who sometimes came by the back door to see

her.



Of the war Princess Mary thought as women do think about wars. She

feared for her brother who was in it, was horrified by and amazed at

the strange cruelty that impels men to kill one another, but she did not

understand the significance of this war, which seemed to her like all

previous wars. She did not realize the significance of this war, though

Dessalles with whom she constantly conversed was passionately interested

in its progress and tried to explain his own conception of it to her,

and though the Gods folk who came to see her reported, in their own

way, the rumors current among the people of an invasion by Antichrist,

and though Julie (now Princess Drubetskya), who had resumed

correspondence with her, wrote patriotic letters from Moscow.



I write you in Russian, my good friend, wrote Julie in her Frenchified

Russian, because I have a detestation for all the French, and the

same for their language which I cannot support to hear spoken.... We in

Moscow are elated by enthusiasm for our adored Emperor.



My poor husband is enduring pains and hunger in Jewish taverns, but the

news which I have inspires me yet more.



You heard probably of the heroic exploit of Ravski, embracing his two

sons and saying I will perish with them but we will not be shaken!

And truly though the enemy was twice stronger than we, we were

unshakable. We pass the time as we can, but in war as in war! The

princesses Aline and Sophie sit whole days with me, and we, unhappy

widows of live men, make beautiful conversations over our charpie, only

you, my friend, are missing... and so on.



The chief reason Princess Mary did not realize the full significance of

this war was that the old prince never spoke of it, did not recognize

it, and laughed at Dessalles when he mentioned it at dinner.

The princes tone was so calm and confident that Princess Mary

unhesitatingly believed him.



All that July the old prince was exceedingly active and even animated.

He planned another garden and began a new building for the domestic

serfs. The only thing that made Princess Mary anxious about him was that

he slept very little and, instead of sleeping in his study as usual,

changed his sleeping place every day. One day he would order his camp

bed to be set up in the glass gallery, another day he remained on the

couch or on the lounge chair in the drawing room and dozed there without

undressing, whileinstead of Mademoiselle Bouriennea serf boy read to

him. Then again he would spend a night in the dining room.



On August 1, a second letter was received from Prince Andrew. In his

first letter which came soon after he had left home, Prince Andrew had

dutifully asked his fathers forgiveness for what he had allowed himself

to say and begged to be restored to his favor. To this letter the old

prince had replied affectionately, and from that time had kept the

Frenchwoman at a distance. Prince Andrews second letter, written near

Vtebsk after the French had occupied that town, gave a brief account of

the whole campaign, enclosed for them a plan he had drawn and forecasts

as to the further progress of the war. In this letter Prince Andrew

pointed out to his father the danger of staying at Bald Hills, so near

the theater of war and on the armys direct line of march, and advised

him to move to Moscow.



At dinner that day, on Dessalles mentioning that the French were said

to have already entered Vtebsk, the old prince remembered his sons

letter.



There was a letter from Prince Andrew today, he said to Princess

MaryHavent you read it?



No, Father, she replied in a frightened voice.



She could not have read the letter as she did not even know it had

arrived.



He writes about this war, said the prince, with the ironic smile that

had become habitual to him in speaking of the present war.



That must be very interesting, said Dessalles. Prince Andrew is in a

position to know...



Oh, very interesting! said Mademoiselle Bourienne.



Go and get it for me, said the old prince to Mademoiselle Bourienne.

You knowunder the paperweight on the little table.



Mademoiselle Bourienne jumped up eagerly.



No, dont! he exclaimed with a frown. You go, Michael Ivnovich.



Michael Ivnovich rose and went to the study. But as soon as he had left

the room the old prince, looking uneasily round, threw down his napkin

and went himself.



They cant do anything... always make some muddle, he muttered.



While he was away Princess Mary, Dessalles, Mademoiselle Bourienne, and

even little Nicholas exchanged looks in silence. The old prince returned

with quick steps, accompanied by Michael Ivnovich, bringing the letter

and a plan. These he put down beside himnot letting anyone read them at

dinner.



On moving to the drawing room he handed the letter to Princess Mary and,

spreading out before him the plan of the new building and fixing his

eyes upon it, told her to read the letter aloud. When she had done so

Princess Mary looked inquiringly at her father. He was examining the

plan, evidently engrossed in his own ideas.



What do you think of it, Prince? Dessalles ventured to ask.



I? I?... said the prince as if unpleasantly awakened, and not taking

his eyes from the plan of the building.



Very possibly the theater of war will move so near to us that...



Ha ha ha! The theater of war! said the prince. I have said and still

say that the theater of war is Poland and the enemy will never get

beyond the Niemen.



Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who was talking of the

Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper, but Princess Mary,

forgetting the geographical position of the Niemen, thought that what

her father was saying was correct.



When the snow melts theyll sink in the Polish swamps. Only they

could fail to see it, the prince continued, evidently thinking of the

campaign of 1807 which seemed to him so recent. Bennigsen should have

advanced into Prussia sooner, then things would have taken a different

turn...



But, Prince, Dessalles began timidly, the letter mentions

Vtebsk....



Ah, the letter? Yes... replied the prince peevishly. Yes... yes...

His face suddenly took on a morose expression. He paused. Yes, he

writes that the French were beaten at... at... what river is it?



Dessalles dropped his eyes.



The prince says nothing about that, he remarked gently.



Doesnt he? But I didnt invent it myself.



No one spoke for a long time.



Yes... yes... Well, Michael Ivnovich, he suddenly went on, raising

his head and pointing to the plan of the building, tell me how you mean

to alter it....



Michael Ivnovich went up to the plan, and the prince after speaking to

him about the building looked angrily at Princess Mary and Dessalles and

went to his own room.



Princess Mary saw Dessalles embarrassed and astonished look fixed on

her father, noticed his silence, and was struck by the fact that her

father had forgotten his sons letter on the drawing room table but she

was not only afraid to speak of it and ask Dessalles the reason of his

confusion and silence, but was afraid even to think about it.



In the evening Michael Ivnovich, sent by the prince, came to Princess

Mary for Prince Andrews letter which had been forgotten in the drawing

room. She gave it to him and, unpleasant as it was to her to do so,

ventured to ask him what her father was doing.



Always busy, replied Michael Ivnovich with a respectfully ironic

smile which caused Princess Mary to turn pale. Hes worrying very much

about the new building. He has been reading a little, but nowMichael

Ivnovich went on, lowering his voicenow hes at his desk, busy with

his will, I expect. (One of the princes favorite occupations of late

had been the preparation of some papers he meant to leave at his death

and which he called his will.)



And Alptych is being sent to Smolnsk? asked Princess Mary.



Oh, yes, he has been waiting to start for some time.











CHAPTER III



When Michael Ivnovich returned to the study with the letter, the old

prince, with spectacles on and a shade over his eyes, was sitting at his

open bureau with screened candles, holding a paper in his outstretched

hand, and in a somewhat dramatic attitude was reading his manuscripthis

Remarks as he termed itwhich was to be transmitted to the Emperor

after his death.



When Michael Ivnovich went in there were tears in the princes eyes

evoked by the memory of the time when the paper he was now reading had

been written. He took the letter from Michael Ivnovichs hand, put it

in his pocket, folded up his papers, and called in Alptych who had long

been waiting.



The prince had a list of things to be bought in Smolnsk and, walking

up and down the room past Alptych who stood by the door, he gave his

instructions.



First, notepaperdo you hear? Eight quires, like this sample,

gilt-edged... it must be exactly like the sample. Varnish, sealing wax,

as in Michael Ivnovichs list.



He paced up and down for a while and glanced at his notes.



Then hand to the governor in person a letter about the deed.



Next, bolts for the doors of the new building were wanted and had to be

of a special shape the prince had himself designed, and a leather case

had to be ordered to keep the will in.



The instructions to Alptych took over two hours and still the prince

did not let him go. He sat down, sank into thought, closed his eyes, and

dozed off. Alptych made a slight movement.



Well, go, go! If anything more is wanted Ill send after you.



Alptych went out. The prince again went to his bureau, glanced into it,

fingered his papers, closed the bureau again, and sat down at the table

to write to the governor.



It was already late when he rose after sealing the letter. He wished

to sleep, but he knew he would not be able to and that most depressing

thoughts came to him in bed. So he called Tkhon and went through the

rooms with him to show him where to set up the bed for that night.



He went about looking at every corner. Every place seemed

unsatisfactory, but worst of all was his customary couch in the study.

That couch was dreadful to him, probably because of the oppressive

thoughts he had had when lying there. It was unsatisfactory everywhere,

but the corner behind the piano in the sitting room was better than

other places he had never slept there yet.



With the help of a footman Tkhon brought in the bedstead and began

putting it up.



Thats not right! Thats not right! cried the prince, and himself

pushed it a few inches from the corner and then closer in again.



Well, at last Ive finished, now Ill rest, thought the prince, and

let Tkhon undress him.



Frowning with vexation at the effort necessary to divest himself of his

coat and trousers, the prince undressed, sat down heavily on the

bed, and appeared to be meditating as he looked contemptuously at his

withered yellow legs. He was not meditating, but only deferring the

moment of making the effort to lift those legs up and turn over on the

bed. Ugh, how hard it is! Oh, that this toil might end and you would

release me! thought he. Pressing his lips together he made that effort

for the twenty-thousandth time and lay down. But hardly had he done so

before he felt the bed rocking backwards and forwards beneath him as if

it were breathing heavily and jolting. This happened to him almost every

night. He opened his eyes as they were closing.



No peace, damn them! he muttered, angry he knew not with whom. Ah

yes, there was something else important, very important, that I was

keeping till I should be in bed. The bolts? No, I told him about them.

No, it was something, something in the drawing room. Princess Mary

talked some nonsense. Dessalles, that fool, said something. Something in

my pocketcant remember....



Tkhon, what did we talk about at dinner?



About Prince Michael...



Be quiet, quiet! The prince slapped his hand on the table. Yes, I

know, Prince Andrews letter! Princess Mary read it. Dessalles said

something about Vtebsk. Now Ill read it.



He had the letter taken from his pocket and the tableon which stood a

glass of lemonade and a spiral wax candlemoved close to the bed, and

putting on his spectacles he began reading. Only now in the stillness of

the night, reading it by the faint light under the green shade, did he

grasp its meaning for a moment.



The French at Vtebsk, in four days march they may be at Smolnsk

perhaps are already there! Tkhon! Tkhon jumped up. No, no, I dont

want anything! he shouted.



He put the letter under the candlestick and closed his eyes. And there

rose before him the Danube at bright noonday reeds, the Russian

camp, and himself a young general without a wrinkle on his ruddy face,

vigorous and alert, entering Potmkins gaily colored tent, and a

burning sense of jealousy of the favorite agitated him now as strongly

as it had done then. He recalled all the words spoken at that

first meeting with Potmkin. And he saw before him a plump, rather

sallow-faced, short, stout woman, the Empress Mother, with her smile

and her words at her first gracious reception of him, and then that same

face on the catafalque, and the encounter he had with Zbov over her

coffin about his right to kiss her hand.



Oh, quicker, quicker! To get back to that time and have done with all

the present! Quicker, quickerand that they should leave me in peace!











CHAPTER IV



Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Bolknskis estate, lay forty miles east

from Smolnsk and two miles from the main road to Moscow.



The same evening that the prince gave his instructions to Alptych,

Dessalles, having asked to see Princess Mary, told her that, as the

prince was not very well and was taking no steps to secure his safety,

though from Prince Andrews letter it was evident that to remain at Bald

Hills might be dangerous, he respectfully advised her to send a letter

by Alptych to the Provincial Governor at Smolnsk, asking him to let

her know the state of affairs and the extent of the danger to which

Bald Hills was exposed. Dessalles wrote this letter to the Governor

for Princess Mary, she signed it, and it was given to Alptych with

instructions to hand it to the Governor and to come back as quickly as

possible if there was danger.



Having received all his orders Alptych, wearing a white beaver hata

present from the princeand carrying a stick as the prince did, went out

accompanied by his family. Three well-fed roans stood ready harnessed to

a small conveyance with a leather hood.



The larger bell was muffled and the little bells on the harness stuffed

with paper. The prince allowed no one at Bald Hills to drive with

ringing bells but on a long journey Alptych liked to have them. His

satellitesthe senior clerk, a countinghouse clerk, a scullery maid,

a cook, two old women, a little pageboy, the coachman, and various

domestic serfswere seeing him off.



His daughter placed chintz-covered down cushions for him to sit on and

behind his back. His old sister-in-law popped in a small bundle, and one

of the coachmen helped him into the vehicle.



There! There! Womens fuss! Women, women! said Alptych, puffing and

speaking rapidly just as the prince did, and he climbed into the trap.



After giving the clerk orders about the work to be done, Alptych, not

trying to imitate the prince now, lifted the hat from his bald head and

crossed himself three times.



If there is anything... come back, Ykov Alptych! For Christs sake

think of us! cried his wife, referring to the rumors of war and the

enemy.



Women, women! Womens fuss! muttered Alptych to himself and started

on his journey, looking round at the fields of yellow rye and the

still-green, thickly growing oats, and at other quite black fields just

being plowed a second time.



As he went along he looked with pleasure at the years splendid crop

of corn, scrutinized the strips of ryefield which here and there were

already being reaped, made his calculations as to the sowing and the

harvest, and asked himself whether he had not forgotten any of the

princes orders.



Having baited the horses twice on the way, he arrived at the town toward

evening on the fourth of August.



Alptych kept meeting and overtaking baggage trains and troops on the

road. As he approached Smolnsk he heard the sounds of distant firing,

but these did not impress him. What struck him most was the sight of a

splendid field of oats in which a camp had been pitched and which

was being mown down by the soldiers, evidently for fodder. This fact

impressed Alptych, but in thinking about his own business he soon

forgot it.



All the interests of his life for more than thirty years had been

bounded by the will of the prince, and he never went beyond that limit.

Everything not connected with the execution of the princes orders did

not interest and did not even exist for Alptych.



On reaching Smolnsk on the evening of the fourth of August he put up

in the Gchina suburb across the Dnieper, at the inn kept by Ferapntov,

where he had been in the habit of putting up for the last thirty years.

Some thirty years ago Ferapntov, by Alptychs advice, had bought a

wood from the prince, had begun to trade, and now had a house, an

inn, and a corn dealers shop in that province. He was a stout, dark,

red-faced peasant in the forties, with thick lips, a broad knob of a

nose, similar knobs over his black frowning brows, and a round belly.



Wearing a waistcoat over his cotton shirt, Ferapntov was standing

before his shop which opened onto the street. On seeing Alptych he went

up to him.



Youre welcome, Ykov Alptych. Folks are leaving the town, but you

have come to it, said he.



Why are they leaving the town? asked Alptych.



Thats what I say. Folks are foolish! Always afraid of the French.



Womens fuss, womens fuss! said Alptych.



Just what I think, Ykov Alptych. What I say is orders have been

given not to let them in, so that must be right. And the peasants are

asking three rubles for cartingit isnt Christian!



Ykov Alptych heard without heeding. He asked for a samovar and for hay

for his horses, and when he had had his tea he went to bed.



All night long troops were moving past the inn. Next morning Alptych

donned a jacket he wore only in town and went out on business. It was a

sunny morning and by eight oclock it was already hot. A good day for

harvesting, thought Alptych.



From beyond the town firing had been heard since early morning. At eight

oclock the booming of cannon was added to the sound of musketry. Many

people were hurrying through the streets and there were many soldiers,

but cabs were still driving about, tradesmen stood at their shops, and

service was being held in the churches as usual. Alptych went to the

shops, to government offices, to the post office, and to the Governors.

In the offices and shops and at the post office everyone was talking

about the army and about the enemy who was already attacking the town,

everybody was asking what should be done, and all were trying to calm

one another.



In front of the Governors house Alptych found a large number of

people, Cossacks, and a traveling carriage of the Governors. At the

porch he met two of the landed gentry, one of whom he knew. This man, an

ex-captain of police, was saying angrily



Its no joke, you know! Its all very well if youre single. One man

though undone is but one, as the proverb says, but with thirteen in

your family and all the property... Theyve brought us to utter ruin!

What sort of governors are they to do that? They ought to be hangedthe

brigands!...



Oh come, thats enough! said the other.



What do I care? Let him hear! Were not dogs, said the ex-captain of

police, and looking round he noticed Alptych.



Oh, Ykov Alptych! What have you come for?



To see the Governor by his excellencys order, answered Alptych,

lifting his head and proudly thrusting his hand into the bosom of his

coat as he always did when he mentioned the prince.... He has ordered

me to inquire into the position of affairs, he added.



Yes, go and find out! shouted the angry gentleman. Theyve brought

things to such a pass that there are no carts or anything!... There it

is again, do you hear? said he, pointing in the direction whence came

the sounds of firing.



Theyve brought us all to ruin... the brigands! he repeated, and

descended the porch steps.



Alptych swayed his head and went upstairs. In the waiting room were

tradesmen, women, and officials, looking silently at one another. The

door of the Governors room opened and they all rose and moved forward.

An official ran out, said some words to a merchant, called a stout

official with a cross hanging on his neck to follow him, and vanished

again, evidently wishing to avoid the inquiring looks and questions

addressed to him. Alptych moved forward and next time the official came

out addressed him, one hand placed in the breast of his buttoned coat,

and handed him two letters.



To his Honor Baron Asch, from General-in-Chief Prince Bolknski, he

announced with such solemnity and significance that the official turned

to him and took the letters.



A few minutes later the Governor received Alptych and hurriedly said to

him



Inform the prince and princess that I knew nothing I acted on the

highest instructionshere... and he handed a paper to Alptych. Still,

as the prince is unwell my advice is that they should go to Moscow. I am

just starting myself. Inform them...



But the Governor did not finish a dusty perspiring officer ran into the

room and began to say something in French. The Governors face expressed

terror.



Go, he said, nodding his head to Alptych, and began questioning the

officer.



Eager, frightened, helpless glances were turned on Alptych when he came

out of the Governors room. Involuntarily listening now to the firing,

which had drawn nearer and was increasing in strength, Alptych hurried

to his inn. The paper handed to him by the Governor said this



I assure you that the town of Smolnsk is not in the slightest danger

as yet and it is unlikely that it will be threatened with any. I from

the one side and Prince Bagratin from the other are marching to unite

our forces before Smolnsk, which junction will be effected on the

22nd instant, and both armies with their united forces will defend our

compatriots of the province entrusted to your care till our efforts

shall have beaten back the enemies of our Fatherland, or till the last

warrior in our valiant ranks has perished. From this you will see that

you have a perfect right to reassure the inhabitants of Smolnsk, for

those defended by two such brave armies may feel assured of victory.

(Instructions from Barclay de Tolly to Baron Asch, the civil governor of

Smolnsk, 1812.)



People were anxiously roaming about the streets.



Carts piled high with household utensils, chairs, and cupboards kept

emerging from the gates of the yards and moving along the streets.

Loaded carts stood at the house next to Ferapntovs and women were

wailing and lamenting as they said good-by. A small watchdog ran round

barking in front of the harnessed horses.



Alptych entered the innyard at a quicker pace than usual and went

straight to the shed where his horses and trap were. The coachman was

asleep. He woke him up, told him to harness, and went into the passage.

From the hosts room came the sounds of a child crying, the despairing

sobs of a woman, and the hoarse angry shouting of Ferapntov. The cook

began running hither and thither in the passage like a frightened hen,

just as Alptych entered.



Hes done her to death. Killed the mistress!... Beat her... dragged her

about so!...



What for? asked Alptych.



She kept begging to go away. Shes a woman! Take me away, says she,

dont let me perish with my little children! Folks, she says, are all

gone, so why, she says, dont we go? And he began beating and pulling

her about so!



At these words Alptych nodded as if in approval, and not wishing to

hear more went to the door of the room opposite the innkeepers, where

he had left his purchases.



You brute, you murderer! screamed a thin, pale woman who, with a baby

in her arms and her kerchief torn from her head, burst through the door

at that moment and down the steps into the yard.



Ferapntov came out after her, but on seeing Alptych adjusted his

waistcoat, smoothed his hair, yawned, and followed Alptych into the

opposite room.



Going already? said he.



Alptych, without answering or looking at his host, sorted his packages

and asked how much he owed.



Well reckon up! Well, have you been to the Governors? asked

Ferapntov. What has been decided?



Alptych replied that the Governor had not told him anything definite.



With our business, how can we get away? said Ferapntov. Wed have

to pay seven rubles a cartload to Dorogobzh and I tell them theyre

not Christians to ask it! Selivnov, now, did a good stroke last

Thursdaysold flour to the army at nine rubles a sack. Will you have

some tea? he added.



While the horses were being harnessed Alptych and Ferapntov over their

tea talked of the price of corn, the crops, and the good weather for

harvesting.



Well, it seems to be getting quieter, remarked Ferapntov, finishing

his third cup of tea and getting up. Ours must have got the best of it.

The orders were not to let them in. So were in force, it seems....

They say the other day Matthew Ivnych Pltov drove them into the river

Mrina and drowned some eighteen thousand in one day.



Alptych collected his parcels, handed them to the coachman who had come

in, and settled up with the innkeeper. The noise of wheels, hoofs, and

bells was heard from the gateway as a little trap passed out.



It was by now late in the afternoon. Half the street was in shadow, the

other half brightly lit by the sun. Alptych looked out of the window

and went to the door. Suddenly the strange sound of a far-off whistling

and thud was heard, followed by a boom of cannon blending into a dull

roar that set the windows rattling.



He went out into the street two men were running past toward the

bridge. From different sides came whistling sounds and the thud of

cannon balls and bursting shells falling on the town. But these sounds

were hardly heard in comparison with the noise of the firing outside the

town and attracted little attention from the inhabitants. The town was

being bombarded by a hundred and thirty guns which Napoleon had ordered

up after four oclock. The people did not at once realize the meaning of

this bombardment.



At first the noise of the falling bombs and shells only aroused

curiosity. Ferapntovs wife, who till then had not ceased wailing under

the shed, became quiet and with the baby in her arms went to the gate,

listening to the sounds and looking in silence at the people.



The cook and a shop assistant came to the gate. With lively curiosity

everyone tried to get a glimpse of the projectiles as they flew over

their heads. Several people came round the corner talking eagerly.



What force! remarked one. Knocked the roof and ceiling all to

splinters!



Routed up the earth like a pig, said another.



Thats grand, it bucks one up! laughed the first. Lucky you jumped

aside, or it would have wiped you out!



Others joined those men and stopped and told how cannon balls had fallen

on a house close to them. Meanwhile still more projectiles, now with

the swift sinister whistle of a cannon ball, now with the agreeable

intermittent whistle of a shell, flew over peoples heads incessantly,

but not one fell close by, they all flew over. Alptych was getting into

his trap. The innkeeper stood at the gate.



What are you staring at? he shouted to the cook, who in her red skirt,

with sleeves rolled up, swinging her bare elbows, had stepped to the

corner to listen to what was being said.



What marvels! she exclaimed, but hearing her masters voice she turned

back, pulling down her tucked-up skirt.



Once more something whistled, but this time quite close, swooping

downwards like a little bird a flame flashed in the middle of the

street, something exploded, and the street was shrouded in smoke.



Scoundrel, what are you doing? shouted the innkeeper, rushing to the

cook.



At that moment the pitiful wailing of women was heard from different

sides, the frightened baby began to cry, and people crowded silently

with pale faces round the cook. The loudest sound in that crowd was her

wailing.



Oh-h-h! Dear souls, dear kind souls! Dont let me die! My good

souls!...



Five minutes later no one remained in the street. The cook, with her

thigh broken by a shell splinter, had been carried into the kitchen.

Alptych, his coachman, Ferapntovs wife and children and the house

porter were all sitting in the cellar, listening. The roar of guns, the

whistling of projectiles, and the piteous moaning of the cook, which

rose above the other sounds, did not cease for a moment. The mistress

rocked and hushed her baby and when anyone came into the cellar asked

in a pathetic whisper what had become of her husband who had remained

in the street. A shopman who entered told her that her husband had

gone with others to the cathedral, whence they were fetching the

wonder-working icon of Smolnsk.



Toward dusk the cannonade began to subside. Alptych left the cellar

and stopped in the doorway. The evening sky that had been so clear was

clouded with smoke, through which, high up, the sickle of the new moon

shone strangely. Now that the terrible din of the guns had ceased a hush

seemed to reign over the town, broken only by the rustle of footsteps,

the moaning, the distant cries, and the crackle of fires which seemed

widespread everywhere. The cooks moans had now subsided. On two sides

black curling clouds of smoke rose and spread from the fires. Through

the streets soldiers in various uniforms walked or ran confusedly in

different directions like ants from a ruined ant-hill. Several of them

ran into Ferapntovs yard before Alptychs eyes. Alptych went out

to the gate. A retreating regiment, thronging and hurrying, blocked the

street.



Noticing him, an officer said The town is being abandoned. Get away,

get away! and then, turning to the soldiers, shouted



Ill teach you to run into the yards!



Alptych went back to the house, called the coachman, and told him to

set off. Ferapntovs whole household came out too, following Alptych

and the coachman. The women, who had been silent till then, suddenly

began to wail as they looked at the firesthe smoke and even the flames

of which could be seen in the failing twilightand as if in reply the

same kind of lamentation was heard from other parts of the street.

Inside the shed Alptych and the coachman arranged the tangled reins and

traces of their horses with trembling hands.



As Alptych was driving out of the gate he saw some ten soldiers in

Ferapntovs open shop, talking loudly and filling their bags and

knapsacks with flour and sunflower seeds. Just then Ferapntov returned

and entered his shop. On seeing the soldiers he was about to shout at

them, but suddenly stopped and, clutching at his hair, burst into sobs

and laughter



Loot everything, lads! Dont let those devils get it! he cried, taking

some bags of flour himself and throwing them into the street.



Some of the soldiers were frightened and ran away, others went on

filling their bags. On seeing Alptych, Ferapntov turned to him



Russia is done for! he cried. Alptych, Ill set the place on fire

myself. Were done for!... and Ferapntov ran into the yard.



Soldiers were passing in a constant stream along the street blocking

it completely, so that Alptych could not pass out and had to wait.

Ferapntovs wife and children were also sitting in a cart waiting till

it was possible to drive out.



Night had come. There were stars in the sky and the new moon shone out

amid the smoke that screened it. On the sloping descent to the Dnieper

Alptychs cart and that of the innkeepers wife, which were slowly

moving amid the rows of soldiers and of other vehicles, had to stop.

In a side street near the crossroads where the vehicles had stopped, a

house and some shops were on fire. This fire was already burning itself

out. The flames now died down and were lost in the black smoke, now

suddenly flared up again brightly, lighting up with strange distinctness

the faces of the people crowding at the crossroads. Black figures

flitted about before the fire, and through the incessant crackling of

the flames talking and shouting could be heard. Seeing that his trap

would not be able to move on for some time, Alptych got down and turned

into the side street to look at the fire. Soldiers were continually

rushing backwards and forwards near it, and he saw two of them and a

man in a frieze coat dragging burning beams into another yard across the

street, while others carried bundles of hay.



Alptych went up to a large crowd standing before a high barn which was

blazing briskly. The walls were all on fire and the back wall had fallen

in, the wooden roof was collapsing, and the rafters were alight. The

crowd was evidently watching for the roof to fall in, and Alptych

watched for it too.



Alptych! a familiar voice suddenly hailed the old man.



Mercy on us! Your excellency! answered Alptych, immediately

recognizing the voice of his young prince.



Prince Andrew in his riding cloak, mounted on a black horse, was looking

at Alptych from the back of the crowd.



Why are you here? he asked.



Your... your excellency, stammered Alptych 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 masters pale

worn face. Alptych told how he had been sent there and how difficult it

was to get away.



Are we really quite lost, your excellency? he asked again.



Prince Andrew without replying took out a notebook and raising his knee

began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to his sister



Smolnsk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by the enemy

within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know at once when

you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyzh.



Having written this and given the paper to Alptych, he told him how

to arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and the

boys tutor, and how and where to let him know immediately. Before

he had had time to finish giving these instructions, a chief of staff

followed by a suite galloped up to him.



You are a colonel? shouted the chief of staff with a German accent,

in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. Houses are set on fire in your

presence and you stand by! What does this mean? You will answer for

it! shouted Berg, who was now assistant to the chief of staff of the

commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army, a place,

as Berg said, very agreeable and well en vidence.



Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking to

Alptych.



So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if by the

tenth I dont receive news that they have all got away I shall have to

throw up everything and come myself to Bald Hills.



Prince, said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, I only spoke because

I have to obey orders, because I always do obey exactly.... You must

please excuse me, he went on apologetically.



Something cracked in the flames. The fire died down for a moment and

wreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was another

terrible crash and something huge collapsed.



Ou-rou-rou! yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of the collapsing roof

of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused a cakelike aroma all

around. The flames flared up again, lighting the animated, delighted,

exhausted faces of the spectators.



The man in the frieze coat raised his arms and shouted



Its fine, lads! Now its raging... Its fine!



Thats the owner himself, cried several voices.



Well then, continued Prince Andrew to Alptych, report to them as I

have told you and not replying a word to Berg who was now mute beside

him, he touched his horse and rode down the side street.











CHAPTER V



From Smolnsk the troops continued to retreat, followed by the enemy.

On the tenth of August the regiment Prince Andrew commanded was marching

along the highroad past the avenue leading to Bald Hills. Heat and

drought had continued for more than three weeks. Each day fleecy clouds

floated across the sky and occasionally veiled the sun, but toward

evening the sky cleared again and the sun set in reddish-brown mist.

Heavy night dews alone refreshed the earth. The unreaped corn was

scorched and shed its grain. The marshes dried up. The cattle lowed from

hunger, finding no food on the sun-parched meadows. Only at night and

in the forests while the dew lasted was there any freshness. But on the

road, the highroad along which the troops marched, there was no such

freshness even at night or when the road passed through the forest the

dew was imperceptible on the sandy dust churned up more than six inches

deep. As soon as day dawned the march began. The artillery and baggage

wagons moved noiselessly through the deep dust that rose to the very

hubs of the wheels, and the infantry sank ankle-deep in that soft,

choking, hot dust that never cooled even at night. Some of this dust

was kneaded by the feet and wheels, while the rest rose and hung like a

cloud over the troops, settling in eyes, ears, hair, and nostrils, and

worst of all in the lungs of the men and beasts as they moved along that

road. The higher the sun rose the higher rose that cloud of dust, and

through the screen of its hot fine particles one could look with naked

eye at the sun, which showed like a huge crimson ball in the unclouded

sky. There was no wind, and the men choked in that motionless

atmosphere. They marched with handkerchiefs tied over their noses and

mouths. When they passed through a village they all rushed to the wells

and fought for the water and drank it down to the mud.



Prince Andrew was in command of a regiment, and the management of that

regiment, the welfare of the men and the necessity of receiving

and giving orders, engrossed him. The burning of Smolnsk and its

abandonment made an epoch in his life. A novel feeling of anger against

the foe made him forget his own sorrow. He was entirely devoted to the

affairs of his regiment and was considerate and kind to his men and

officers. In the regiment they called him our prince, were proud

of him and loved him. But he was kind and gentle only to those of his

regiment, to Timkhin and the likepeople quite new to him, belonging

to a different world and who could not know and understand his past. As

soon as he came across a former acquaintance or anyone from the

staff, he bristled up immediately and grew spiteful, ironical, and

contemptuous. Everything that reminded him of his past was repugnant to

him, and so in his relations with that former circle he confined himself

to trying to do his duty and not to be unfair.



In truth everything presented itself in a dark and gloomy light to

Prince Andrew, especially after the abandonment of Smolnsk on the sixth

of August (he considered that it could and should have been defended)

and after his sick father had had to flee to Moscow, abandoning to

pillage his dearly beloved Bald Hills which he had built and peopled.

But despite this, thanks to his regiment, Prince Andrew had something to

think about entirely apart from general questions. Two days previously

he had received news that his father, son, and sister had left for

Moscow and though there was nothing for him to do at Bald Hills, Prince

Andrew with a characteristic desire to foment his own grief decided that

he must ride there.



He ordered his horse to be saddled and, leaving his regiment on the

march, rode to his fathers estate where he had been born and spent his

childhood. Riding past the pond where there used always to be dozens

of women chattering as they rinsed their linen or beat it with wooden

beetles, Prince Andrew noticed that there was not a soul about and that

the little washing wharf, torn from its place and half submerged, was

floating on its side in the middle of the pond. He rode to the keepers

lodge. No one at the stone entrance gates of the drive and the door

stood open. Grass had already begun to grow on the garden paths, and

horses and calves were straying in the English park. Prince Andrew rode

up to the hothouse some of the glass panes were broken, and of the

trees in tubs some were overturned and others dried up. He called for

Tars the gardener, but no one replied. Having gone round the corner

of the hothouse to the ornamental garden, he saw that the carved garden

fence was broken and branches of the plum trees had been torn off with

the fruit. An old peasant whom Prince Andrew in his childhood had often

seen at the gate was sitting on a green garden seat, plaiting a bast

shoe.



He was deaf and did not hear Prince Andrew ride up. He was sitting on

the seat the old prince used to like to sit on, and beside him strips of

bast were hanging on the broken and withered branch of a magnolia.



Prince Andrew rode up to the house. Several limes in the old garden had

been cut down and a piebald mare and her foal were wandering in front of

the house among the rosebushes. The shutters were all closed, except at

one window which was open. A little serf boy, seeing Prince Andrew, ran

into the house. Alptych, having sent his family away, was alone at

Bald Hills and was sitting indoors reading the Lives of the Saints. On

hearing that Prince Andrew had come, he went out with his spectacles on

his nose, buttoning his coat, and, hastily stepping up, without a word

began weeping and kissing Prince Andrews knee.



Then, vexed at his own weakness, he turned away and began to report

on the position of affairs. Everything precious and valuable had been

removed to Boguchrovo. Seventy quarters of grain had also been carted

away. The hay and the spring corn, of which Alptych said there had been

a remarkable crop that year, had been commandeered by the troops and

mown down while still green. The peasants were ruined some of them too

had gone to Boguchrovo, only a few remained.



Without waiting to hear him out, Prince Andrew asked



When did my father and sister leave? meaning when did they leave for

Moscow.



Alptych, understanding the question to refer to their departure for

Boguchrovo, replied that they had left on the seventh and again went

into details concerning the estate management, asking for instructions.



Am I to let the troops have the oats, and to take a receipt for them?

We have still six hundred quarters left, he inquired.



What am I to say to him? thought Prince Andrew, looking down on the

old mans bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the expression on

his face that the old man himself understood how untimely such questions

were and only asked them to allay his grief.



Yes, let them have it, replied Prince Andrew.



If you noticed some disorder in the garden, said Alptych, it was

impossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent

the night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their

commanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it.



Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy

occupies the place? asked Prince Andrew.



Alptych turned his face to Prince Andrew, looked at him, and suddenly

with a solemn gesture raised his arm.



He is my refuge! His will be done! he exclaimed.



A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow toward

the prince.



Well, good-by! said Prince Andrew, bending over to Alptych. You

must go away too, take away what you can and tell the serfs to go to the

Ryazn estate or to the one near Moscow.



Alptych clung to Prince Andrews leg and burst into sobs. Gently

disengaging himself, the prince spurred his horse and rode down the

avenue at a gallop.



The old man was still sitting in the ornamental garden, like a fly

impassive on the face of a loved one who is dead, tapping the last on

which he was making the bast shoe, and two little girls, running out

from the hot house carrying in their skirts plums they had plucked from

the trees there, came upon Prince Andrew. On seeing the young master,

the elder one with frightened look clutched her younger companion by the

hand and hid with her behind a birch tree, not stopping to pick up some

green plums they had dropped.



Prince Andrew turned away with startled haste, unwilling to let them

see that they had been observed. He was sorry for the pretty frightened

little girl, was afraid of looking at her, and yet felt an irresistible

desire to do so. A new sensation of comfort and relief came over him

when, seeing these girls, he realized the existence of other human

interests entirely aloof from his own and just as legitimate as those

that occupied him. Evidently these girls passionately desired one

thingto carry away and eat those green plums without being caughtand

Prince Andrew shared their wish for the success of their enterprise. He

could not resist looking at them once more. Believing their danger past,

they sprang from their ambush and, chirruping something in their shrill

little voices and holding up their skirts, their bare little sunburned

feet scampered merrily and quickly across the meadow grass.



Prince Andrew was somewhat refreshed by having ridden off the dusty

highroad along which the troops were moving. But not far from Bald Hills

he again came out on the road and overtook his regiment at its halting

place by the dam of a small pond. It was past one oclock. The sun,

a red ball through the dust, burned and scorched his back intolerably

through his black coat. The dust always hung motionless above the buzz

of talk that came from the resting troops. There was no wind. As he

crossed the dam Prince Andrew smelled the ooze and freshness of the

pond. He longed to get into that water, however dirty it might be, and

he glanced round at the pool from whence came sounds of shrieks and

laughter. The small, muddy, green pond had risen visibly more than a

foot, flooding the dam, because it was full of the naked white bodies

of soldiers with brick-red hands, necks, and faces, who were splashing

about in it. All this naked white human flesh, laughing and shrieking,

floundered about in that dirty pool like carp stuffed into a watering

can, and the suggestion of merriment in that floundering mass rendered

it specially pathetic.



One fair-haired young soldier of the third company, whom Prince Andrew

knew and who had a strap round the calf of one leg, crossed himself,

stepped back to get a good run, and plunged into the water another,

a dark noncommissioned officer who was always shaggy, stood up to his

waist in the water joyfully wriggling his muscular figure and snorted

with satisfaction as he poured the water over his head with hands

blackened to the wrists. There were sounds of men slapping one another,

yelling, and puffing.



Everywhere on the bank, on the dam, and in the pond, there was healthy,

white, muscular flesh. The officer, Timkhin, with his red little nose,

standing on the dam wiping himself with a towel, felt confused at seeing

the prince, but made up his mind to address him nevertheless.



Its very nice, your excellency! Wouldnt you like to? said he.



Its dirty, replied Prince Andrew, making a grimace.



Well clear it out for you in a minute, said Timkhin, and, still

undressed, ran off to clear the men out of the pond.



The prince wants to bathe.



What prince? Ours? said many voices, and the men were in such haste

to clear out that the prince could hardly stop them. He decided that he

would rather wash himself with water in the barn.



Flesh, bodies, cannon fodder! he thought, and he looked at his own

naked body and shuddered, not from cold but from a sense of disgust

and horror he did not himself understand, aroused by the sight of that

immense number of bodies splashing about in the dirty pond.





On the seventh of August Prince Bagratin wrote as follows from his

quarters at Mikhylovna on the Smolnsk road



Dear Count Alxis Andrevich(He was writing to Arakchev but knew that

his letter would be read by the Emperor, and therefore weighed every

word in it to the best of his ability.)



I expect the Minister (Barclay de Tolly) has already reported the

abandonment of Smolnsk to the enemy. It is pitiable and sad, and

the whole army is in despair that this most important place has been

wantonly abandoned. I, for my part, begged him personally most urgently

and finally wrote him, but nothing would induce him to consent. I swear

to you on my honor that Napoleon was in such a fix as never before and

might have lost half his army but could not have taken Smolnsk. Our

troops fought, and are fighting, as never before. With fifteen thousand

men I held the enemy at bay for thirty-five hours and beat him but he

would not hold out even for fourteen hours. It is disgraceful, a stain

on our army, and as for him, he ought, it seems to me, not to live. If

he reports that our losses were great, it is not true perhaps about

four thousand, not more, and not even that but even were they ten

thousand, thats war! But the enemy has lost masses....



What would it have cost him to hold out for another two days? They would

have had to retire of their own accord, for they had no water for men

or horses. He gave me his word he would not retreat, but suddenly sent

instructions that he was retiring that night. We cannot fight in this

way, or we may soon bring the enemy to Moscow....



There is a rumor that you are thinking of peace. God forbid that you

should make peace after all our sacrifices and such insane retreats! You

would set all Russia against you and everyone of us would feel ashamed

to wear the uniform. If it has come to thiswe must fight as long as

Russia can and as long as there are men able to stand....



One man ought to be in command, and not two. Your Minister may perhaps

be good as a Minister, but as a general he is not merely bad but

execrable, yet to him is entrusted the fate of our whole country.... I

am really frantic with vexation forgive my writing boldly. It is clear

that the man who advocates the conclusion of a peace, and that the

Minister should command the army, does not love our sovereign and

desires the ruin of us all. So I write you frankly call out the

militia. For the Minister is leading these visitors after him to Moscow

in a most masterly way. The whole army feels great suspicion of the

Imperial aide-de-camp Wolzogen. He is said to be more Napoleons man

than ours, and he is always advising the Minister. I am not merely civil

to him but obey him like a corporal, though I am his senior. This is

painful, but, loving my benefactor and sovereign, I submit. Only I am

sorry for the Emperor that he entrusts our fine army to such as he.

Consider that on our retreat we have lost by fatigue and left in the

hospital more than fifteen thousand men, and had we attacked this would

not have happened. Tell me, for Gods sake, what will Russia, our mother

Russia, say to our being so frightened, and why are we abandoning our

good and gallant Fatherland to such rabble and implanting feelings of

hatred and shame in all our subjects? What are we scared at and of whom

are we afraid? I am not to blame that the Minister is vacillating,

a coward, dense, dilatory, and has all bad qualities. The whole army

bewails it and calls down curses upon him....











CHAPTER VI



Among the innumerable categories applicable to the phenomena of human

life one may discriminate between those in which substance prevails

and those in which form prevails. To the latteras distinguished

from village, country, provincial, or even Moscow lifewe may allot

Petersburg life, and especially the life of its salons. That life of

the salons is unchanging. Since the year 1805 we had made peace and had

again quarreled with Bonaparte and had made constitutions and unmade

them again, but the salons of Anna Pvlovna and Hlne remained just

as they had beenthe one seven and the other five years before. At Anna

Pvlovnas they talked with perplexity of Bonapartes successes just

as before and saw in them and in the subservience shown to him by the

European sovereigns a malicious conspiracy, the sole object of which was

to cause unpleasantness and anxiety to the court circle of which Anna

Pvlovna was the representative. And in Hlnes salon, which Rumyntsev

himself honored with his visits, regarding Hlne as a remarkably

intelligent woman, they talked with the same ecstasy in 1812 as in 1808

of the great nation and the great man, and regretted our rupture

with France, a rupture which, according to them, ought to be promptly

terminated by peace.



Of late, since the Emperors return from the army, there had been some

excitement in these conflicting salon circles and some demonstrations

of hostility to one another, but each camp retained its own tendency.

In Anna Pvlovnas circle only those Frenchmen were admitted who were

deep-rooted legitimists, and patriotic views were expressed to the

effect that one ought not to go to the French theater and that to

maintain the French troupe was costing the government as much as a whole

army corps. The progress of the war was eagerly followed, and only

the reports most flattering to our army were circulated. In the French

circle of Hlne and Rumyntsev the reports of the cruelty of the

enemy and of the war were contradicted and all Napoleons attempts at

conciliation were discussed. In that circle they discountenanced those

who advised hurried preparations for a removal to Kazn of the court and

the girls educational establishments under the patronage of the Dowager

Empress. In Hlnes circle the war in general was regarded as a series

of formal demonstrations which would very soon end in peace, and the

view prevailed expressed by Bilbinwho now in Petersburg was quite at

home in Hlnes house, which every clever man was obliged to visitthat

not by gunpowder but by those who invented it would matters be

settled. In that circle the Moscow enthusiasmnews of which had reached

Petersburg simultaneously with the Emperors returnwas ridiculed

sarcastically and very cleverly, though with much caution.



Anna Pvlovnas circle on the contrary was enraptured by this enthusiasm

and spoke of it as Plutarch speaks of the deeds of the ancients.

Prince Vasli, who still occupied his former important posts, formed a

connecting link between these two circles. He visited his good friend

Anna Pvlovna as well as his daughters diplomatic salon, and often

in his constant comings and goings between the two camps became confused

and said at Hlnes what he should have said at Anna Pvlovnas and

vice versa.



Soon after the Emperors return Prince Vasli in a conversation about

the war at Anna Pvlovnas severely condemned Barclay de Tolly, but was

undecided as to who ought to be appointed commander in chief. One of the

visitors, usually spoken of as a man of great merit, having described

how he had that day seen Kutzov, the newly chosen chief of the

Petersburg militia, presiding over the enrollment of recruits at the

Treasury, cautiously ventured to suggest that Kutzov would be the man

to satisfy all requirements.



Anna Pvlovna remarked with a melancholy smile that Kutzov had done

nothing but cause the Emperor annoyance.



I have talked and talked at the Assembly of the Nobility, Prince

Vasli interrupted, but they did not listen to me. I told them his

election as chief of the militia would not please the Emperor. They did

not listen to me.



Its all this mania for opposition, he went on. And who for? It is

all because we want to ape the foolish enthusiasm of those Muscovites,

Prince Vasli continued, forgetting for a moment that though at Hlnes

one had to ridicule the Moscow enthusiasm, at Anna Pvlovnas one had to

be ecstatic about it. But he retrieved his mistake at once. Now, is

it suitable that Count Kutzov, the oldest general in Russia, should

preside at that tribunal? He will get nothing for his pains! How could

they make a man commander in chief who cannot mount a horse, who drops

asleep at a council, and has the very worst morals! A good reputation

he made for himself at Bucharest! I dont speak of his capacity as a

general, but at a time like this how they appoint a decrepit, blind old

man, positively blind? A fine idea to have a blind general! He cant see

anything. To play blindmans buff? He cant see at all!



No one replied to his remarks.



This was quite correct on the twenty-fourth of July. But on the

twenty-ninth of July Kutzov received the title of Prince. This might

indicate a wish to get rid of him, and therefore Prince Vaslis opinion

continued to be correct though he was not now in any hurry to express

it. But on the eighth of August a committee, consisting of Field Marshal

Saltykv, Arakchev, Vyazmtinov, Lopukhn, and Kochuby met to consider

the progress of the war. This committee came to the conclusion that

our failures were due to a want of unity in the command and though the

members of the committee were aware of the Emperors dislike of Kutzov,

after a short deliberation they agreed to advise his appointment as

commander in chief. That same day Kutzov was appointed commander

in chief with full powers over the armies and over the whole region

occupied by them.



On the ninth of August Prince Vasli at Anna Pvlovnas again met the

man of great merit. The latter was very attentive to Anna Pvlovna

because he wanted to be appointed director of one of the educational

establishments for young ladies. Prince Vasli entered the room with the

air of a happy conqueror who has attained the object of his desires.



Well, have you heard the great news? Prince Kutzov is field marshal!

All dissensions are at an end! I am so glad, so delighted! At last

we have a man! said he, glancing sternly and significantly round at

everyone in the drawing room.



The man of great merit, despite his desire to obtain the post of

director, could not refrain from reminding Prince Vasli of his former

opinion. Though this was impolite to Prince Vasli in Anna Pvlovnas

drawing room, and also to Anna Pvlovna herself who had received the

news with delight, he could not resist the temptation.



But, Prince, they say he is blind! said he, reminding Prince Vasli of

his own words.



Eh? Nonsense! He sees well enough, said Prince Vasli rapidly, in a

deep voice and with a slight coughthe voice and cough with which he was

wont to dispose of all difficulties.



He sees well enough, he added. And what I am so pleased about, he

went on, is that our sovereign has given him full powers over all

the armies and the whole regionpowers no commander in chief ever had

before. He is a second autocrat, he concluded with a victorious smile.



God grant it! God grant it! said Anna Pvlovna.



The man of great merit, who was still a novice in court circles,

wishing to flatter Anna Pvlovna by defending her former position on

this question, observed



It is said that the Emperor was reluctant to give Kutzov those powers.

They say he blushed like a girl to whom Joconde is read, when he said to

Kutzov Your Emperor and the Fatherland award you this honor.



Perhaps the heart took no part in that speech, said Anna Pvlovna.



Oh, no, no! warmly rejoined Prince Vasli, who would not now yield

Kutzov to anyone in his opinion Kutzov was not only admirable

himself, but was adored by everybody. No, thats impossible, said he,

for our sovereign appreciated him so highly before.



God grant only that Prince Kutzov assumes real power and does not

allow anyone to put a spoke in his wheel, observed Anna Pvlovna.



Understanding at once to whom she alluded, Prince Vasli said in a

whisper



I know for a fact that Kutzov made it an absolute condition that the

Tsarvich should not be with the army. Do you know what he said to the

Emperor?



And Prince Vasli repeated the words supposed to have been spoken by

Kutzov to the Emperor. I can neither punish him if he does wrong nor

reward him if he does right.



Oh, a very wise man is Prince Kutzov! I have known him a long time!



They even say, remarked the man of great merit who did not yet

possess courtly tact, that his excellency made it an express condition

that the sovereign himself should not be with the army.



As soon as he said this both Prince Vasli and Anna Pvlovna turned away

from him and glanced sadly at one another with a sigh at his navet.











CHAPTER VII



While this was taking place in Petersburg the French had already passed

Smolnsk and were drawing nearer and nearer to Moscow. Napoleons

historian Thiers, like other of his historians, trying to justify his

hero says that he was drawn to the walls of Moscow against his will. He

is as right as other historians who look for the explanation of historic

events in the will of one man he is as right as the Russian historians

who maintain that Napoleon was drawn to Moscow by the skill of the

Russian commanders. Here besides the law of retrospection, which regards

all the past as a preparation for events that subsequently occur,

the law of reciprocity comes in, confusing the whole matter. A good

chessplayer having lost a game is sincerely convinced that his loss

resulted from a mistake he made and looks for that mistake in the

opening, but forgets that at each stage of the game there were similar

mistakes and that none of his moves were perfect. He only notices the

mistake to which he pays attention, because his opponent took advantage

of it. How much more complex than this is the game of war, which

occurs under certain limits of time, and where it is not one will that

manipulates lifeless objects, but everything results from innumerable

conflicts of various wills!



After Smolnsk Napoleon sought a battle beyond Dorogobzh at Vyzma, and

then at Tsrevo-Zaymshche, but it happened that owing to a conjunction

of innumerable circumstances the Russians could not give battle till

they reached Borodin, seventy miles from Moscow. From Vyzma Napoleon

ordered a direct advance on Moscow.



Moscou, la capitale asiatique de ce grand empire, la ville sacre des

peuples dAlexandre, Moscou avec ses innombrables glises en forme de

pagodes chinoises, * this Moscow gave Napoleons imagination no rest.

On the march from Vyzma to Tsrevo-Zaymshche he rode his light bay

bobtailed ambler accompanied by his Guards, his bodyguard, his pages,

and aides-de-camp. Berthier, his chief of staff, dropped behind to

question a Russian prisoner captured by the cavalry. Followed by

Lelorgne dIdeville, an interpreter, he overtook Napoleon at a gallop

and reined in his horse with an amused expression.



     * Moscow, the Asiatic capital of this great empire, the

     sacred city of Alexanders people, Moscow with its

     innumerable churches shaped like Chinese pagodas.





Well? asked Napoleon.



One of Pltovs Cossacks says that Pltovs corps is joining up with

the main army and that Kutzov has been appointed commander in chief. He

is a very shrewd and garrulous fellow.



Napoleon smiled and told them to give the Cossack a horse and bring the

man to him. He wished to talk to him himself. Several adjutants galloped

off, and an hour later, Lavrshka, the serf Densov had handed over

to Rostv, rode up to Napoleon in an orderlys jacket and on a French

cavalry saddle, with a merry, and tipsy face. Napoleon told him to ride

by his side and began questioning him.



You are a Cossack?



Yes, a Cossack, your Honor.



The Cossack, not knowing in what company he was, for Napoleons plain

appearance had nothing about it that would reveal to an Oriental mind

the presence of a monarch, talked with extreme familiarity of the

incidents of the war, says Thiers, narrating this episode. In

reality Lavrshka, having got drunk the day before and left his master

dinnerless, had been whipped and sent to the village in quest of

chickens, where he engaged in looting till the French took him prisoner.

Lavrshka was one of those coarse, bare-faced lackeys who have seen all

sorts of things, consider it necessary to do everything in a mean and

cunning way, are ready to render any sort of service to their master,

and are keen at guessing their masters baser impulses, especially those

prompted by vanity and pettiness.



Finding himself in the company of Napoleon, whose identity he had easily

and surely recognized, Lavrshka was not in the least abashed but merely

did his utmost to gain his new masters favor.



He knew very well that this was Napoleon, but Napoleons presence could

no more intimidate him than Rostvs, or a sergeant majors with the

rods, would have done, for he had nothing that either the sergeant major

or Napoleon could deprive him of.



So he rattled on, telling all the gossip he had heard among the

orderlies. Much of it true. But when Napoleon asked him whether the

Russians thought they would beat Bonaparte or not, Lavrshka screwed up

his eyes and considered.



In this question he saw subtle cunning, as men of his type see cunning

in everything, so he frowned and did not answer immediately.



Its like this, he said thoughtfully, if theres a battle soon, yours

will win. Thats right. But if three days pass, then after that, well,

then that same battle will not soon be over.



Lelorgne dIdeville smilingly interpreted this speech to Napoleon thus

If a battle takes place within the next three days the French will

win, but if later, God knows what will happen. Napoleon did not smile,

though he was evidently in high good humor, and he ordered these words

to be repeated.



Lavrshka noticed this and to entertain him further, pretending not to

know who Napoleon was, added



We know that you have Bonaparte and that he has beaten everybody in the

world, but we are a different matter...without knowing why or how this

bit of boastful patriotism slipped out at the end.



The interpreter translated these words without the last phrase, and

Bonaparte smiled. The young Cossack made his mighty interlocutor

smile, says Thiers. After riding a few paces in silence, Napoleon

turned to Berthier and said he wished to see how the news that he was

talking to the Emperor himself, to that very Emperor who had written his

immortally victorious name on the Pyramids, would affect this enfant du

Don. *



    * Child of the Don.





The fact was accordingly conveyed to Lavrshka.



Lavrshka, understanding that this was done to perplex him and that

Napoleon expected him to be frightened, to gratify his new masters

promptly pretended to be astonished and awe-struck, opened his eyes

wide, and assumed the expression he usually put on when taken to be

whipped. As soon as Napoleons interpreter had spoken, says Thiers,

the Cossack, seized by amazement, did not utter another word, but rode

on, his eyes fixed on the conqueror whose fame had reached him across

the steppes of the East. All his loquacity was suddenly arrested and

replaced by a nave and silent feeling of admiration. Napoleon, after

making the Cossack a present, had him set free like a bird restored to

its native fields.



Napoleon rode on, dreaming of the Moscow that so appealed to his

imagination, and the bird restored to its native fields galloped to

our outposts, inventing on the way all that had not taken place but that

he meant to relate to his comrades. What had really taken place he did

not wish to relate because it seemed to him not worth telling. He

found the Cossacks, inquired for the regiment operating with Pltovs

detachment and by evening found his master, Nicholas Rostv, quartered

at Yankvo. Rostv was just mounting to go for a ride round the

neighboring villages with Ilyn he let Lavrshka have another horse and

took him along with him.











CHAPTER VIII



Princess Mary was not in Moscow and out of danger as Prince Andrew

supposed.



After the return of Alptych from Smolnsk the old prince suddenly

seemed to awake as from a dream. He ordered the militiamen to be called

up from the villages and armed, and wrote a letter to the commander in

chief informing him that he had resolved to remain at Bald Hills to the

last extremity and to defend it, leaving to the commander in chiefs

discretion to take measures or not for the defense of Bald Hills, where

one of Russias oldest generals would be captured or killed, and he

announced to his household that he would remain at Bald Hills.



But while himself remaining, he gave instructions for the departure of

the princess and Dessalles with the little prince to Boguchrovo and

thence to Moscow. Princess Mary, alarmed by her fathers feverish and

sleepless activity after his previous apathy, could not bring herself to

leave him alone and for the first time in her life ventured to disobey

him. She refused to go away and her fathers fury broke over her in a

terrible storm. He repeated every injustice he had ever inflicted on

her. Trying to convict her, he told her she had worn him out, had caused

his quarrel with his son, had harbored nasty suspicions of him, making

it the object of her life to poison his existence, and he drove her from

his study telling her that if she did not go away it was all the same

to him. He declared that he did not wish to remember her existence and

warned her not to dare to let him see her. The fact that he did not, as

she had feared, order her to be carried away by force but only told her

not to let him see her cheered Princess Mary. She knew it was a proof

that in the depth of his soul he was glad she was remaining at home and

had not gone away.



The morning after little Nicholas had left, the old prince donned his

full uniform and prepared to visit the commander in chief. His calche

was already at the door. Princess Mary saw him walk out of the house in

his uniform wearing all his orders and go down the garden to review his

armed peasants and domestic serfs. She sat by the window listening to

his voice which reached her from the garden. Suddenly several men came

running up the avenue with frightened faces.



Princess Mary ran out to the porch, down the flower-bordered path, and

into the avenue. A large crowd of militiamen and domestics were moving

toward her, and in their midst several men were supporting by

the armpits and dragging along a little old man in a uniform and

decorations. She ran up to him and, in the play of the sunlight that

fell in small round spots through the shade of the lime-tree avenue,

could not be sure what change there was in his face. All she could see

was that his former stern and determined expression had altered to one

of timidity and submission. On seeing his daughter he moved his helpless

lips and made a hoarse sound. It was impossible to make out what he

wanted. He was lifted up, carried to his study, and laid on the very

couch he had so feared of late.



The doctor, who was fetched that same night, bled him and said that the

prince had had a seizure paralyzing his right side.



It was becoming more and more dangerous to remain at Bald Hills, and

next day they moved the prince to Boguchrovo, the doctor accompanying

him.



By the time they reached Boguchrovo, Dessalles and the little prince

had already left for Moscow.



For three weeks the old prince lay stricken by paralysis in the new

house Prince Andrew had built at Boguchrovo, ever in the same state,

getting neither better nor worse. He was unconscious and lay like

a distorted corpse. He muttered unceasingly, his eyebrows and lips

twitching, and it was impossible to tell whether he understood what was

going on around him or not. One thing was certainthat he was suffering

and wished to say something. But what it was, no one could tell it

might be some caprice of a sick and half-crazy man, or it might relate

to public affairs, or possibly to family concerns.



The doctor said this restlessness did not mean anything and was due

to physical causes but Princess Mary thought he wished to tell

her something, and the fact that her presence always increased his

restlessness confirmed her opinion.



He was evidently suffering both physically and mentally. There was no

hope of recovery. It was impossible for him to travel, it would not do

to let him die on the road. Would it not be better if the end did come,

the very end? Princess Mary sometimes thought. Night and day, hardly

sleeping at all, she watched him and, terrible to say, often watched

him not with hope of finding signs of improvement but wishing to find

symptoms of the approach of the end.



Strange as it was to her to acknowledge this feeling in herself, yet

there it was. And what seemed still more terrible to her was that since

her fathers illness began (perhaps even sooner, when she stayed with

him expecting something to happen), all the personal desires and hopes

that had been forgotten or sleeping within her had awakened. Thoughts

that had not entered her mind for yearsthoughts of a life free from

the fear of her father, and even the possibility of love and of family

happinessfloated continually in her imagination like temptations of the

devil. Thrust them aside as she would, questions continually recurred

to her as to how she would order her life now, after that. These were

temptations of the devil and Princess Mary knew it. She knew that the

sole weapon against him was prayer, and she tried to pray. She assumed

an attitude of prayer, looked at the icons, repeated the words of a

prayer, but she could not pray. She felt that a different world had

now taken possession of herthe life of a world of strenuous and free

activity, quite opposed to the spiritual world in which till now she

had been confined and in which her greatest comfort had been prayer.

She could not pray, could not weep, and worldly cares took possession of

her.



It was becoming dangerous to remain in Boguchrovo. News of the approach

of the French came from all sides, and in one village, ten miles from

Boguchrovo, a homestead had been looted by French marauders.



The doctor insisted on the necessity of moving the prince the

provincial Marshal of the Nobility sent an official to Princess Mary

to persuade her to get away as quickly as possible, and the head of the

rural police having come to Boguchrovo urged the same thing, saying

that the French were only some twenty-five miles away, that French

proclamations were circulating in the villages, and that if the princess

did not take her father away before the fifteenth, he could not answer

for the consequences.



The princess decided to leave on the fifteenth. The cares of preparation

and giving orders, for which everyone came to her, occupied her all day.

She spent the night of the fourteenth as usual, without undressing, in

the room next to the one where the prince lay. Several times, waking up,

she heard his groans and muttering, the creak of his bed, and the steps

of Tkhon and the doctor when they turned him over. Several times she

listened at the door, and it seemed to her that his mutterings were

louder than usual and that they turned him over oftener. She could not

sleep and several times went to the door and listened, wishing to enter

but not deciding to do so. Though he did not speak, Princess Mary saw

and knew how unpleasant every sign of anxiety on his account was to him.

She had noticed with what dissatisfaction he turned from the look she

sometimes involuntarily fixed on him. She knew that her going in during

the night at an unusual hour would irritate him.



But never had she felt so grieved for him or so much afraid of losing

him. She recalled all her life with him and in every word and act of his

found an expression of his love of her. Occasionally amid these memories

temptations of the devil would surge into her imagination thoughts of

how things would be after his death, and how her new, liberated life

would be ordered. But she drove these thoughts away with disgust. Toward

morning he became quiet and she fell asleep.



She woke late. That sincerity which often comes with waking showed her

clearly what chiefly concerned her about her fathers illness. On waking

she listened to what was going on behind the door and, hearing him

groan, said to herself with a sigh that things were still the same.



But what could have happened? What did I want? I want his death! she

cried with a feeling of loathing for herself.



She washed, dressed, said her prayers, and went out to the porch. In

front of it stood carriages without horses and things were being packed

into the vehicles.



It was a warm, gray morning. Princess Mary stopped at the porch, still

horrified by her spiritual baseness and trying to arrange her thoughts

before going to her father. The doctor came downstairs and went out to

her.



He is a little better today, said he. I was looking for you. One can

make out something of what he is saying. His head is clearer. Come in,

he is asking for you....



Princess Marys heart beat so violently at this news that she grew pale

and leaned against the wall to keep from falling. To see him, talk to

him, feel his eyes on her now that her whole soul was overflowing with

those dreadful, wicked temptations, was a torment of joy and terror.



Come, said the doctor.



Princess Mary entered her fathers room and went up to his bed. He was

lying on his back propped up high, and his small bony hands with

their knotted purple veins were lying on the quilt his left eye gazed

straight before him, his right eye was awry, and his brows and lips

motionless. He seemed altogether so thin, small, and pathetic. His face

seemed to have shriveled or melted his features had grown smaller.

Princess Mary went up and kissed his hand. His left hand pressed hers

so that she understood that he had long been waiting for her to come. He

twitched her hand, and his brows and lips quivered angrily.



She looked at him in dismay trying to guess what he wanted of her. When

she changed her position so that his left eye could see her face he

calmed down, not taking his eyes off her for some seconds. Then his lips

and tongue moved, sounds came, and he began to speak, gazing timidly and

imploringly at her, evidently afraid that she might not understand.



Straining all her faculties Princess Mary looked at him. The comic

efforts with which he moved his tongue made her drop her eyes and with

difficulty repress the sobs that rose to her throat. He said something,

repeating the same words several times. She could not understand them,

but tried to guess what he was saying and inquiringly repeated the words

he uttered.



Mmm...ar...ate...ate... he repeated several times.



It was quite impossible to understand these sounds. The doctor thought

he had guessed them, and inquiringly repeated Mary, are you afraid?

The prince shook his head, again repeated the same sounds.



My mind, my mind aches? questioned Princess Mary.



He made a mumbling sound in confirmation of this, took her hand, and

began pressing it to different parts of his breast as if trying to find

the right place for it.



Always thoughts... about you... thoughts... he then uttered much

more clearly than he had done before, now that he was sure of being

understood.



Princess Mary pressed her head against his hand, trying to hide her sobs

and tears.



He moved his hand over her hair.



I have been calling you all night... he brought out.



If only I had known... she said through her tears. I was afraid to

come in.



He pressed her hand.



Werent you asleep?



No, I did not sleep, said Princess Mary, shaking her head.



Unconsciously imitating her father, she now tried to express herself as

he did, as much as possible by signs, and her tongue too seemed to move

with difficulty.



Dear one... Dearest... Princess Mary could not quite make out what he

had said, but from his look it was clear that he had uttered a tender

caressing word such as he had never used to her before. Why didnt you

come in?



And I was wishing for his death! thought Princess Mary.



He was silent awhile.



Thank you... daughter dear!... for all, for all... forgive!... thank

you!... forgive!... thank you!... and tears began to flow from his

eyes. Call Andrew! he said suddenly, and a childish, timid expression

of doubt showed itself on his face as he spoke.



He himself seemed aware that his demand was meaningless. So at least it

seemed to Princess Mary.



I have a letter from him, she replied.



He glanced at her with timid surprise.



Where is he?



Hes with the army, Father, at Smolnsk.



He closed his eyes and remained silent a long time. Then as if in

answer to his doubts and to confirm the fact that now he understood and

remembered everything, he nodded his head and reopened his eyes.



Yes, he said, softly and distinctly. Russia has perished. Theyve

destroyed her.



And he began to sob, and again tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Mary

could no longer restrain herself and wept while she gazed at his face.



Again he closed his eyes. His sobs ceased, he pointed to his eyes, and

Tkhon, understanding him, wiped away the tears.



Then he again opened his eyes and said something none of them could

understand for a long time, till at last Tkhon understood and repeated

it. Princess Mary had sought the meaning of his words in the mood in

which he had just been speaking. She thought he was speaking of Russia,

or Prince Andrew, of herself, of his grandson, or of his own death, and

so she could not guess his words.



Put on your white dress. I like it, was what he said.



Having understood this Princess Mary sobbed still louder, and the doctor

taking her arm led her out to the veranda, soothing her and trying to

persuade her to prepare for her journey. When she had left the room the

prince again began speaking about his son, about the war, and about the

Emperor, angrily twitching his brows and raising his hoarse voice, and

then he had a second and final stroke.



Princess Mary stayed on the veranda. The day had cleared, it was hot and

sunny. She could understand nothing, think of nothing and feel nothing,

except passionate love for her father, love such as she thought she had

never felt till that moment. She ran out sobbing into the garden and as

far as the pond, along the avenues of young lime trees Prince Andrew had

planted.



Yes... I... I... I wished for his death! Yes, I wanted it to end

quicker.... I wished to be at peace.... And what will become of me? What

use will peace be when he is no longer here? Princess Mary murmured,

pacing the garden with hurried steps and pressing her hands to her bosom

which heaved with convulsive sobs.



When she had completed the tour of the garden, which brought her

again to the house, she saw Mademoiselle Bouriennewho had remained

at Boguchrovo and did not wish to leave itcoming toward her with a

stranger. This was the Marshal of the Nobility of the district, who

had come personally to point out to the princess the necessity for her

prompt departure. Princess Mary listened without understanding him she

led him to the house, offered him lunch, and sat down with him. Then,

excusing herself, she went to the door of the old princes room. The

doctor came out with an agitated face and said she could not enter.



Go away, Princess! Go away... go away!



She returned to the garden and sat down on the grass at the foot of the

slope by the pond, where no one could see her. She did not know how

long she had been there when she was aroused by the sound of a womans

footsteps running along the path. She rose and saw Dunysha her maid,

who was evidently looking for her, and who stopped suddenly as if in

alarm on seeing her mistress.



Please come, Princess... The Prince, said Dunysha in a breaking

voice.



Immediately, Im coming, Im coming! replied the princess hurriedly,

not giving Dunysha time to finish what she was saying, and trying to

avoid seeing the girl she ran toward the house.



Princess, its Gods will! You must be prepared for everything, said

the Marshal, meeting her at the house door.



Let me alone its not true! she cried angrily to him.



The doctor tried to stop her. She pushed him aside and ran to her

fathers door. Why are these people with frightened faces stopping me?

I dont want any of them! And what are they doing here? she thought.

She opened the door and the bright daylight in that previously darkened

room startled her. In the room were her nurse and other women. They all

drew back from the bed, making way for her. He was still lying on the

bed as before, but the stern expression of his quiet face made Princess

Mary stop short on the threshold.



No, hes not deadits impossible! she told herself and approached

him, and repressing the terror that seized her, she pressed her lips

to his cheek. But she stepped back immediately. All the force of the

tenderness she had been feeling for him vanished instantly and was

replaced by a feeling of horror at what lay there before her. No, he

is no more! He is not, but here where he was is something unfamiliar and

hostile, some dreadful, terrifying, and repellent mystery! And hiding

her face in her hands, Princess Mary sank into the arms of the doctor,

who held her up.





In the presence of Tkhon and the doctor the women washed what had been

the prince, tied his head up with a handkerchief that the mouth should

not stiffen while open, and with another handkerchief tied together the

legs that were already spreading apart. Then they dressed him in uniform

with his decorations and placed his shriveled little body on a table.

Heaven only knows who arranged all this and when, but it all got done

as if of its own accord. Toward night candles were burning round his

coffin, a pall was spread over it, the floor was strewn with sprays of

juniper, a printed band was tucked in under his shriveled head, and in a

corner of the room sat a chanter reading the psalms.



Just as horses shy and snort and gather about a dead horse, so the

inmates of the house and strangers crowded into the drawing room round

the coffinthe Marshal, the village Elder, peasant womenand all with

fixed and frightened eyes, crossing themselves, bowed and kissed the old

princes cold and stiffened hand.











CHAPTER IX



Until Prince Andrew settled in Boguchrovo its owners had always been

absentees, and its peasants were of quite a different character from

those of Bald Hills. They differed from them in speech, dress, and

disposition. They were called steppe peasants. The old prince used to

approve of them for their endurance at work when they came to Bald Hills

to help with the harvest or to dig ponds, and ditches, but he disliked

them for their boorishness.



Prince Andrews last stay at Boguchrovo, when he introduced hospitals

and schools and reduced the quitrent the peasants had to pay, had not

softened their disposition but had on the contrary strengthened in

them the traits of character the old prince called boorishness. Various

obscure rumors were always current among them at one time a rumor that

they would all be enrolled as Cossacks at another of a new religion to

which they were all to be converted then of some proclamation of the

Tsars and of an oath to the Tsar Paul in 1797 (in connection with which

it was rumored that freedom had been granted them but the landowners had

stopped it), then of Peter Fdorovichs return to the throne in seven

years time, when everything would be made free and so simple that

there would be no restrictions. Rumors of the war with Bonaparte and

his invasion were connected in their minds with the same sort of vague

notions of Antichrist, the end of the world, and pure freedom.



In the vicinity of Boguchrovo were large villages belonging to the

crown or to owners whose serfs paid quitrent and could work where they

pleased. There were very few resident landlords in the neighborhood

and also very few domestic or literate serfs, and in the lives of the

peasantry of those parts the mysterious undercurrents in the life of

the Russian people, the causes and meaning of which are so baffling to

contemporaries, were more clearly and strongly noticeable than among

others. One instance, which had occurred some twenty years before, was

a movement among the peasants to emigrate to some unknown warm rivers.

Hundreds of peasants, among them the Boguchrovo folk, suddenly began

selling their cattle and moving in whole families toward the southeast.

As birds migrate to somewhere beyond the sea, so these men with their

wives and children streamed to the southeast, to parts where none of

them had ever been. They set off in caravans, bought their freedom one

by one or ran away, and drove or walked toward the warm rivers. Many

of them were punished, some sent to Siberia, many died of cold and

hunger on the road, many returned of their own accord, and the movement

died down of itself just as it had sprung up, without apparent reason.

But such undercurrents still existed among the people and gathered new

forces ready to manifest themselves just as strangely, unexpectedly, and

at the same time simply, naturally, and forcibly. Now in 1812, to anyone

living in close touch with these people it was apparent that these

undercurrents were acting strongly and nearing an eruption.



Alptych, who had reached Boguchrovo shortly before the old princes

death, noticed an agitation among the peasants, and that contrary to

what was happening in the Bald Hills district, where over a radius of

forty miles all the peasants were moving away and leaving their villages

to be devastated by the Cossacks, the peasants in the steppe region

round Boguchrovo were, it was rumored, in touch with the French,

received leaflets from them that passed from hand to hand, and did not

migrate. He learned from domestic serfs loyal to him that the peasant

Karp, who possessed great influence in the village commune and had

recently been away driving a government transport, had returned with

news that the Cossacks were destroying deserted villages, but that the

French did not harm them. Alptych also knew that on the previous day

another peasant had even brought from the village of Vislokhovo, which

was occupied by the French, a proclamation by a French general that no

harm would be done to the inhabitants, and if they remained they would

be paid for anything taken from them. As proof of this the peasant had

brought from Vislokhovo a hundred rubles in notes (he did not know that

they were false) paid to him in advance for hay.



More important still, Alptych learned that on the morning of the

very day he gave the village Elder orders to collect carts to move the

princess luggage from Boguchrovo, there had been a village meeting at

which it had been decided not to move but to wait. Yet there was no

time to waste. On the fifteenth, the day of the old princes death,

the Marshal had insisted on Princess Marys leaving at once, as it was

becoming dangerous. He had told her that after the sixteenth he could

not be responsible for what might happen. On the evening of the day the

old prince died the Marshal went away, promising to return next day for

the funeral. But this he was unable to do, for he received tidings that

the French had unexpectedly advanced, and had barely time to remove his

own family and valuables from his estate.



For some thirty years Boguchrovo had been managed by the village Elder,

Dron, whom the old prince called by the diminutive Drnushka.



Dron was one of those physically and mentally vigorous peasants who grow

big beards as soon as they are of age and go on unchanged till they

are sixty or seventy, without a gray hair or the loss of a tooth, as

straight and strong at sixty as at thirty.



Soon after the migration to the warm rivers, in which he had taken

part like the rest, Dron was made village Elder and overseer of

Boguchrovo, and had since filled that post irreproachably for

twenty-three years. The peasants feared him more than they did their

master. The masters, both the old prince and the young, and the steward

respected him and jestingly called him the Minister. During the

whole time of his service Dron had never been drunk or ill, never after

sleepless nights or the hardest tasks had he shown the least fatigue,

and though he could not read he had never forgotten a single money

account or the number of quarters of flour in any of the endless

cartloads he sold for the prince, nor a single shock of the whole corn

crop on any single acre of the Boguchrovo fields.



Alptych, arriving from the devastated Bald Hills estate, sent for his

Dron on the day of the princes funeral and told him to have twelve

horses got ready for the princess carriages and eighteen carts for

the things to be removed from Boguchrovo. Though the peasants paid

quitrent, Alptych thought no difficulty would be made about complying

with this order, for there were two hundred and thirty households at

work in Boguchrovo and the peasants were well to do. But on hearing the

order Dron lowered his eyes and remained silent. Alptych named certain

peasants he knew, from whom he told him to take the carts.



Dron replied that the horses of these peasants were away carting.

Alptych named others, but they too, according to Dron, had no horses

available some horses were carting for the government, others were too

weak, and others had died for want of fodder. It seemed that no horses

could be had even for the carriages, much less for the carting.



Alptych looked intently at Dron and frowned. Just as Dron was a model

village Elder, so Alptych had not managed the princes estates for

twenty years in vain. He was a model steward, possessing in the highest

degree the faculty of divining the needs and instincts of those he dealt

with. Having glanced at Dron he at once understood that his answers did

not express his personal views but the general mood of the Boguchrovo

commune, by which the Elder had already been carried away. But he also

knew that Dron, who had acquired property and was hated by the commune,

must be hesitating between the two camps the masters and the serfs.

He noticed this hesitation in Drons look and therefore frowned and

moved closer up to him.



Now just listen, Drnushka, said he. Dont talk nonsense to me. His

excellency Prince Andrew himself gave me orders to move all the people

away and not leave them with the enemy, and there is an order from the

Tsar about it too. Anyone who stays is a traitor to the Tsar. Do you

hear?



I hear, Dron answered without lifting his eyes.



Alptych 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! Alptych repeated, withdrawing his hand from his

bosom and solemnly pointing to the floor at Drons feet. I can see

through you and three yards into the ground under you, he continued,

gazing at the floor in front of Dron.



Dron was disconcerted, glanced furtively at Alptych and again lowered

his eyes.



You drop this nonsense and tell the people to get ready to leave their

homes and go to Moscow and to get carts ready for tomorrow morning

for the princess things. And dont go to any meeting yourself, do you

hear?



Dron suddenly fell on his knees.



Ykov Alptych, discharge me! Take the keys from me and discharge me,

for Christs sake!



Stop that! cried Alptych sternly. I see through you and three yards

under you, he repeated, knowing that his skill in beekeeping, his

knowledge of the right time to sow the oats, and the fact that he had

been able to retain the old princes favor for twenty years had long

since gained him the reputation of being a wizard, and that the power of

seeing three yards under a man is considered an attribute of wizards.



Dron got up and was about to say something, but Alptych interrupted

him.



What is it you have got into your heads, eh?... What are you thinking

of, eh?



What am I to do with the people? said Dron. Theyre quite beside

themselves I have already told them...



Told them, I dare say! said Alptych. Are they drinking? he asked

abruptly.



Quite beside themselves, Ykov Alptych theyve fetched another

barrel.



Well, then, listen! Ill go to the police officer, and you tell them

so, and that they must stop this and the carts must be got ready.



I understand.



Alptych did not insist further. He had managed people for a long time

and knew that the chief way to make them obey is to show no suspicion

that they can possibly disobey. Having wrung a submissive I understand

from Dron, Alptych contented himself with that, though he not only

doubted but felt almost certain that without the help of troops the

carts would not be forthcoming.



And so it was, for when evening came no carts had been provided. In the

village, outside the drink shop, another meeting was being held, which

decided that the horses should be driven out into the woods and the

carts should not be provided. Without saying anything of this to the

princess, Alptych had his own belongings taken out of the carts which

had arrived from Bald Hills and had those horses got ready for

the princess carriages. Meanwhile he went himself to the police

authorities.











CHAPTER X



After her fathers funeral Princess Mary shut herself up in her room and

did not admit anyone. A maid came to the door to say that Alptych was

asking for orders about their departure. (This was before his talk with

Dron.) Princess Mary raised herself on the sofa on which she had been

lying and replied through the closed door that she did not mean to go

away and begged to be left in peace.



The windows of the room in which she was lying looked westward. She

lay on the sofa with her face to the wall, fingering the buttons of the

leather cushion and seeing nothing but that cushion, and her confused

thoughts were centered on one subjectthe irrevocability of death and

her own spiritual baseness, which she had not suspected, but which had

shown itself during her fathers illness. She wished to pray but did not

dare to, dared not in her present state of mind address herself to God.

She lay for a long time in that position.



The sun had reached the other side of the house, and its slanting rays

shone into the open window, lighting up the room and part of the morocco

cushion at which Princess Mary was looking. The flow of her thoughts

suddenly stopped. Unconsciously she sat up, smoothed her hair, got up,

and went to the window, involuntarily inhaling the freshness of the

clear but windy evening.



Yes, you can well enjoy the evening now! He is gone and no one will

hinder you, she said to herself, and sinking into a chair she let her

head fall on the window sill.



Someone spoke her name in a soft and tender voice from the garden and

kissed her head. She looked up. It was Mademoiselle Bourienne in a black

dress and weepers. She softly approached Princess Mary, sighed, kissed

her, and immediately began to cry. The princess looked up at her. All

their former disharmony and her own jealousy recurred to her mind.

But she remembered too how he had changed of late toward Mademoiselle

Bourienne and could not bear to see her, thereby showing how unjust were

the reproaches Princess Mary had mentally addressed to her. Besides,

is it for me, for me who desired his death, to condemn anyone? she

thought.



Princess Mary vividly pictured to herself the position of Mademoiselle

Bourienne, whom she had of late kept at a distance, but who yet was

dependent on her and living in her house. She felt sorry for her

and held out her hand with a glance of gentle inquiry. Mademoiselle

Bourienne at once began crying again and kissed that hand, speaking of

the princess sorrow and making herself a partner in it. She said her

only consolation was the fact that the princess allowed her to share her

sorrow, that all the old misunderstandings should sink into nothing but

this great grief that she felt herself blameless in regard to everyone,

and that he, from above, saw her affection and gratitude. The princess

heard her, not heeding her words but occasionally looking up at her and

listening to the sound of her voice.



Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess, said Mademoiselle

Bourienne after a pause. I understand that you could not, and cannot,

think of yourself, but with my love for you I must do so.... Has

Alptych been to you? Has he spoken to you of going away? she asked.



Princess Mary did not answer. She did not understand who was to go or

where to. Is it possible to plan or think of anything now? Is it not

all the same? she thought, and did not reply.



You know, chre Marie, said Mademoiselle Bourienne, that we are in

dangerare surrounded by the French. It would be dangerous to move now.

If we go we are almost sure to be taken prisoners, and God knows...



Princess Mary looked at her companion without understanding what she was

talking about.



Oh, if anyone knew how little anything matters to me now, she said.

Of course I would on no account wish to go away from him.... Alptych

did say something about going.... Speak to him I can do nothing,

nothing, and dont want to....



Ive spoken to him. He hopes we should be in time to get away tomorrow,

but I think it would now be better to stay here, said Mademoiselle

Bourienne. Because, you will agree, chre Marie, to fall into the hands

of the soldiers or of riotous peasants would be terrible.



Mademoiselle Bourienne took from her reticule a proclamation (not

printed on ordinary Russian paper) of General Rameaus, telling people

not to leave their homes and that the French authorities would afford

them proper protection. She handed this to the princess.



I think it would be best to appeal to that general, she continued,

and I am sure that all due respect would be shown you.



Princess Mary read the paper, and her face began to quiver with stifled

sobs.



From whom did you get this? she asked.



They probably recognized that I am French, by my name, replied

Mademoiselle Bourienne blushing.



Princess Mary, with the paper in her hand, rose from the window and with

a pale face went out of the room and into what had been Prince Andrews

study.



Dunysha, send Alptych, or Drnushka, or somebody to me! she said,

and tell Mademoiselle Bourienne not to come to me, she added, hearing

Mademoiselle Bouriennes voice. We must go at once, at once! she said,

appalled at the thought of being left in the hands of the French.



If Prince Andrew heard that I was in the power of the French! That

I, the daughter of Prince Nicholas Bolknski, asked General Rameau for

protection and accepted his favor! This idea horrified her, made her

shudder, blush, and feel such a rush of anger and pride as she had never

experienced before. All that was distressing, and especially all that

was humiliating, in her position rose vividly to her mind. They, the

French, would settle in this house M. le Gnral Rameau would occupy

Prince Andrews study and amuse himself by looking through and reading

his letters and papers. Mademoiselle Bourienne would do the honors of

Boguchrovo for him. I should be given a small room as a favor, the

soldiers would violate my fathers newly dug grave to steal his crosses

and stars, they would tell me of their victories over the Russians, and

would pretend to sympathize with my sorrow... thought Princess Mary,

not thinking her own thoughts but feeling bound to think like her father

and her brother. For herself she did not care where she remained or what

happened to her, but she felt herself the representative of her dead

father and of Prince Andrew. Involuntarily she thought their thoughts

and felt their feelings. What they would have said and what they would

have done she felt bound to say and do. She went into Prince Andrews

study, trying to enter completely into his ideas, and considered her

position.



The demands of life, which had seemed to her annihilated by her fathers

death, all at once rose before her with a new, previously unknown force

and took possession of her.



Agitated and flushed she paced the room, sending now for Michael

Ivnovich and now for Tkhon or Dron. Dunysha, the nurse, and the other

maids could not say in how far Mademoiselle Bouriennes statement was

correct. Alptych was not at home, he had gone to the police. Neither

could the architect Michael Ivnovich, who on being sent for came in

with sleepy eyes, tell Princess Mary anything. With just the same smile

of agreement with which for fifteen years he had been accustomed to

answer the old prince without expressing views of his own, he now

replied to Princess Mary, so that nothing definite could be got from his

answers. The old valet Tkhon, with sunken, emaciated face that bore the

stamp of inconsolable grief, replied Yes, Princess to all Princess

Marys questions and hardly refrained from sobbing as he looked at her.



At length Dron, the village Elder, entered the room and with a deep bow

to Princess Mary came to a halt by the doorpost.



Princess Mary walked up and down the room and stopped in front of him.



Drnushka, she said, regarding as a sure friend this Drnushka who

always used to bring a special kind of gingerbread from his visit to the

fair at Vyzma every year and smilingly offer it to her, Drnushka, now

since our misfortune... she began, but could not go on.



We are all in Gods hands, said he, with a sigh.



They were silent for a while.



Drnushka, Alptych has gone off somewhere and I have no one to turn

to. Is it true, as they tell me, that I cant even go away?



Why shouldnt you go away, your excellency? You can go, said Dron.



I was told it would be dangerous because of the enemy. Dear friend, I

can do nothing. I understand nothing. I have nobody! I want to go away

tonight or early tomorrow morning.



Dron paused. He looked askance at Princess Mary and said There are no

horses I told Ykov Alptych so.



Why are there none? asked the princess.



Its all Gods scourge, said Dron. What horses we had have been

taken for the army or have diedthis is such a year! Its not a case of

feeding horseswe may die of hunger ourselves! As it is, some go three

days without eating. Weve nothing, weve been ruined.



Princess Mary listened attentively to what he told her.



The peasants are ruined? They have no bread? she asked.



Theyre dying of hunger, said Dron. Its not a case of carting.



But why didnt you tell me, Drnushka? Isnt it possible to help them?

Ill do all I can....



To Princess Mary it was strange that now, at a moment when such sorrow

was filling her soul, there could be rich people and poor, and the rich

could refrain from helping the poor. She had heard vaguely that there

was such a thing as landlords corn which was sometimes given to the

peasants. She also knew that neither her father nor her brother would

refuse to help the peasants in need, she only feared to make some

mistake in speaking about the distribution of the grain she wished to

give. She was glad such cares presented themselves, enabling her

without scruple to forget her own grief. She began asking Dron about the

peasants needs and what there was in Boguchrovo that belonged to the

landlord.



But we have grain belonging to my brother? she said.



The landlords grain is all safe, replied Dron proudly. Our prince

did not order it to be sold.



Give it to the peasants, let them have all they need I give you leave

in my brothers 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 brothers name and tell them that what is ours is

theirs. We do not grudge them anything. Tell them so.



Dron looked intently at the princess while she was speaking.



Discharge me, little mother, for Gods sake! Order the keys to be taken

from me, said he. I have served twenty-three years and have done no

wrong. Discharge me, for Gods sake!



Princess Mary did not understand what he wanted of her or why he was

asking to be discharged. She replied that she had never doubted his

devotion and that she was ready to do anything for him and for the

peasants.











CHAPTER XI



An hour later Dunysha came to tell the princess that Dron had come, and

all the peasants had assembled at the barn by the princess order and

wished to have word with their mistress.



But I never told them to come, said Princess Mary. I only told Dron

to let them have the grain.



Only, for Gods sake, Princess dear, have them sent away and dont go

out to them. Its all a trick, said Dunysha, and when Ykov Alptych

returns let us get away... and please dont...



What is a trick? asked Princess Mary in surprise.



I know it is, only listen to me for Gods sake! Ask nurse too. They say

they dont agree to leave Boguchrovo as you ordered.



Youre making some mistake. I never ordered them to go away, said

Princess Mary. Call Drnushka.



Dron came and confirmed Dunyshas words the peasants had come by the

princess order.



But I never sent for them, declared the princess. You must have given

my message wrong. I only said that you were to give them the grain.



Dron only sighed in reply.



If you order it they will go away, said he.



No, no. Ill go out to them, said Princess Mary, and in spite of

the nurses and Dunyshas protests she went out into the porch Dron,

Dunysha, the nurse, and Michael Ivnovich following her.



They probably think I am offering them the grain to bribe them to

remain here, while I myself go away leaving them to the mercy of the

French, thought Princess Mary. I will offer them monthly rations and

housing at our Moscow estate. I am sure Andrew would do even more in

my place, she thought as she went out in the twilight toward the crowd

standing on the pasture by the barn.



The men crowded closer together, stirred, and rapidly took off their

hats. Princess Mary lowered her eyes and, tripping over her skirt, came

close up to them. So many different eyes, old and young, were fixed

on her, and there were so many different faces, that she could not

distinguish any of them and, feeling that she must speak to them all

at once, did not know how to do it. But again the sense that she

represented her father and her brother gave her courage, and she boldly

began her speech.



I am very glad you have come, she said without raising her eyes, and

feeling her heart beating quickly and violently. Drnushka tells me

that the war has ruined you. That is our common misfortune, and I

shall grudge nothing to help you. I am myself going away because it

is dangerous here... the enemy is near... because... I am giving you

everything, my friends, and I beg you to take everything, all our grain,

so that you may not suffer want! And if you have been told that I am

giving you the grain to keep you herethat is not true. On the contrary,

I ask you to go with all your belongings to our estate near Moscow, and

I promise you I will see to it that there you shall want for nothing.

You shall be given food and lodging.



The princess stopped. Sighs were the only sound heard in the crowd.



I am not doing this on my own account, she continued, I do it in the

name of my dead father, who was a good master to you, and of my brother

and his son.



Again she paused. No one broke the silence.



Ours is a common misfortune and we will share it together. All that is

mine is yours, she concluded, scanning the faces before her.



All eyes were gazing at her with one and the same expression. She

could not fathom whether it was curiosity, devotion, gratitude, or

apprehension and distrustbut the expression on all the faces was

identical.



We are all very thankful for your bounty, but it wont do for us to

take the landlords 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 dont you want to take it? she asked again.



No one answered.



The silence began to oppress the princess and she tried to catch

someones eye.



Why dont you speak? she inquired of a very old man who stood just

in front of her leaning on his stick. If you think something more is

wanted, tell me! I will do anything, said she, catching his eye.



But as if this angered him, he bent his head quite low and muttered



Why should we agree? We dont want the grain.



Why should we give up everything? We dont agree. Dont agree.... We

are sorry for you, but were not willing. Go away yourself, alone...

came from various sides of the crowd.



And again all the faces in that crowd bore an identical expression,

though now it was certainly not an expression of curiosity or gratitude,

but of angry resolve.



But you cant have understood me, said Princess Mary with a sad smile.

Why dont 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.



Were not willing. Let them ruin us! We wont take your grain. We dont

agree.



Again Princess Mary tried to catch someones eye, but not a single eye

in the crowd was turned to her evidently they were all trying to avoid

her look. She felt strange and awkward.



Oh yes, an artful tale! Follow her into slavery! Pull down your houses

and go into bondage! I dare say! Ill give you grain, indeed! she

says, voices in the crowd were heard saying.



With drooping head Princess Mary left the crowd and went back to the

house. Having repeated her order to Dron to have horses ready for her

departure next morning, she went to her room and remained alone with her

own thoughts.











CHAPTER XII



For a long time that night Princess Mary sat by the open window of her

room hearing the sound of the peasants voices that reached her from

the village, but it was not of them she was thinking. She felt that she

could not understand them however much she might think about them. She

thought only of one thing, her sorrow, which, after the break caused

by cares for the present, seemed already to belong to the past. Now she

could remember it and weep or pray.



After sunset the wind had dropped. The night was calm and fresh. Toward

midnight the voices began to subside, a cock crowed, the full moon began

to show from behind the lime trees, a fresh white dewy mist began to

rise, and stillness reigned over the village and the house.



Pictures of the near pasther fathers illness and last momentsrose

one after another to her memory. With mournful pleasure she now lingered

over these images, repelling with horror only the last one, the

picture of his death, which she felt she could not contemplate even in

imagination at this still and mystic hour of night. And these pictures

presented themselves to her so clearly and in such detail that they

seemed now present, now past, and now future.



She vividly recalled the moment when he had his first stroke and was

being dragged along by his armpits through the garden at Bald Hills,

muttering something with his helpless tongue, twitching his gray

eyebrows and looking uneasily and timidly at her.



Even then he wanted to tell me what he told me the day he died, she

thought. He had always thought what he said then. And she recalled in

all its detail the night at Bald Hills before he had the last stroke,

when with a foreboding of disaster she had remained at home against his

will. She had not slept and had stolen downstairs on tiptoe, and going

to the door of the conservatory where he slept that night had listened

at the door. In a suffering and weary voice he was saying something to

Tkhon, speaking of the Crimea and its warm nights and of the Empress.

Evidently he had wanted to talk. And why didnt he call me? Why didnt

he let me be there instead of Tkhon? Princess Mary had thought and

thought again now. Now he will never tell anyone what he had in his

soul. Never will that moment return for him or for me when he might have

said all he longed to say, and not Tkhon but I might have heard and

understood him. Why didnt I enter the room? she thought. Perhaps he

would then have said to me what he said the day he died. While talking

to Tkhon he asked about me twice. He wanted to see me, and I was

standing close by, outside the door. It was sad and painful for him

to talk to Tkhon who did not understand him. I remember how he began

speaking to him about Lise as if she were alivehe had forgotten she

was deadand Tkhon reminded him that she was no more, and he shouted,

Fool! He was greatly depressed. From behind the door I heard how he

lay down on his bed groaning and loudly exclaimed, My God! Why didnt

I go in then? What could he have done to me? What could I have lost? And

perhaps he would then have been comforted and would have said that word

to me. And Princess Mary uttered aloud the caressing word he had said

to her on the day of his death. Dear-est! she repeated, and began

sobbing, with tears that relieved her soul. She now saw his face before

her. And not the face she had known ever since she could remember and

had always seen at a distance, but the timid, feeble face she had seen

for the first time quite closely, with all its wrinkles and details,

when she stooped near to his mouth to catch what he said.



Dear-est! she repeated again.



What was he thinking when he uttered that word? What is he thinking

now? This question suddenly presented itself to her, and in answer she

saw him before her with the expression that was on his face as he lay

in his coffin with his chin bound up with a white handkerchief. And the

horror that had seized her when she touched him and convinced herself

that that was not he, but something mysterious and horrible, seized her

again. She tried to think of something else and to pray, but could do

neither. With wide-open eyes she gazed at the moonlight and the shadows,

expecting every moment to see his dead face, and she felt that the

silence brooding over the house and within it held her fast.



Dunysha, she whispered. Dunysha! she screamed wildly, and tearing

herself out of this silence she ran to the servants quarters to meet

her old nurse and the maidservants who came running toward her.











CHAPTER XIII



On the seventeenth of August Rostv and Ilyn, accompanied by Lavrshka

who had just returned from captivity and by an hussar orderly, left

their quarters at Yankvo, ten miles from Boguchrovo, and went for a

rideto try a new horse Ilyn had bought and to find out whether there

was any hay to be had in the villages.



For the last three days Boguchrovo had lain between the two hostile

armies, so that it was as easy for the Russian rearguard to get to it as

for the French vanguard Rostv, as a careful squadron commander, wished

to take such provisions as remained at Boguchrovo before the French

could get them.



Rostv and Ilyn were in the merriest of moods. On the way to

Boguchrovo, a princely estate with a dwelling house and farm where

they hoped to find many domestic serfs and pretty girls, they questioned

Lavrshka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, and raced one

another to try Ilyns horse.



Rostv had no idea that the village he was entering was the property of

that very Bolknski who had been engaged to his sister.



Rostv and Ilyn gave rein to their horses for a last race along the

incline before reaching Boguchrovo, and Rostv, outstripping Ilyn, was

the first to gallop into the village street.



Youre first! cried Ilyn, flushed.



Yes, always first both on the grassland and here, answered Rostv,

stroking his heated Donts horse.



And Id have won on my Frenchy, your excellency, said Lavrshka

from behind, alluding to his shabby cart horse, only I didnt wish to

mortify you.



They rode at a footpace to the barn, where a large crowd of peasants was

standing.



Some of the men bared their heads, others stared at the new arrivals

without doffing their caps. Two tall old peasants with wrinkled faces

and scanty beards emerged from the tavern, smiling, staggering, and

singing some incoherent song, and approached the officers.



Fine fellows! said Rostv laughing. Is there any hay here?



And how like one another, said Ilyn.



A mo-o-st me-r-r-y co-o-m-pa...! sang one of the peasants with a

blissful smile.



One of the men came out of the crowd and went up to Rostv.



Who do you belong to? he asked.



The French, replied Ilyn jestingly, and here is Napoleon

himselfand he pointed to Lavrshka.



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 Rostv. But why have you collected here? he

added. Is it a holiday?



The old men have met to talk over the business of the commune, replied

the peasant, moving away.



At that moment, on the road leading from the big house, two women and a

man in a white hat were seen coming toward the officers.



The one in pink is mine, so keep off! said Ilyn on seeing Dunysha

running resolutely toward him.



Shell be ours! said Lavrshka to Ilyn, winking.



What do you want, my pretty? said Ilyn with a smile.



The princess ordered me to ask your regiment and your name.



This is Count Rostv, squadron commander, and I am your humble

servant.



Co-o-om-pa-ny! roared the tipsy peasant with a beatific smile as

he looked at Ilyn talking to the girl. Following Dunysha, Alptych

advanced to Rostv, having bared his head while still at a distance.



May I make bold to trouble your honor? said he respectfully, but with

a shade of contempt for the youthfulness of this officer and with a hand

thrust into his bosom. My mistress, daughter of General in Chief Prince

Nicholas Bolknski who died on the fifteenth of this month, finding

herself in difficulties owing to the boorishness of these peoplehe

pointed to the peasantsasks you to come up to the house.... Wont

you, please, ride on a little farther, said Alptych with a melancholy

smile, as it is not convenient in the presence of...? He pointed to

the two peasants who kept as close to him as horseflies to a horse.



Ah!... Alptych... Ah, Ykov Alptych... Grand! Forgive us for Christs

sake, eh? said the peasants, smiling joyfully at him.



Rostv looked at the tipsy peasants and smiled.



Or perhaps they amuse your honor? remarked Alptych with a staid air,

as he pointed at the old men with his free hand.



No, theres not much to be amused at here, said Rostv, and rode on a

little way. Whats the matter? he asked.



I make bold to inform your honor that the rude peasants here dont

wish to let the mistress leave the estate, and threaten to unharness her

horses, so that though everything has been packed up since morning, her

excellency cannot get away.



Impossible! exclaimed Rostv.



I have the honor to report to you the actual truth, said Alptych.



Rostv dismounted, gave his horse to the orderly, and followed Alptych

to the house, questioning him as to the state of affairs. It appeared

that the princess offer of corn to the peasants the previous day, and

her talk with Dron and at the meeting, had actually had so bad an effect

that Dron had finally given up the keys and joined the peasants and had

not appeared when Alptych sent for him and that in the morning when

the princess gave orders to harness for her journey, the peasants had

come in a large crowd to the barn and sent word that they would not let

her leave the village that there was an order not to move, and that

they would unharness the horses. Alptych had gone out to admonish them,

but was told (it was chiefly Karp who did the talking, Dron not showing

himself in the crowd) that they could not let the princess go, that

there was an order to the contrary, but that if she stayed they would

serve her as before and obey her in everything.



At the moment when Rostv and Ilyn were galloping along the road,

Princess Mary, despite the dissuasions of Alptych, her nurse, and the

maids, had given orders to harness and intended to start, but when the

cavalrymen were espied they were taken for Frenchmen, the coachman ran

away, and the women in the house began to wail.



Father! Benefactor! God has sent you! exclaimed deeply moved voices as

Rostv passed through the anteroom.



Princess Mary was sitting helpless and bewildered in the large sitting

room, when Rostv was shown in. She could not grasp who he was and why

he had come, or what was happening to her. When she saw his Russian

face, and by his walk and the first words he uttered recognized him as a

man of her own class, she glanced at him with her deep radiant look and

began speaking in a voice that faltered and trembled with emotion. This

meeting immediately struck Rostv as a romantic event. A helpless girl

overwhelmed with grief, left to the mercy of coarse, rioting peasants!

And what a strange fate sent me here! What gentleness and nobility there

are in her features and expression! thought he as he looked at her and

listened to her timid story.



When she began to tell him that all this had happened the day after her

fathers funeral, her voice trembled. She turned away, and then, as if

fearing he might take her words as meant to move him to pity, looked at

him with an apprehensive glance of inquiry. There were tears in Rostvs

eyes. Princess Mary noticed this and glanced gratefully at him with that

radiant look which caused the plainness of her face to be forgotten.



I cannot express, Princess, how glad I am that I happened to ride here

and am able to show my readiness to serve you, said Rostv, rising. Go

when you please, and I give you my word of honor that no one shall dare

to cause you annoyance if only you will allow me to act as your escort.

And bowing respectfully, as if to a lady of royal blood, he moved toward

the door.



Rostvs deferential tone seemed to indicate that though he would

consider himself happy to be acquainted with her, he did not wish to

take advantage of her misfortunes to intrude upon her.



Princess Mary understood this and appreciated his delicacy.



I am very, very grateful to you, she said in French, but I hope it

was all a misunderstanding and that no one is to blame for it. She

suddenly began to cry.



Excuse me! she said.



Rostv, knitting his brows, left the room with another low bow.











CHAPTER XIV



Well, is she pretty? Ah, friendmy pink one is delicious her name is

Dunysha....



But on glancing at Rostvs face Ilyn stopped short. He saw that his

hero and commander was following quite a different train of thought.



Rostv glanced angrily at Ilyn and without replying strode off with

rapid steps to the village.



Ill show them Ill give it to them, the brigands! said he to

himself.



Alptych at a gliding trot, only just managing not to run, kept up with

him with difficulty.



What decision have you been pleased to come to? said he.



Rostv stopped and, clenching his fists, suddenly and sternly turned on

Alptych.



Decision? What decision? Old dotard!... cried he. What have you been

about? Eh? The peasants are rioting, and you cant manage them? Youre

a traitor yourself! I know you. Ill flay you all alive!... And as if

afraid of wasting his store of anger, he left Alptych and went rapidly

forward. Alptych, mastering his offended feelings, kept pace with

Rostv at a gliding gait and continued to impart his views. He said

the peasants were obdurate and that at the present moment it would be

imprudent to overresist them without an armed force, and would it not

be better first to send for the military?



Ill give them armed force... Ill overresist them! uttered Rostv

meaninglessly, breathless with irrational animal fury and the need to

vent it.



Without considering what he would do he moved unconciously with quick,

resolute steps toward the crowd. And the nearer he drew to it the more

Alptych felt that this unreasonable action might produce good results.

The peasants in the crowd were similarly impressed when they saw

Rostvs rapid, firm steps and resolute, frowning face.



After the hussars had come to the village and Rostv had gone to see the

princess, a certain confusion and dissension had arisen among the crowd.

Some of the peasants said that these new arrivals were Russians and

might take it amiss that the mistress was being detained. Dron was of

this opinion, but as soon as he expressed it Karp and others attacked

their ex-Elder.



How many years have you been fattening on the commune? Karp shouted at

him. Its all one to you! Youll dig up your pot of money and take

it away with you.... What does it matter to you whether our homes are

ruined or not?



Weve been told to keep order, and that no one is to leave their homes

or take away a single grain, and thats all about it! cried another.



It was your sons turn to be conscripted, but no fear! You begrudged

your lump of a son, a little old man suddenly began attacking Dronand

so they took my Vnka to be shaved for a soldier! But we all have to

die.



To be sure, we all have to die. Im not against the commune, said

Dron.



Thats itnot against it! Youve filled your belly....



The two tall peasants had their say. As soon as Rostv, followed by

Ilyn, Lavrshka, and Alptych, came up to the crowd, Karp, thrusting

his fingers into his belt and smiling a little, walked to the front.

Dron on the contrary retired to the rear and the crowd drew closer

together.



Who is your Elder here? Hey? shouted Rostv, coming up to the crowd

with quick steps.



The Elder? What do you want with him?... asked Karp.



But before the words were well out of his mouth, his cap flew off and a

fierce blow jerked his head to one side.



Caps off, traitors! shouted Rostv in a wrathful voice. Wheres the

Elder? he cried furiously.



The Elder.... He wants the Elder!... Dron Zakhrych, you! meek and

flustered voices here and there were heard calling and caps began to

come off their heads.



We dont riot, were following the orders, declared Karp, and at that

moment several voices began speaking together.



Its as the old men have decidedtheres too many of you giving

orders.



Arguing? Mutiny!... Brigands! Traitors! cried Rostv unmeaningly in a

voice not his own, gripping Karp by the collar. Bind him, bind him! he

shouted, though there was no one to bind him but Lavrshka and Alptych.



Lavrshka, however, ran up to Karp and seized him by the arms from

behind.



Shall I call up our men from beyond the hill? he called out.



Alptych turned to the peasants and ordered two of them by name to come

and bind Karp. The men obediently came out of the crowd and began taking

off their belts.



Wheres the Elder? demanded Rostv in a loud voice.



With a pale and frowning face Dron stepped out of the crowd.



Are you the Elder? Bind him, Lavrshka! shouted Rostv, as if that

order, too, could not possibly meet with any opposition.



And in fact two more peasants began binding Dron, who took off his own

belt and handed it to them, as if to aid them.



And you all listen to me! said Rostv to the peasants. Be off to your

houses at once, and dont let one of your voices be heard!



Why, weve not done any harm! We did it just out of foolishness. Its

all nonsense.... I said then that it was not in order, voices were

heard bickering with one another.



There! What did I say? said Alptych, coming into his own again. Its

wrong, lads!



All our stupidity, Ykov Alptych, came the answers, and the crowd

began at once to disperse through the village.



The two bound men were led off to the masters house. The two drunken

peasants followed them.



Aye, when I look at you!... said one of them to Karp.



How can one talk to the masters like that? What were you thinking of,

you fool? added the otherA real fool!



Two hours later the carts were standing in the courtyard of the

Boguchrovo house. The peasants were briskly carrying out the

proprietors goods and packing them on the carts, and Dron, liberated at

Princess Marys wish from the cupboard where he had been confined, was

standing in the yard directing the men.



Dont put it in so carelessly, said one of the peasants, a man with a

round smiling face, taking a casket from a housemaid. You know it has

cost money! How can you chuck it in like that or shove it under the cord

where itll get rubbed? I dont like that way of doing things. Let it

all be done properly, according to rule. Look here, put it under the

bast matting and cover it with haythats the way!



Eh, books, books! said another peasant, bringing out Prince Andrews

library cupboards. Dont catch up against it! Its heavy, ladssolid

books.



Yes, they worked all day and didnt play! remarked the tall,

round-faced peasant gravely, pointing with a significant wink at the

dictionaries that were on the top.





Unwilling to obtrude himself on the princess, Rostv did not go back to

the house but remained in the village awaiting her departure. When her

carriage drove out of the house, he mounted and accompanied her eight

miles from Boguchrovo to where the road was occupied by our troops. At

the inn at Yankvo he respectfully took leave of her, for the first time

permitting himself to kiss her hand.



How can you speak so! he blushingly replied to Princess Marys

expressions of gratitude for her deliverance, as she termed what had

occurred. Any police officer would have done as much! If we had had

only peasants to fight, we should not have let the enemy come so far,

said he with a sense of shame and wishing to change the subject. I

am only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance.

Good-by, Princess. I wish you happiness and consolation and hope to meet

you again in happier circumstances. If you dont want to make me blush,

please dont thank me!



But the princess, if she did not again thank him in words, thanked

him with the whole expression of her face, radiant with gratitude and

tenderness. She could not believe that there was nothing to thank him

for. On the contrary, it seemed to her certain that had he not been

there she would have perished at the hands of the mutineers and of the

French, and that he had exposed himself to terrible and obvious danger

to save her, and even more certain was it that he was a man of lofty and

noble soul, able to understand her position and her sorrow. His kind,

honest eyes, with the tears rising in them when she herself had begun to

cry as she spoke of her loss, did not leave her memory.



When she had taken leave of him and remained alone she suddenly felt

her eyes filling with tears, and then not for the first time the strange

question presented itself to her did she love him?



On the rest of the way to Moscow, though the princess position was not

a cheerful one, Dunysha, who went with her in the carriage, more than

once noticed that her mistress leaned out of the window and smiled at

something with an expression of mingled joy and sorrow.



Well, supposing I do love him? thought Princess Mary.



Ashamed as she was of acknowledging to herself that she had fallen in

love with a man who would perhaps never love her, she comforted herself

with the thought that no one would ever know it and that she would not

be to blame if, without ever speaking of it to anyone, she continued to

the end of her life to love the man with whom she had fallen in love for

the first and last time in her life.



Sometimes when she recalled his looks, his sympathy, and his words,

happiness did not appear impossible to her. It was at those moments that

Dunysha noticed her smiling as she looked out of the carriage window.



Was it not fate that brought him to Boguchrovo, and at that very

moment? thought Princess Mary. And that caused his sister to refuse my

brother? And in all this Princess Mary saw the hand of Providence.



The impression the princess made on Rostv was a very agreeable one. To

remember her gave him pleasure, and when his comrades, hearing of his

adventure at Boguchrovo, rallied him on having gone to look for hay

and having picked up one of the wealthiest heiresses in Russia, he grew

angry. It made him angry just because the idea of marrying the gentle

Princess Mary, who was attractive to him and had an enormous fortune,

had against his will more than once entered his head. For himself

personally Nicholas could not wish for a better wife by marrying her

he would make the countess his mother happy, would be able to put his

fathers affairs in order, and would evenhe felt itensure Princess

Marys happiness.



But Snya? And his plighted word? That was why Rostv grew angry when he

was rallied about Princess Bolknskaya.











CHAPTER XV



On receiving command of the armies Kutzov remembered Prince Andrew and

sent an order for him to report at headquarters.



Prince Andrew arrived at Tsrevo-Zaymshche on the very day and at the

very hour that Kutzov was reviewing the troops for the first time. He

stopped in the village at the priests house in front of which stood the

commander in chiefs carriage, and he sat down on the bench at the gate

awaiting his Serene Highness, as everyone now called Kutzov. From the

field beyond the village came now sounds of regimental music and now the

roar of many voices shouting Hurrah! to the new commander in chief.

Two orderlies, a courier and a major-domo, stood near by, some ten paces

from Prince Andrew, availing themselves of Kutzovs absence and of the

fine weather. A short, swarthy lieutenant colonel of hussars with thick

mustaches and whiskers rode up to the gate and, glancing at Prince

Andrew, inquired whether his Serene Highness was putting up there and

whether he would soon be back.



Prince Andrew replied that he was not on his Serene Highness staff

but was himself a new arrival. The lieutenant colonel turned to a smart

orderly, who, with the peculiar contempt with which a commander in

chiefs orderly speaks to officers, replied



What? His Serene Highness? I expect hell be here soon. What do you

want?



The lieutenant colonel of hussars smiled beneath his mustache at the

orderlys tone, dismounted, gave his horse to a dispatch runner, and

approached Bolknski with a slight bow. Bolknski made room for him on

the bench and the lieutenant colonel sat down beside him.



Youre also waiting for the commander in chief? said he. They say he

weceives evewyone, thank God!... Its awful with those sausage eaters!

Ermlov had weason to ask to be pwomoted to be a German! Now pwaps

Wussians will get a look in. As it was, devil only knows what was

happening. We kept wetweating and wetweating. Did you take part in the

campaign? he asked.



I had the pleasure, replied Prince Andrew, not only of taking part in

the retreat but of losing in that retreat all I held dearnot to mention

the estate and home of my birthmy father, who died of grief. I belong

to the province of Smolnsk.



Ah? Youre Pwince Bolknski? Vewy glad to make your acquaintance! Im

Lieutenant Colonel Densov, better known as Vska, said Densov,

pressing Prince Andrews hand and looking into his face with a

particularly kindly attention. Yes, I heard, said he sympathetically,

and after a short pause added Yes, its Scythian warfare. Its all

vewy wellonly not for those who get it in the neck. So you are Pwince

Andwew Bolknski? He swayed his head. Vewy pleased, Pwince, to make

your acquaintance! he repeated again, smiling sadly, and he again

pressed Prince Andrews hand.



Prince Andrew knew Densov from what Natsha had told him of her first

suitor. This memory carried him sadly and sweetly back to those painful

feelings of which he had not thought lately, but which still found

place in his soul. Of late he had received so many new and very serious

impressionssuch as the retreat from Smolnsk, his visit to Bald Hills,

and the recent news of his fathers deathand had experienced so many

emotions, that for a long time past those memories had not entered his

mind, and now that they did, they did not act on him with nearly their

former strength. For Densov, too, the memories awakened by the name of

Bolknski belonged to a distant, romantic past, when after supper and

after Natshas singing he had proposed to a little girl of fifteen

without realizing what he was doing. He smiled at the recollection of

that time and of his love for Natsha, and passed at once to what now

interested him passionately and exclusively. This was a plan of campaign

he had devised while serving at the outposts during the retreat. He had

proposed that plan to Barclay de Tolly and now wished to propose it

to Kutzov. The plan was based on the fact that the French line

of operation was too extended, and it proposed that instead of, or

concurrently with, action on the front to bar the advance of the French,

we should attack their line of communication. He began explaining his

plan to Prince Andrew.



They cant hold all that line. Its impossible. I will undertake to

bweak thwough. Give me five hundwed men and I will bweak the line,

thats certain! Theres only one wayguewilla warfare!



Densov rose and began gesticulating as he explained his plan to

Bolknski. In the midst of his explanation shouts were heard from the

army, growing more incoherent and more diffused, mingling with music

and songs and coming from the field where the review was held. Sounds of

hoofs and shouts were nearing the village.



Hes coming! Hes coming! shouted a Cossack standing at the gate.



Bolknski and Densov moved to the gate, at which a knot of soldiers

(a guard of honor) was standing, and they saw Kutzov coming down the

street mounted on a rather small sorrel horse. A huge suite of generals

rode behind him. Barclay was riding almost beside him, and a crowd of

officers ran after and around them shouting, Hurrah!



His adjutants galloped into the yard before him. Kutzov was impatiently

urging on his horse, which ambled smoothly under his weight, and he

raised his hand to his white Horse Guards cap with a red band and no

peak, nodding his head continually. When he came up to the guard of

honor, a fine set of Grenadiers mostly wearing decorations, who were

giving him the salute, he looked at them silently and attentively for

nearly a minute with the steady gaze of a commander and then turned to

the crowd of generals and officers surrounding him. Suddenly his face

assumed a subtle expression, he shrugged his shoulders with an air of

perplexity.



And with such fine fellows to retreat and retreat! Well, good-by,

General, he added, and rode into the yard past Prince Andrew and

Densov.



Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! shouted those behind him.



Since Prince Andrew had last seen him Kutzov had grown still more

corpulent, flaccid, and fat. But the bleached eyeball, the scar, and the

familiar weariness of his expression were still the same. He was wearing

the white Horse Guards cap and a military overcoat with a whip hanging

over his shoulder by a thin strap. He sat heavily and swayed limply on

his brisk little horse.



Whew... whew... whew! he whistled just audibly as he rode into the

yard. His face expressed the relief of relaxed strain felt by a man who

means to rest after a ceremony. He drew his left foot out of the stirrup

and, lurching with his whole body and puckering his face with the

effort, raised it with difficulty onto the saddle, leaned on his knee,

groaned, and slipped down into the arms of the Cossacks and adjutants

who stood ready to assist him.



He pulled himself together, looked round, screwing up his eyes, glanced

at Prince Andrew, and, evidently not recognizing him, moved with his

waddling gait to the porch. Whew... whew... whew! he whistled, and

again glanced at Prince Andrew. As often occurs with old men, it was

only after some seconds that the impression produced by Prince Andrews

face linked itself up with Kutzovs remembrance of his personality.



Ah, how do you do, my dear prince? How do you do, my dear boy? Come

along... said he, glancing wearily round, and he stepped onto the porch

which creaked under his weight.



He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a bench in the porch.



And hows your father?



I received news of his death, yesterday, replied Prince Andrew

abruptly.



Kutzov looked at him with eyes wide open with dismay and then took off

his cap and crossed himself



May the kingdom of Heaven be his! Gods will be done to us all! He

sighed deeply, his whole chest heaving, and was silent for a while. I

loved him and respected him, and sympathize with you with all my heart.



He embraced Prince Andrew, pressing him to his fat breast, and for some

time did not let him go. When he released him Prince Andrew saw that

Kutzovs flabby lips were trembling and that tears were in his eyes. He

sighed and pressed on the bench with both hands to raise himself.



Come! Come with me, well have a talk, said he.



But at that moment Densov, no more intimidated by his superiors than by

the enemy, came with jingling spurs up the steps of the porch, despite

the angry whispers of the adjutants who tried to stop him. Kutzov, his

hands still pressed on the seat, glanced at him glumly. Densov, having

given his name, announced that he had to communicate to his Serene

Highness a matter of great importance for their countrys welfare.

Kutzov looked wearily at him and, lifting his hands with a gesture of

annoyance, folded them across his stomach, repeating the words For our

countrys welfare? Well, what is it? Speak! Densov blushed like a

girl (it was strange to see the color rise in that shaggy, bibulous,

time-worn face) and boldly began to expound his plan of cutting the

enemys lines of communication between Smolnsk and Vyzma. Densov came

from those parts and knew the country well. His plan seemed decidedly

a good one, especially from the strength of conviction with which he

spoke. Kutzov looked down at his own legs, occasionally glancing at the

door of the adjoining hut as if expecting something unpleasant to emerge

from it. And from that hut, while Densov was speaking, a general with a

portfolio under his arm really did appear.



What? said Kutzov, in the midst of Densovs explanations, are you

ready so soon?



Ready, your Serene Highness, replied the general.



Kutzov swayed his head, as much as to say How is one man to deal with

it all? and again listened to Densov.



I give my word of honor as a Wussian officer, said Densov, that I

can bweak Napoleons line of communication!



What relation are you to Intendant General Kirl Andrevich Densov?

asked Kutzov, interrupting him.



He is my uncle, your Sewene Highness.



Ah, we were friends, said Kutzov cheerfully. All right, all right,

friend, stay here at the staff and tomorrow well have a talk.



With a nod to Densov he turned away and put out his hand for the papers

Konovntsyn had brought him.



Would not your Serene Highness like to come inside? said the general

on duty in a discontented voice, the plans must be examined and several

papers have to be signed.



An adjutant came out and announced that everything was in readiness

within. But Kutzov evidently did not wish to enter that room till he

was disengaged. He made a grimace....



No, tell them to bring a small table out here, my dear boy. Ill look

at them here, said he. Dont go away, he added, turning to Prince

Andrew, who remained in the porch and listened to the generals report.



While this was being given, Prince Andrew heard the whisper of a womans

voice and the rustle of a silk dress behind the door. Several times on

glancing that way he noticed behind that door a plump, rosy, handsome

woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head, holding

a dish and evidently awaiting the entrance of the commander in chief.

Kutzovs adjutant whispered to Prince Andrew that this was the wife of

the priest whose home it was, and that she intended to offer his Serene

Highness bread and salt. Her husband has welcomed his Serene Highness

with the cross at the church, and she intends to welcome him in the

house.... Shes very pretty, added the adjutant with a smile. At

those words Kutzov looked round. He was listening to the generals

reportwhich consisted chiefly of a criticism of the position at

Tsrevo-Zaymshcheas he had listened to Densov, and seven years

previously had listened to the discussion at the Austerlitz council of

war. He evidently listened only because he had ears which, though there

was a piece of tow in one of them, could not help hearing but it

was evident that nothing the general could say would surprise or even

interest him, that he knew all that would be said beforehand, and heard

it all only because he had to, as one has to listen to the chanting of

a service of prayer. All that Densov had said was clever and to the

point. What the general was saying was even more clever and to

the point, but it was evident that Kutzov despised knowledge

and cleverness, and knew of something else that would decide the

mattersomething independent of cleverness and knowledge. Prince

Andrew watched the commander in chiefs face attentively, and the only

expression he could see there was one of boredom, curiosity as to the

meaning of the feminine whispering behind the door, and a desire to

observe propriety. It was evident that Kutzov despised cleverness and

learning and even the patriotic feeling shown by Densov, but despised

them not because of his own intellect, feelings, or knowledgehe did not

try to display any of thesebut because of something else. He despised

them because of his old age and experience of life. The only instruction

Kutzov gave of his own accord during that report referred to looting by

the Russian troops. At the end of the report the general put before

him for signature a paper relating to the recovery of payment from army

commanders for green oats mown down by the soldiers, when landowners

lodged petitions for compensation.



After hearing the matter, Kutzov smacked his lips together and shook

his head.



Into the stove... into the fire with it! I tell you once for all, my

dear fellow, said he, into the fire with all such things! Let them cut

the crops and burn wood to their hearts content. I dont order it

or allow it, but I dont exact compensation either. One cant get on

without it. When wood is chopped the chips will fly. He looked at the

paper again. Oh, this German precision! he muttered, shaking his head.











CHAPTER XVI



Well, thats all! said Kutzov as he signed the last of the documents,

and rising heavily and smoothing out the folds in his fat white neck he

moved toward the door with a more cheerful expression.



The priests wife, flushing rosy red, caught up the dish she had after

all not managed to present at the right moment, though she had so long

been preparing for it, and with a low bow offered it to Kutzov.



He screwed up his eyes, smiled, lifted her chin with his hand, and said



Ah, what a beauty! Thank you, sweetheart!



He took some gold pieces from his trouser pocket and put them on the

dish for her. Well, my dear, and how are we getting on? he asked,

moving to the door of the room assigned to him. The priests wife

smiled, and with dimples in her rosy cheeks followed him into the room.

The adjutant came out to the porch and asked Prince Andrew to lunch with

him. Half an hour later Prince Andrew was again called to Kutzov.

He found him reclining in an armchair, still in the same unbuttoned

overcoat. He had in his hand a French book which he closed as Prince

Andrew entered, marking the place with a knife. Prince Andrew saw by the

cover that it was Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis.



Well, sit down, sit down here. Lets have a talk, said Kutzov. Its

sad, very sad. But remember, my dear fellow, that I am a father to you,

a second father....



Prince Andrew told Kutzov all he knew of his fathers death, and what

he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it.



What... what they have brought us to! Kutzov suddenly cried in an

agitated voice, evidently picturing vividly to himself from Prince

Andrews story the condition Russia was in. But give me time, give me

time! he said with a grim look, evidently not wishing to continue this

agitating conversation, and added I sent for you to keep you with me.



I thank your Serene Highness, but I fear I am no longer fit for the

staff, replied Prince Andrew with a smile which Kutzov noticed.



Kutzov glanced inquiringly at him.



But above all, added Prince Andrew, I have grown used to my regiment,

am fond of the officers, and I fancy the men also like me. I should be

sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honor of being with you,

believe me...



A shrewd, kindly, yet subtly derisive expression lit up Kutzovs podgy

face. He cut Bolknski short.



I am sorry, for I need you. But youre right, youre right! Its not

here that men are needed. Advisers are always plentiful, but men are

not. The regiments would not be what they are if the would-be advisers

served there as you do. I remember you at Austerlitz.... I remember,

yes, I remember you with the standard! said Kutzov, and a flush of

pleasure suffused Prince Andrews face at this recollection.



Taking his hand and drawing him downwards, Kutzov offered his cheek to

be kissed, and again Prince Andrew noticed tears in the old mans eyes.

Though Prince Andrew knew that Kutzovs tears came easily, and that he

was particularly tender to and considerate of him from a wish to

show sympathy with his loss, yet this reminder of Austerlitz was both

pleasant and flattering to him.



Go your way and God be with you. I know your path is the path of

honor! He paused. I missed you at Bucharest, but I needed someone to

send. And changing the subject, Kutzov began to speak of the Turkish

war and the peace that had been concluded. Yes, I have been much

blamed, he said, both for that war and the peace... but everything

came at the right time. Tout vient  point  celui qui sait attendre. *

And there were as many advisers there as here... he went on, returning

to the subject of advisers which evidently occupied him. Ah, those

advisers! said he. If we had listened to them all we should not have

made peace with Turkey and should not have been through with that war.

Everything in haste, but more haste, less speed. Kmenski would have

been lost if he had not died. He stormed fortresses with thirty thousand

men. It is not difficult to capture a fortress but it is difficult to

win a campaign. For that, not storming and attacking but patience and

time are wanted. Kmenski sent soldiers to Rustchuk, but I only employed

these two things and took more fortresses than Kmenski and made them

Turks eat horseflesh! He swayed his head. And the French shall too,

believe me, he went on, growing warmer and beating his chest, Ill

make them eat horseflesh! And tears again dimmed his eyes.



    * Everything comes in time to him who knows how to wait.





But shant we have to accept battle? remarked Prince Andrew.



We shall if everybody wants it it cant be helped.... But believe

me, my dear boy, there is nothing stronger than those two patience and

time, they will do it all. But the advisers nentendent pas de cette

oreille, voil le mal. * Some want a thingothers dont. Whats one to

do? he asked, evidently expecting an answer. Well, what do you want

us to do? he repeated and his eye shone with a deep, shrewd look.

Ill tell you what to do, he continued, as Prince Andrew still did not

reply I will tell you what to do, and what I do. Dans le doute, mon

cher, he paused, abstiens-toi *(2)he articulated the French proverb

deliberately.



     * Dont see it that way, thats the trouble.



     * (2) When in doubt, my dear fellow, do nothing.





Well, good-by, my dear fellow remember that with all my heart I share

your sorrow, and that for you I am not a Serene Highness, nor a prince,

nor a commander in chief, but a father! If you want anything come

straight to me. Good-by, my dear boy.



Again he embraced and kissed Prince Andrew, but before the latter

had left the room Kutzov gave a sigh of relief and went on with his

unfinished novel, Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis.



Prince Andrew could not have explained how or why it was, but after that

interview with Kutzov he went back to his regiment reassured as to

the general course of affairs and as to the man to whom it had been

entrusted. The more he realized the absence of all personal motive in

that old manin whom there seemed to remain only the habit of passions,

and in place of an intellect (grouping events and drawing conclusions)

only the capacity calmly to contemplate the course of eventsthe more

reassured he was that everything would be as it should. He will not

bring in any plan of his own. He will not devise or undertake

anything, thought Prince Andrew, but he will hear everything, remember

everything, and put everything in its place. He will not hinder

anything useful nor allow anything harmful. He understands that there is

something stronger and more important than his own willthe inevitable

course of events, and he can see them and grasp their significance,

and seeing that significance can refrain from meddling and renounce his

personal wish directed to something else. And above all, thought Prince

Andrew, one believes in him because hes Russian, despite the novel

by Genlis and the French proverbs, and because his voice shook when he

said What they have brought us to! and had a sob in it when he said

he would make them eat horseflesh!



On such feelings, more or less dimly shared by all, the unanimity and

general approval were founded with which, despite court influences, the

popular choice of Kutzov as commander in chief was received.











CHAPTER XVII



After the Emperor had left Moscow, life flowed on there in its usual

course, and its course was so very usual that it was difficult to

remember the recent days of patriotic elation and ardor, hard to believe

that Russia was really in danger and that the members of the English

Club were also sons of the Fatherland ready to sacrifice everything

for it. The one thing that recalled the patriotic fervor everyone had

displayed during the Emperors stay was the call for contributions of

men and money, a necessity that as soon as the promises had been made

assumed a legal, official form and became unavoidable.



With the enemys approach to Moscow, the Moscovites view of their

situation did not grow more serious but on the contrary became even

more frivolous, as always happens with people who see a great danger

approaching. At the approach of danger there are always two voices that

speak with equal power in the human soul one very reasonably tells a

man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of escaping it

the other, still more reasonably, says that it is too depressing and

painful to think of the danger, since it is not in mans power to

foresee everything and avert the general course of events, and it is

therefore better to disregard what is painful till it comes, and to

think about what is pleasant. In solitude a man generally listens to

the first voice, but in society to the second. So it was now with the

inhabitants of Moscow. It was long since people had been as gay in

Moscow as that year.



Rostopchns broadsheets, headed by woodcuts of a drink shop, a potman,

and a Moscow burgher called Karpshka Chigrin, whohaving been a

militiaman and having had rather too much at the pubheard that Napoleon

wished to come to Moscow, grew angry, abused the French in very bad

language, came out of the drink shop, and, under the sign of the

eagle, began to address the assembled people, were read and discussed,

together with the latest of Vasli Lvvich Pshkins bouts rims.



In the corner room at the Club, members gathered to read these

broadsheets, and some liked the way Karpshka jeered at the French,

saying They will swell up with Russian cabbage, burst with our

buckwheat porridge, and choke themselves with cabbage soup. They are all

dwarfs and one peasant woman will toss three of them with a hayfork.

Others did not like that tone and said it was stupid and vulgar. It was

said that Rostopchn had expelled all Frenchmen and even all foreigners

from Moscow, and that there had been some spies and agents of Napoleon

among them but this was told chiefly to introduce Rostopchns witty

remark on that occasion. The foreigners were deported to Nzhni by

boat, and Rostopchn had said to them in French Rentrez en vous-mmes

entrez dans la barque, et nen faites pas une barque de Charon. * There

was talk of all the government offices having been already removed from

Moscow, and to this Shinshns witticism was addedthat for that alone

Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. It was said that Mamnovs

regiment would cost him eight hundred thousand rubles, and that Bezkhov

had spent even more on his, but that the best thing about Bezkhovs

action was that he himself was going to don a uniform and ride at the

head of his regiment without charging anything for the show.



     * Think it over get into the barque, and take care not to

     make it a barque of Charon.





You dont spare anyone, said Julie Drubetskya as she collected

and pressed together a bunch of raveled lint with her thin, beringed

fingers.



Julie was preparing to leave Moscow next day and was giving a farewell

soiree.



Bezkhov est ridicule, but he is so kind and good-natured. What

pleasure is there to be so caustique?



A forfeit! cried a young man in militia uniform whom Julie called mon

chevalier, and who was going with her to Nzhni.



In Julies set, as in many other circles in Moscow, it had been agreed

that they would speak nothing but Russian and that those who made a

slip and spoke French should pay fines to the Committee of Voluntary

Contributions.



Another forfeit for a Gallicism, said a Russian writer who was

present. What pleasure is there to be is not Russian!



You spare no one, continued Julie to the young man without heeding the

authors remark.



For caustiqueI am guilty and will pay, and I am prepared to pay again

for the pleasure of telling you the truth. For Gallicisms I wont be

responsible, she remarked, turning to the author I have neither the

money nor the time, like Prince Galtsyn, to engage a master to teach me

Russian!



Ah, here he is! she added. Quand on... No, no, she said to the

militia officer, you wont catch me. Speak of the sun and you see its

rays! and she smiled amiably at Pierre. We were just talking of you,

she said with the facility in lying natural to a society woman. We were

saying that your regiment would be sure to be better than Mamnovs.



Oh, dont talk to me of my regiment, replied Pierre, kissing his

hostess hand and taking a seat beside her. I am so sick of it.



You will, of course, command it yourself? said Julie, directing a sly,

sarcastic glance toward the militia officer.



The latter in Pierres presence had ceased to be caustic, and his face

expressed perplexity as to what Julies smile might mean. In spite of

his absent-mindedness and good nature, Pierres personality immediately

checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face.



No, said Pierre, with a laughing glance at his big, stout body. I

should make too good a target for the French, besides I am afraid I

should hardly be able to climb onto a horse.



Among those whom Julies guests happened to choose to gossip about were

the Rostvs.



I hear that their affairs are in a very bad way, said Julie. And he

is so unreasonable, the count himself I mean. The Razumvskis wanted

to buy his house and his estate near Moscow, but it drags on and on. He

asks too much.



No, I think the sale will come off in a few days, said someone.

Though it is madness to buy anything in Moscow now.



Why? asked Julie. You dont think Moscow is in danger?



Then why are you leaving?



I? What a question! I am going because... well, because everyone is

going and besidesI am not Joan of Arc or an Amazon.



Well, of course, of course! Let me have some more strips of linen.



If he manages the business properly he will be able to pay off all his

debts, said the militia officer, speaking of Rostv.



A kindly old man but not up to much. And why do they stay on so long in

Moscow? They meant to leave for the country long ago. Natalie is quite

well again now, isnt she? Julie asked Pierre with a knowing smile.



They are waiting for their younger son, Pierre replied. He joined

Obolnskis Cossacks and went to Blaya Tsrkov where the regiment is

being formed. But now they have had him transferred to my regiment and

are expecting him every day. The count wanted to leave long ago, but the

countess wont on any account leave Moscow till her son returns.



I met them the day before yesterday at the Arkhrovs. Natalie has

recovered her looks and is brighter. She sang a song. How easily some

people get over everything!



Get over what? inquired Pierre, looking displeased.



Julie smiled.



You know, Count, such knights as you are only found in Madame de

Souzas novels.



What knights? What do you mean? demanded Pierre, blushing.



Oh, come, my dear count! Cest la fable de tout Moscou. Je vous admire,

ma parole dhonneur! *



    * It is the talk of all Moscow. My word, I admire you!





Forfeit, forfeit! cried the militia officer.



All right, one cant talkhow tiresome!



What is the talk of all Moscow? Pierre asked angrily, rising to his

feet.



Come now, Count, you know!



I dont know anything about it, said Pierre.



I know you were friendly with Natalie, and so... but I was always more

friendly with Vrathat dear Vra.



No, madame! Pierre continued in a tone of displeasure, I have not

taken on myself the role of Natalie Rostvas knight at all, and have

not been to their house for nearly a month. But I cannot understand the

cruelty...



Qui sexcuse saccuse, * said Julie, smiling and waving the lint

triumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed the

subject. Do you know what I heard today? Poor Mary Bolknskaya arrived

in Moscow yesterday. Do you know that she has lost her father?



    * Who excuses himself, accuses himself.





Really? Where is she? I should like very much to see her, said Pierre.



I spent the evening with her yesterday. She is going to their estate

near Moscow either today or tomorrow morning, with her nephew.



Well, and how is she? asked Pierre.



She is well, but sad. But do you know who rescued her? It is quite a

romance. Nicholas Rostv! She was surrounded, and they wanted to kill

her and had wounded some of her people. He rushed in and saved her....



Another romance, said the militia officer. Really, this general

flight has been arranged to get all the old maids married off. Catiche

is one and Princess Bolknskaya another.



Do you know, I really believe she is un petit peu amoureuse du jeune

homme. *



    * A little bit in love with the young man.





Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit!



But how could one say that in Russian?











CHAPTER XVIII



When Pierre returned home he was handed two of Rostopchns broadsheets

that had been brought that day.



The first declared that the report that Count Rostopchn had forbidden

people to leave Moscow was false on the contrary he was glad that

ladies and tradesmens wives were leaving the city. There will be less

panic and less gossip, ran the broadsheet but I will stake my life on

it that that scoundrel will not enter Moscow. These words showed Pierre

clearly for the first time that the French would enter Moscow. The

second broadsheet stated that our headquarters were at Vyzma, that

Count Wittgenstein had defeated the French, but that as many of the

inhabitants of Moscow wished to be armed, weapons were ready for them

at the arsenal sabers, pistols, and muskets which could be had at a low

price. The tone of the proclamation was not as jocose as in the former

Chigrin talks. Pierre pondered over these broadsheets. Evidently the

terrible stormcloud he had desired with the whole strength of his soul

but which yet aroused involuntary horror in him was drawing near.



Shall I join the army and enter the service, or wait? he asked himself

for the hundredth time. He took a pack of cards that lay on the table

and began to lay them out for a game of patience.



If this patience comes out, he said to himself after shuffling the

cards, holding them in his hand, and lifting his head, if it comes out,

it means... what does it mean?



He had not decided what it should mean when he heard the voice of the

eldest princess at the door asking whether she might come in.



Then it will mean that I must go to the army, said Pierre to himself.

Come in, come in! he added to the princess.



Only the eldest princess, the one with the stony face and long waist,

was still living in Pierres house. The two younger ones had both

married.



Excuse my coming to you, cousin, she said in a reproachful and

agitated voice. You know some decision must be come to. What is going

to happen? Everyone has left Moscow and the people are rioting. How is

it that we are staying on?



On the contrary, things seem satisfactory, ma cousine, said Pierre

in the bantering tone he habitually adopted toward her, always feeling

uncomfortable in the role of her benefactor.



Satisfactory, indeed! Very satisfactory! Barbara Ivnovna told me today

how our troops are distinguishing themselves. It certainly does them

credit! And the people too are quite mutinousthey no longer obey,

even my maid has taken to being rude. At this rate they will soon begin

beating us. One cant walk in the streets. But, above all, the French

will be here any day now, so what are we waiting for? I ask just one

thing of you, cousin, she went on, arrange for me to be taken to

Petersburg. Whatever I may be, I cant live under Bonapartes rule.



Oh, come, ma cousine! Where do you get your information from? On the

contrary...



I wont submit to your Napoleon! Others may if they please.... If you

dont want to do this...



But I will, Ill give the order at once.



The princess was apparently vexed at not having anyone to be angry with.

Muttering to herself, she sat down on a chair.



But you have been misinformed, said Pierre. Everything is quiet in

the city and there is not the slightest danger. See! Ive just been

reading... He showed her the broadsheet. Count Rostopchn writes that

he will stake his life on it that the enemy will not enter Moscow.



Oh, that count of yours! said the princess malevolently. He is a

hypocrite, a rascal who has himself roused the people to riot. Didnt

he write in those idiotic broadsheets that anyone, whoever it might be,

should be dragged to the lockup by his hair? (How silly!) And honor

and glory to whoever captures him, he says. This is what his cajolery

has brought us to! Barbara Ivnovna told me the mob near killed her

because she said something in French.



Oh, but its so... You take everything so to heart, said Pierre, and

began laying out his cards for patience.



Although that patience did come out, Pierre did not join the army,

but remained in deserted Moscow ever in the same state of agitation,

irresolution, and alarm, yet at the same time joyfully expecting

something terrible.



Next day toward evening the princess set off, and Pierres head steward

came to inform him that the money needed for the equipment of his

regiment could not be found without selling one of the estates. In

general the head steward made out to Pierre that his project of raising

a regiment would ruin him. Pierre listened to him, scarcely able to

repress a smile.



Well then, sell it, said he. Whats to be done? I cant draw back

now!



The worse everything became, especially his own affairs, the better

was Pierre pleased and the more evident was it that the catastrophe he

expected was approaching. Hardly anyone he knew was left in town. Julie

had gone, and so had Princess Mary. Of his intimate friends only the

Rostvs remained, but he did not go to see them.



To distract his thoughts he drove that day to the village of Vorontsvo

to see the great balloon Leppich was constructing to destroy the foe,

and a trial balloon that was to go up next day. The balloon was not yet

ready, but Pierre learned that it was being constructed by the Emperors

desire. The Emperor had written to Count Rostopchn as follows



As soon as Leppich is ready, get together a crew of reliable and

intelligent men for his car and send a courier to General Kutzov to let

him know. I have informed him of the matter.



Please impress upon Leppich to be very careful where he descends for

the first time, that he may not make a mistake and fall into the enemys

hands. It is essential for him to combine his movements with those of

the commander in chief.





On his way home from Vorontsvo, as he was passing the Boltnoe Place

Pierre, seeing a large crowd round the Lbnoe Place, stopped and got out

of his trap. A French cook accused of being a spy was being flogged. The

flogging was only just over, and the executioner was releasing from the

flogging bench a stout man with red whiskers, in blue stockings and

a green jacket, who was moaning piteously. Another criminal, thin and

pale, stood near. Judging by their faces they were both Frenchmen. With

a frightened and suffering look resembling that on the thin Frenchmans

face, Pierre pushed his way in through the crowd.



What is it? Who is it? What is it for? he kept asking.



But the attention of the crowdofficials, burghers, shopkeepers,

peasants, and women in cloaks and in pelisseswas so eagerly centered on

what was passing in Lbnoe Place that no one answered him. The stout man

rose, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and evidently trying to appear

firm began to pull on his jacket without looking about him, but suddenly

his lips trembled and he began to cry, in the way full-blooded grown-up

men cry, though angry with himself for doing so. In the crowd people

began talking loudly, to stifle their feelings of pity as it seemed to

Pierre.



Hes cook to some prince.



Eh, mounseer, Russian sauce seems to be sour to a Frenchman... sets his

teeth on edge! said a wrinkled clerk who was standing behind Pierre,

when the Frenchman began to cry.



The clerk glanced round, evidently hoping that his joke would be

appreciated. Some people began to laugh, others continued to watch in

dismay the executioner who was undressing the other man.



Pierre choked, his face puckered, and he turned hastily away, went back

to his trap muttering something to himself as he went, and took his

seat. As they drove along he shuddered and exclaimed several times so

audibly that the coachman asked him



What is your pleasure?



Where are you going? shouted Pierre to the man, who was driving to

Lubynka Street.



To the Governors, as you ordered, answered the coachman.



Fool! Idiot! shouted Pierre, abusing his coachmana thing he rarely

did. Home, I told you! And drive faster, blockhead! I must get away

this very day, he murmured to himself.



At the sight of the tortured Frenchman and the crowd surrounding the

Lbnoe Place, Pierre had so definitely made up his mind that he could no

longer remain in Moscow and would leave for the army that very day that

it seemed to him that either he had told the coachman this or that the

man ought to have known it for himself.



On reaching home Pierre gave orders to Evstfeyhis head coachman who

knew everything, could do anything, and was known to all Moscowthat

he would leave that night for the army at Mozhysk, and that his saddle

horses should be sent there. This could not all be arranged that day,

so on Evstfeys representation Pierre had to put off his departure till

next day to allow time for the relay horses to be sent on in advance.



On the twenty-fourth the weather cleared up after a spell of rain, and

after dinner Pierre left Moscow. When changing horses that night

in Perkhshkovo, he learned that there had been a great battle that

evening. (This was the battle of Shevrdino.) He was told that there in

Perkhshkovo the earth trembled from the firing, but nobody could answer

his questions as to who had won. At dawn next day Pierre was approaching

Mozhysk.



Every house in Mozhysk had soldiers quartered in it, and at the hostel

where Pierre was met by his groom and coachman there was no room to be

had. It was full of officers.



Everywhere in Mozhysk and beyond it, troops were stationed or on the

march. Cossacks, foot and horse soldiers, wagons, caissons, and cannon

were everywhere. Pierre pushed forward as fast as he could, and the

farther he left Moscow behind and the deeper he plunged into that sea

of troops the more was he overcome by restless agitation and a new and

joyful feeling he had not experienced before. It was a feeling akin

to what he had felt at the Slobda Palace during the Emperors visita

sense of the necessity of undertaking something and sacrificing

something. He now experienced a glad consciousness that everything that

constitutes mens happinessthe comforts of life, wealth, even

life itselfis rubbish it is pleasant to throw away, compared with

something... With what? Pierre could not say, and he did not try to

determine for whom and for what he felt such particular delight in

sacrificing everything. He was not occupied with the question of what to

sacrifice for the fact of sacrificing in itself afforded him a new and

joyous sensation.











CHAPTER XIX



On the twenty-fourth of August the battle of the Shevrdino Redoubt was

fought, on the twenty-fifth not a shot was fired by either side, and on

the twenty-sixth the battle of Borodin itself took place.



Why and how were the battles of Shevrdino and Borodin given and

accepted? Why was the battle of Borodin fought? There was not the least

sense in it for either the French or the Russians. Its immediate result

for the Russians was, and was bound to be, that we were brought nearer

to the destruction of Moscowwhich we feared more than anything in

the world and for the French its immediate result was that they were

brought nearer to the destruction of their whole armywhich they feared

more than anything in the world. What the result must be was quite

obvious, and yet Napoleon offered and Kutzov accepted that battle.



If the commanders had been guided by reason, it would seem that it must

have been obvious to Napoleon that by advancing thirteen hundred miles

and giving battle with a probability of losing a quarter of his army,

he was advancing to certain destruction, and it must have been equally

clear to Kutzov that by accepting battle and risking the loss of a

quarter of his army he would certainly lose Moscow. For Kutzov this was

mathematically clear, as it is that if when playing draughts I have one

man less and go on exchanging, I shall certainly lose, and therefore

should not exchange. When my opponent has sixteen men and I have

fourteen, I am only one eighth weaker than he, but when I have exchanged

thirteen more men he will be three times as strong as I am.



Before the battle of Borodin our strength in proportion to the French

was about as five to six, but after that battle it was little more than

one to two previously we had a hundred thousand against a hundred and

twenty thousand afterwards little more than fifty thousand against a

hundred thousand. Yet the shrewd and experienced Kutzov accepted the

battle, while Napoleon, who was said to be a commander of genius,

gave it, losing a quarter of his army and lengthening his lines of

communication still more. If it is said that he expected to end the

campaign by occupying Moscow as he had ended a previous campaign by

occupying Vienna, there is much evidence to the contrary. Napoleons

historians themselves tell us that from Smolnsk onwards he wished

to stop, knew the danger of his extended position, and knew that the

occupation of Moscow would not be the end of the campaign, for he had

seen at Smolnsk the state in which Russian towns were left to him, and

had not received a single reply to his repeated announcements of his

wish to negotiate.



In giving and accepting battle at Borodin, Kutzov acted involuntarily

and irrationally. But later on, to fit what had occurred, the historians

provided cunningly devised evidence of the foresight and genius of the

generals who, of all the blind tools of history were the most enslaved

and involuntary.



The ancients have left us model heroic poems in which the heroes furnish

the whole interest of the story, and we are still unable to accustom

ourselves to the fact that for our epoch histories of that kind are

meaningless.



On the other question, how the battle of Borodin and the preceding

battle of Shevrdino were fought, there also exists a definite and

well-known, but quite false, conception. All the historians describe the

affair as follows



The Russian army, they say, in its retreat from Smolnsk sought out

for itself the best position for a general engagement and found such a

position at Borodin.



The Russians, they say, fortified this position in advance on the left

of the highroad (from Moscow to Smolnsk) and almost at a right angle

to it, from Borodin to Uttsa, at the very place where the battle was

fought.



In front of this position, they say, a fortified outpost was set up on

the Shevrdino mound to observe the enemy. On the twenty-fourth, we

are told, Napoleon attacked this advanced post and took it, and, on the

twenty-sixth, attacked the whole Russian army, which was in position on

the field of Borodin.



So the histories say, and it is all quite wrong, as anyone who cares to

look into the matter can easily convince himself.



The Russians did not seek out the best position but, on the contrary,

during the retreat passed many positions better than Borodin. They did

not stop at any one of these positions because Kutzov did not wish to

occupy a position he had not himself chosen, because the popular demand

for a battle had not yet expressed itself strongly enough, and because

Milordovich had not yet arrived with the militia, and for many other

reasons. The fact is that other positions they had passed were stronger,

and that the position at Borodin (the one where the battle was fought),

far from being strong, was no more a position than any other spot one

might find in the Russian Empire by sticking a pin into the map at

hazard.



Not only did the Russians not fortify the position on the field of

Borodin to the left of, and at a right angle to, the highroad (that

is, the position on which the battle took place), but never till the

twenty-fifth of August, 1812, did they think that a battle might be

fought there. This was shown first by the fact that there were no

entrenchments there by the twenty fifth and that those begun on the

twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth were not completed, and secondly, by the

position of the Shevrdino Redoubt. That redoubt was quite senseless

in front of the position where the battle was accepted. Why was it

more strongly fortified than any other post? And why were all efforts

exhausted and six thousand men sacrificed to defend it till late at

night on the twenty-fourth? A Cossack patrol would have sufficed to

observe the enemy. Thirdly, as proof that the position on which the

battle was fought had not been foreseen and that the Shevrdino Redoubt

was not an advanced post of that position, we have the fact that up to

the twenty-fifth, Barclay de Tolly and Bagratin were convinced that the

Shevrdino Redoubt was the left flank of the position, and that Kutzov

himself in his report, written in hot haste after the battle, speaks of

the Shevrdino Redoubt as the left flank of the position. It was much

later, when reports on the battle of Borodin were written at leisure,

that the incorrect and extraordinary statement was invented (probably to

justify the mistakes of a commander in chief who had to be represented

as infallible) that the Shevrdino Redoubt was an advanced postwhereas

in reality it was simply a fortified point on the left flankand that

the battle of Borodin was fought by us on an entrenched position

previously selected, whereas it was fought on a quite unexpected spot

which was almost unentrenched.



The case was evidently this a position was selected along the river

Kolochwhich crosses the highroad not at a right angle but at an acute

angleso that the left flank was at Shevrdino, the right flank near the

village of Nvoe, and the center at Borodin at the confluence of the

rivers Koloch and Vyna.



To anyone who looks at the field of Borodin without thinking of how

the battle was actually fought, this position, protected by the river

Koloch, presents itself as obvious for an army whose object was to

prevent an enemy from advancing along the Smolnsk road to Moscow.



Napoleon, riding to Valevo on the twenty-fourth, did not see (as the

history books say he did) the position of the Russians from Uttsa

to Borodin (he could not have seen that position because it did not

exist), nor did he see an advanced post of the Russian army, but while

pursuing the Russian rearguard he came upon the left flank of the

Russian positionat the Shevrdino Redoubtand unexpectedly for the

Russians moved his army across the Koloch. And the Russians, not having

time to begin a general engagement, withdrew their left wing from the

position they had intended to occupy and took up a new position which

had not been foreseen and was not fortified. By crossing to the other

side of the Koloch to the left of the highroad, Napoleon shifted the

whole forthcoming battle from right to left (looking from the Russian

side) and transferred it to the plain between Uttsa, Semnovsk, and

Borodina plain no more advantageous as a position than any other plain

in Russiaand there the whole battle of the twenty-sixth of August took

place.



Had Napoleon not ridden out on the evening of the twenty-fourth to the

Koloch, and had he not then ordered an immediate attack on the redoubt

but had begun the attack next morning, no one would have doubted that

the Shevrdino Redoubt was the left flank of our position, and the

battle would have taken place where we expected it. In that case

we should probably have defended the Shevrdino Redoubtour left

flankstill more obstinately. We should have attacked Napoleon in the

center or on the right, and the engagement would have taken place on the

twenty-fifth, in the position we intended and had fortified. But as the

attack on our left flank took place in the evening after the retreat of

our rear guard (that is, immediately after the fight at Gridnva), and

as the Russian commanders did not wish, or were not in time, to begin a

general engagement then on the evening of the twenty-fourth, the first

and chief action of the battle of Borodin was already lost on the

twenty-fourth, and obviously led to the loss of the one fought on the

twenty-sixth.



After the loss of the Shevrdino Redoubt, we found ourselves on the

morning of the twenty-fifth without a position for our left flank, and

were forced to bend it back and hastily entrench it where it chanced to

be.



Not only was the Russian army on the twenty-sixth defended by weak,

unfinished entrenchments, but the disadvantage of that position was

increased by the fact that the Russian commandersnot having fully

realized what had happened, namely the loss of our position on the left

flank and the shifting of the whole field of the forthcoming battle from

right to leftmaintained their extended position from the village of

Nvoe to Uttsa, and consequently had to move their forces from right to

left during the battle. So it happened that throughout the whole battle

the Russians opposed the entire French army launched against our left

flank with but half as many men. (Poniatowskis action against Uttsa,

and Uvrovs on the right flank against the French, were actions

distinct from the main course of the battle.) So the battle of Borodin

did not take place at all as (in an effort to conceal our commanders

mistakes even at the cost of diminishing the glory due to the Russian

army and people) it has been described. The battle of Borodin was not

fought on a chosen and entrenched position with forces only slightly

weaker than those of the enemy, but, as a result of the loss of the

Shevrdino Redoubt, the Russians fought the battle of Borodin on an

open and almost unentrenched position, with forces only half as numerous

as the French that is to say, under conditions in which it was not

merely unthinkable to fight for ten hours and secure an indecisive

result, but unthinkable to keep an army even from complete

disintegration and flight.











CHAPTER XX



On the morning of the twenty-fifth Pierre was leaving Mozhysk. At the

descent of the high steep hill, down which a winding road led out of the

town past the cathedral on the right, where a service was being held and

the bells were ringing, Pierre got out of his vehicle and proceeded on

foot. Behind him a cavalry regiment was coming down the hill preceded by

its singers. Coming up toward him was a train of carts carrying men who

had been wounded in the engagement the day before. The peasant drivers,

shouting and lashing their horses, kept crossing from side to side. The

carts, in each of which three or four wounded soldiers were lying

or sitting, jolted over the stones that had been thrown on the steep

incline to make it something like a road. The wounded, bandaged with

rags, with pale cheeks, compressed lips, and knitted brows, held on to

the sides of the carts as they were jolted against one another. Almost

all of them stared with nave, childlike curiosity at Pierres white hat

and green swallow-tail coat.



Pierres coachman shouted angrily at the convoy of wounded to keep to

one side of the road. The cavalry regiment, as it descended the hill

with its singers, surrounded Pierres carriage and blocked the road.

Pierre stopped, being pressed against the side of the cutting in which

the road ran. The sunshine from behind the hill did not penetrate into

the cutting and there it was cold and damp, but above Pierres head was

the bright August sunshine and the bells sounded merrily. One of the

carts with wounded stopped by the side of the road close to Pierre. The

driver in his bast shoes ran panting up to it, placed a stone under one

of its tireless hind wheels, and began arranging the breech-band on his

little horse.



One of the wounded, an old soldier with a bandaged arm who was following

the cart on foot, caught hold of it with his sound hand and turned to

look at Pierre.



I say, fellow countryman! Will they set us down here or take us on to

Moscow? he asked.



Pierre was so deep in thought that he did not hear the question. He was

looking now at the cavalry regiment that had met the convoy of wounded,

now at the cart by which he was standing, in which two wounded men

were sitting and one was lying. One of those sitting up in the cart had

probably been wounded in the cheek. His whole head was wrapped in rags

and one cheek was swollen to the size of a babys head. His nose

and mouth were twisted to one side. This soldier was looking at the

cathedral and crossing himself. Another, a young lad, a fair-haired

recruit as white as though there was no blood in his thin face, looked

at Pierre kindly, with a fixed smile. The third lay prone so that his

face was not visible. The cavalry singers were passing close by



   Ah lost, quite lost... is my head so keen,

   Living in a foreign land...



they sang their soldiers dance song.



As if responding to them but with a different sort of merriment, the

metallic sound of the bells reverberated high above and the hot rays of

the sun bathed the top of the opposite slope with yet another sort of

merriment. But beneath the slope, by the cart with the wounded near the

panting little nag where Pierre stood, it was damp, somber, and sad.



The soldier with the swollen cheek looked angrily at the cavalry

singers.



Oh, the coxcombs! he muttered reproachfully.



Its not the soldiers only, but Ive seen peasants today, too....

The peasantseven 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 themin a word, its Moscow! They

want to make an end of it.



In spite of the obscurity of the soldiers words Pierre understood what

he wanted to say and nodded approval.



The road was clear again Pierre descended the hill and drove on.



He kept looking to either side of the road for familiar faces, but only

saw everywhere the unfamiliar faces of various military men of different

branches of the service, who all looked with astonishment at his white

hat and green tail coat.



Having gone nearly three miles he at last met an acquaintance and

eagerly addressed him. This was one of the head army doctors. He was

driving toward Pierre in a covered gig, sitting beside a young surgeon,

and on recognizing Pierre he told the Cossack who occupied the drivers

seat to pull up.



Count! Your excellency, how come you to be here? asked the doctor.



Well, you know, I wanted to see...



Yes, yes, there will be something to see....



Pierre got out and talked to the doctor, explaining his intention of

taking part in a battle.



The doctor advised him to apply direct to Kutzov.



Why should you be God knows where out of sight, during the battle? he

said, exchanging glances with his young companion. Anyhow his Serene

Highness knows you and will receive you graciously. Thats what you must

do.



The doctor seemed tired and in a hurry.



You think so?... Ah, I also wanted to ask you where our position is

exactly? said Pierre.



The position? repeated the doctor. Well, thats not my line. Drive

past Tatrinova, a lot of digging is going on there. Go up the hillock

and youll 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 Im up to hereand he pointed to

his throat. Im galloping to the commander of the corps. How do matters

stand?... You know, Count, therell be a battle tomorrow. Out of an army

of a hundred thousand we must expect at least twenty thousand wounded,

and we havent stretchers, or bunks, or dressers, or doctors enough for

six thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but we need other things as

wellwe must manage as best we can!



The strange thought that of the thousands of men, young and old, who

had stared with merry surprise at his hat (perhaps the very men he had

noticed), twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death

amazed Pierre.



They may die tomorrow why are they thinking of anything but death?

And by some latent sequence of thought the descent of the Mozhysk hill,

the carts with the wounded, the ringing bells, the slanting rays of the

sun, and the songs of the cavalrymen vividly recurred to his mind.



The cavalry ride to battle and meet the wounded and do not for a moment

think of what awaits them, but pass by, winking at the wounded. Yet from

among these men twenty thousand are doomed to die, and they wonder at my

hat! Strange! thought Pierre, continuing his way to Tatrinova.



In front of a landowners house to the left of the road stood carriages,

wagons, and crowds of orderlies and sentinels. The commander in chief

was putting up there, but just when Pierre arrived he was not in and

hardly any of the staff were therethey had gone to the church service.

Pierre drove on toward Grki.



When he had ascended the hill and reached the little village street, he

saw for the first time peasant militiamen in their white shirts and with

crosses on their caps, who, talking and laughing loudly, animated and

perspiring, were at work on a huge knoll overgrown with grass to the

right of the road.



Some of them were digging, others were wheeling barrowloads of earth

along planks, while others stood about doing nothing.



Two officers were standing on the knoll, directing the men. On seeing

these peasants, who were evidently still amused by the novelty of their

position as soldiers, Pierre once more thought of the wounded men at

Mozhysk and understood what the soldier had meant when he said They

want the whole nation to fall on them. The sight of these bearded

peasants at work on the battlefield, with their queer, clumsy boots

and perspiring necks, and their shirts opening from the left toward

the middle, unfastened, exposing their sunburned collarbones, impressed

Pierre more strongly with the solemnity and importance of the moment

than anything he had yet seen or heard.











CHAPTER XXI



Pierre stepped out of his carriage and, passing the toiling militiamen,

ascended the knoll from which, according to the doctor, the battlefield

could be seen.



It was about eleven oclock. The sun shone somewhat to the left and

behind him and brightly lit up the enormous panorama which, rising like

an amphitheater, extended before him in the clear rarefied atmosphere.



From above on the left, bisecting that amphitheater, wound the Smolnsk

highroad, passing through a village with a white church some five

hundred paces in front of the knoll and below it. This was Borodin.

Below the village the road crossed the river by a bridge and, winding

down and up, rose higher and higher to the village of Valevo visible

about four miles away, where Napoleon was then stationed. Beyond Valevo

the road disappeared into a yellowing forest on the horizon. Far in

the distance in that birch and fir forest to the right of the road, the

cross and belfry of the Koloch Monastery gleamed in the sun. Here and

there over the whole of that blue expanse, to right and left of the

forest and the road, smoking campfires could be seen and indefinite

masses of troopsours and the enemys. The ground to the rightalong the

course of the Koloch and Moskv riverswas broken and hilly. Between

the hollows the villages of Bezbova and Zakhrino showed in the

distance. On the left the ground was more level there were fields of

grain, and the smoking ruins of Semnovsk, which had been burned down,

could be seen.



All that Pierre saw was so indefinite that neither the left nor the

right side of the field fully satisfied his expectations. Nowhere

could he see the battlefield he had expected to find, but only fields,

meadows, troops, woods, the smoke of campfires, villages, mounds, and

streams and try as he would he could descry no military position in

this place which teemed with life, nor could he even distinguish our

troops from the enemys.



I must ask someone who knows, he thought, and addressed an officer who

was looking with curiosity at his huge unmilitary figure.



May I ask you, said Pierre, what village that is in front?



Brdino, isnt it? said the officer, turning to his companion.



Borodin, the other corrected him.



The officer, evidently glad of an opportunity for a talk, moved up to

Pierre.



Are those our men there? Pierre inquired.



Yes, and there, further on, are the French, said the officer. There

they are, there... you can see them.



Where? Where? asked Pierre.



One can see them with the naked eye... Why, there!



The officer pointed with his hand to the smoke visible on the left

beyond the river, and the same stern and serious expression that Pierre

had noticed on many of the faces he had met came into his face.



Ah, those are the French! And over there?... Pierre pointed to a knoll

on the left, near which some troops could be seen.



Those are ours.



Ah, ours! And there?... Pierre pointed to another knoll in the

distance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollow

where also some campfires were smoking and something black was visible.



Thats his again, said the officer. (It was the Shevrdino Redoubt.)

It was ours yesterday, but now it is his.



Then how about our position?



Our position? replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. I

can tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all our

entrenchments. There, you see? Theres our center, at Borodin, just

there, and he pointed to the village in front of them with the white

church. Thats where one crosses the Koloch. You see down there where

the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, theres the bridge. Thats our

center. Our right flank is over therehe pointed sharply to the right,

far away in the broken groundThats where the Moskv River is, and

we have thrown up three redoubts there, very strong ones. The left

flank... here the officer paused. Well, you see, thats difficult to

explain.... Yesterday our left flank was there at Shevrdino, you see,

where the oak is, but now we have withdrawn our left wingnow it is over

there, do you see that village and the smoke? Thats Semnovsk, yes,

there, he pointed to Ravskis knoll. But the battle will hardly

be there. His having moved his troops there is only a ruse he will

probably pass round to the right of the Moskv. But wherever it may be,

many a man will be missing tomorrow! he remarked.



An elderly sergeant who had approached the officer while he was giving

these explanations had waited in silence for him to finish speaking, but

at this point, evidently not liking the officers remark, interrupted

him.



Gabions must be sent for, said he sternly.



The officer appeared abashed, as though he understood that one might

think of how many men would be missing tomorrow but ought not to speak

of it.



Well, send number three company again, the officer replied hurriedly.



And you, are you one of the doctors?



No, Ive come on my own, answered Pierre, and he went down the hill

again, passing the militiamen.



Oh, those damned fellows! muttered the officer who followed him,

holding his nose as he ran past the men at work.



There they are... bringing her, coming... There they are... Theyll be

here in a minute... voices were suddenly heard saying and officers,

soldiers, and militiamen began running forward along the road.



A church procession was coming up the hill from Borodin. First along

the dusty road came the infantry in ranks, bareheaded and with arms

reversed. From behind them came the sound of church singing.



Soldiers and militiamen ran bareheaded past Pierre toward the

procession.



They are bringing her, our Protectress!... The Iberian Mother of God!

someone cried.



The Smolnsk Mother of God, another corrected him.



The militiamen, both those who had been in the village and those who had

been at work on the battery, threw down their spades and ran to meet the

church procession. Following the battalion that marched along the dusty

road came priests in their vestmentsone little old man in a hood with

attendants and singers. Behind them soldiers and officers bore a large,

dark-faced icon with an embossed metal cover. This was the icon that had

been brought from Smolnsk and had since accompanied the army. Behind,

before, and on both sides, crowds of militiamen with bared heads walked,

ran, and bowed to the ground.



At the summit of the hill they stopped with the icon the men who had

been holding it up by the linen bands attached to it were relieved by

others, the chanters relit their censers, and service began. The hot

rays of the sun beat down vertically and a fresh soft wind played with

the hair of the bared heads and with the ribbons decorating the icon.

The singing did not sound loud under the open sky. An immense crowd

of bareheaded officers, soldiers, and militiamen surrounded the icon.

Behind the priest and a chanter stood the notabilities on a spot

reserved for them. A bald general with a St. Georges Cross on his neck

stood just behind the priests back, and without crossing himself (he

was evidently a German) patiently awaited the end of the service, which

he considered it necessary to hear to the end, probably to arouse the

patriotism of the Russian people. Another general stood in a martial

pose, crossing himself by shaking his hand in front of his chest

while looking about him. Standing among the crowd of peasants, Pierre

recognized several acquaintances among these notables, but did not

look at themhis whole attention was absorbed in watching the serious

expression on the faces of the crowd of soldiers and militiamen who were

all gazing eagerly at the icon. As soon as the tired chanters, who were

singing the service for the twentieth time that day, began lazily and

mechanically to sing Save from calamity Thy servants, O Mother of

God, and the priest and deacon chimed in For to Thee under God we all

flee as to an inviolable bulwark and protection, there again kindled in

all those faces the same expression of consciousness of the solemnity

of the impending moment that Pierre had seen on the faces at the foot of

the hill at Mozhysk and momentarily on many and many faces he had met

that morning and heads were bowed more frequently and hair tossed back,

and sighs and the sound men made as they crossed themselves were heard.



The crowd round the icon suddenly parted and pressed against Pierre.

Someone, a very important personage judging by the haste with which way

was made for him, was approaching the icon.



It was Kutzov, who had been riding round the position and on his way

back to Tatrinova had stopped where the service was being held. Pierre

recognized him at once by his peculiar figure, which distinguished him

from everybody else.



With a long overcoat on his exceedingly stout, round-shouldered body,

with uncovered white head and puffy face showing the white ball of the

eye he had lost, Kutzov walked with plunging, swaying gait into

the crowd and stopped behind the priest. He crossed himself with an

accustomed movement, bent till he touched the ground with his hand, and

bowed his white head with a deep sigh. Behind Kutzov was Bennigsen and

the suite. Despite the presence of the commander in chief, who attracted

the attention of all the superior officers, the militiamen and soldiers

continued their prayers without looking at him.



When the service was over, Kutzov stepped up to the icon, sank heavily

to his knees, bowed to the ground, and for a long time tried vainly to

rise, but could not do so on account of his weakness and weight. His

white head twitched with the effort. At last he rose, kissed the icon as

a child does with navely pouting lips, and again bowed till he touched

the ground with his hand. The other generals followed his example,

then the officers, and after them with excited faces, pressing on one

another, crowding, panting, and pushing, scrambled the soldiers and

militiamen.











CHAPTER XXII



Staggering amid the crush, Pierre looked about him.



Count Peter Kirlovich! How did you get here? said a voice.



Pierre looked round. Bors Drubetsky, brushing his knees with his hand

(he had probably soiled them when he, too, had knelt before the icon),

came up to him smiling. Bors was elegantly dressed, with a slightly

martial touch appropriate to a campaign. He wore a long coat and like

Kutzov had a whip slung across his shoulder.



Meanwhile Kutzov had reached the village and seated himself in the

shade of the nearest house, on a bench which one Cossack had run

to fetch and another had hastily covered with a rug. An immense and

brilliant suite surrounded him.



The icon was carried further, accompanied by the throng. Pierre stopped

some thirty paces from Kutzov, talking to Bors.



He explained his wish to be present at the battle and to see the

position.



This is what you must do, said Bors. I will do the honors of the

camp to you. You will see everything best from where Count Bennigsen

will be. I am in attendance on him, you know Ill mention it to him.

But if you want to ride round the position, come along with us. We are

just going to the left flank. Then when we get back, do spend the night

with me and well arrange a game of cards. Of course you know Dmtri

Sergevich? Those are his quarters, and he pointed to the third house

in the village of Grki.



But I should like to see the right flank. They say its very strong,

said Pierre. I should like to start from the Moskv River and ride

round the whole position.



Well, you can do that later, but the chief thing is the left flank.



Yes, yes. But where is Prince Bolknskis regiment? Can you point it

out to me?



Prince Andrews? We shall pass it and Ill take you to him.



What about the left flank? asked Pierre



To tell you the truth, between ourselves, God only knows what state our

left flank is in, said Bors confidentially lowering his voice. It is

not at all what Count Bennigsen intended. He meant to fortify that knoll

quite differently, but... Bors shrugged his shoulders, his Serene

Highness would not have it, or someone persuaded him. You see... but

Bors did not finish, for at that moment Kaysrov, Kutzovs adjutant,

came up to Pierre. Ah, Kaysrov! said Bors, addressing him with an

unembarrassed smile, I was just trying to explain our position to

the count. It is amazing how his Serene Highness could so foresee the

intentions of the French!



You mean the left flank? asked Kaysrov.



Yes, exactly the left flank is now extremely strong.



Though Kutzov had dismissed all unnecessary men from the staff, Bors

had contrived to remain at headquarters after the changes. He had

established himself with Count Bennigsen, who, like all on whom Bors

had been in attendance, considered young Prince Drubetsky an invaluable

man.



In the higher command there were two sharply defined parties Kutzovs

party and that of Bennigsen, the chief of staff. Bors belonged to the

latter and no one else, while showing servile respect to Kutzov, could

so create an impression that the old fellow was not much good and that

Bennigsen managed everything. Now the decisive moment of battle had come

when Kutzov would be destroyed and the power pass to Bennigsen, or even

if Kutzov won the battle it would be felt that everything was done by

Bennigsen. In any case many great rewards would have to be given for

tomorrows action, and new men would come to the front. So Bors was

full of nervous vivacity all day.



After Kaysrov, others whom Pierre knew came up to him, and he had not

time to reply to all the questions about Moscow that were showered upon

him, or to listen to all that was told him. The faces all expressed

animation and apprehension, but it seemed to Pierre that the cause of

the excitement shown in some of these faces lay chiefly in questions

of personal success his mind, however, was occupied by the different

expression he saw on other facesan expression that spoke not of

personal matters but of the universal questions of life and death.

Kutzov noticed Pierres figure and the group gathered round him.



Call him to me, said Kutzov.



An adjutant told Pierre of his Serene Highness wish, and Pierre went

toward Kutzovs bench. But a militiaman got there before him. It was

Dlokhov.



How did that fellow get here? asked Pierre.



Hes a creature that wriggles in anywhere! was the answer. He

has been degraded, you know. Now he wants to bob up again. Hes been

proposing some scheme or other and has crawled into the enemys picket

line at night.... Hes a brave fellow.



Pierre took off his hat and bowed respectfully to Kutzov.



I concluded that if I reported to your Serene Highness you might send

me away or say that you knew what I was reporting, but then I shouldnt

lose anything... Dlokhov was saying.



Yes, yes.



But if I were right, I should be rendering a service to my Fatherland

for which I am ready to die.



Yes, yes.



And should your Serene Highness require a man who will not spare his

skin, please think of me.... Perhaps I may prove useful to your Serene

Highness.



Yes... Yes... Kutzov repeated, his laughing eye narrowing more and

more as he looked at Pierre.



Just then Bors, with his courtierlike adroitness, stepped up to

Pierres side near Kutzov and in a most natural manner, without

raising his voice, said to Pierre, as though continuing an interrupted

conversation



The militia have put on clean white shirts to be ready to die. What

heroism, Count!



Bors evidently said this to Pierre in order to be overheard by his

Serene Highness. He knew Kutzovs attention would be caught by those

words, and so it was.



What are you saying about the militia? he asked Bors.



Preparing for tomorrow, your Serene Highnessfor deaththey have put on

clean shirts.



Ah... a wonderful, a matchless people! said Kutzov and he closed his

eyes and swayed his head. A matchless people! he repeated with a sigh.



So you want to smell gunpowder? he said to Pierre. Yes, its a

pleasant smell. I have the honor to be one of your wifes adorers. Is

she well? My quarters are at your service.



And as often happens with old people, Kutzov began looking about

absent-mindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do.



Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to Andrew

Kaysrov, his adjutants brother.



Those verses... those verses of Mrins... how do they go, eh? Those he

wrote about Gerkov Lectures for the corps inditing... Recite them,

recite them! said he, evidently preparing to laugh.



Kaysrov recited.... Kutzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythm of

the verses.



When Pierre had left Kutzov, Dlokhov came up to him and took his hand.



I am very glad to meet you here, Count, he said aloud, regardless

of the presence of strangers and in a particularly resolute and solemn

tone. On the eve of a day when God alone knows who of us is fated to

survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you that I regret the

misunderstandings that occurred between us and should wish you not to

have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me.



Pierre looked at Dlokhov with a smile, not knowing what to say to him.

With tears in his eyes Dlokhov embraced Pierre and kissed him.



Bors said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen turned to

Pierre and proposed that he should ride with him along the line.



It will interest you, said he.



Yes, very much, replied Pierre.



Half an hour later Kutzov left for Tatrinova, and Bennigsen and his

suite, with Pierre among them, set out on their ride along the line.











CHAPTER XXIII



From Grki, Bennigsen descended the highroad to the bridge which, when

they had looked at it from the hill, the officer had pointed out as

being the center of our position and where rows of fragrant new-mown hay

lay by the riverside. They rode across that bridge into the village of

Borodin and thence turned to the left, passing an enormous number of

troops and guns, and came to a high knoll where militiamen were digging.

This was the redoubt, as yet unnamed, which afterwards became known as

the Ravski Redoubt, or the Knoll Battery, but Pierre paid no special

attention to it. He did not know that it would become more memorable to

him than any other spot on the plain of Borodin.



They then crossed the hollow to Semnovsk, where the soldiers were

dragging away the last logs from the huts and barns. Then they rode

downhill and uphill, across a ryefield trodden and beaten down as if by

hail, following a track freshly made by the artillery over the furrows

of the plowed land, and reached some flches * which were still being

dug.



    * A kind of entrenchment.



At the flches Bennigsen stopped and began looking at the Shevrdino

Redoubt opposite, which had been ours the day before and where several

horsemen could be descried. The officers said that either Napoleon or

Murat was there, and they all gazed eagerly at this little group of

horsemen. Pierre also looked at them, trying to guess which of the

scarcely discernible figures was Napoleon. At last those mounted men

rode away from the mound and disappeared.



Bennigsen spoke to a general who approached him, and began explaining

the whole position of our troops. Pierre listened to him, straining each

faculty to understand the essential points of the impending battle, but

was mortified to feel that his mental capacity was inadequate for the

task. He could make nothing of it. Bennigsen stopped speaking and,

noticing that Pierre was listening, suddenly said to him



I dont think this interests you?



On the contrary its very interesting! replied Pierre not quite

truthfully.



From the flches they rode still farther to the left, along a road

winding through a thick, low-growing birch wood. In the middle of the

wood a brown hare with white feet sprang out and, scared by the tramp of

the many horses, grew so confused that it leaped along the road in front

of them for some time, arousing general attention and laughter, and only

when several voices shouted at it did it dart to one side and disappear

in the thicket. After going through the wood for about a mile and a half

they came out on a glade where troops of Tchkovs corps were stationed

to defend the left flank.



Here, at the extreme left flank, Bennigsen talked a great deal and with

much heat, and, as it seemed to Pierre, gave orders of great military

importance. In front of Tchkovs troops was some high ground not

occupied by troops. Bennigsen loudly criticized this mistake, saying

that it was madness to leave a height which commanded the country around

unoccupied and to place troops below it. Some of the generals expressed

the same opinion. One in particular declared with martial heat that they

were put there to be slaughtered. Bennigsen on his own authority ordered

the troops to occupy the high ground. This disposition on the left flank

increased Pierres doubt of his own capacity to understand military

matters. Listening to Bennigsen and the generals criticizing the

position of the troops behind the hill, he quite understood them and

shared their opinion, but for that very reason he could not understand

how the man who put them there behind the hill could have made so gross

and palpable a blunder.



Pierre did not know that these troops were not, as Bennigsen supposed,

put there to defend the position, but were in a concealed position as

an ambush, that they should not be seen and might be able to strike an

approaching enemy unexpectedly. Bennigsen did not know this and moved

the troops forward according to his own ideas without mentioning the

matter to the commander in chief.











CHAPTER XXIV



On that bright evening of August 25, Prince Andrew lay leaning on his

elbow in a broken-down shed in the village of Knyazkvo at the further

end of his regiments encampment. Through a gap in the broken wall he

could see, beside the wooden fence, a row of thirty-year-old birches

with their lower branches lopped off, a field on which shocks of

oats were standing, and some bushes near which rose the smoke of

campfiresthe soldiers kitchens.



Narrow and burdensome and useless to anyone as his life now seemed to

him, Prince Andrew on the eve of battle felt agitated and irritable as

he had done seven years before at Austerlitz.



He had received and given the orders for next days battle and had

nothing more to do. But his thoughtsthe simplest, clearest, and

therefore most terrible thoughtswould give him no peace. He knew that

tomorrows battle would be the most terrible of all he had taken

part in, and for the first time in his life the possibility of death

presented itself to himnot in relation to any worldly matter or with

reference to its effect on others, but simply in relation to himself, to

his own soulvividly, plainly, terribly, and almost as a certainty. And

from the height of this perception all that had previously tormented and

preoccupied him suddenly became illumined by a cold white light without

shadows, without perspective, without distinction of outline. All life

appeared to him like magic-lantern pictures at which he had long been

gazing by artificial light through a glass. Now he suddenly saw those

badly daubed pictures in clear daylight and without a glass. Yes,

yes! There they are, those false images that agitated, enraptured,

and tormented me, said he to himself, passing in review the principal

pictures of the magic lantern of life and regarding them now in the cold

white daylight of his clear perception of death. There they are, those

rudely painted figures that once seemed splendid and mysterious.

Glory, the good of society, love of a woman, the Fatherland itselfhow

important these pictures appeared to me, with what profound meaning they

seemed to be filled! And it is all so simple, pale, and crude in the

cold white light of this morning which I feel is dawning for me. The

three great sorrows of his life held his attention in particular his

love for a woman, his fathers death, and the French invasion which had

overrun half Russia. Love... that little girl who seemed to me brimming

over with mystic forces! Yes, indeed, I loved her. I made romantic plans

of love and happiness with her! Oh, what a boy I was! he said aloud

bitterly. Ah me! I believed in some ideal love which was to keep her

faithful to me for the whole year of my absence! Like the gentle dove

in the fable she was to pine apart from me.... But it was much simpler

really.... It was all very simple and horrible.



When my father built Bald Hills he thought the place was his his

land, his air, his peasants. But Napoleon came and swept him aside,

unconscious of his existence, as he might brush a chip from his path,

and his Bald Hills and his whole life fell to pieces. Princess Mary says

it is a trial sent from above. What is the trial for, when he is not

here and will never return? He is not here! For whom then is the trial

intended? The Fatherland, the destruction of Moscow! And tomorrow I

shall be killed, perhaps not even by a Frenchman but by one of our own

men, by a soldier discharging a musket close to my ear as one of them

did yesterday, and the French will come and take me by head and heels

and fling me into a hole that I may not stink under their noses, and new

conditions of life will arise, which will seem quite ordinary to others

and about which I shall know nothing. I shall not exist....



He looked at the row of birches shining in the sunshine, with their

motionless green and yellow foliage and white bark. To die... to be

killed tomorrow... That I should not exist... That all this should still

be, but no me....



And the birches with their light and shade, the curly clouds, the

smoke of the campfires, and all that was around him changed and seemed

terrible and menacing. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He rose

quickly, went out of the shed, and began to walk about.



After he had returned, voices were heard outside the shed. Whos that?

he cried.



The red-nosed Captain Timkhin, formerly Dlokhovs squadron commander,

but now from lack of officers a battalion commander, shyly entered the

shed followed by an adjutant and the regimental paymaster.



Prince Andrew rose hastily, listened to the business they had come

about, gave them some further instructions, and was about to dismiss

them when he heard a familiar, lisping, voice behind the shed.



Devil take it! said the voice of a man stumbling over something.



Prince Andrew looked out of the shed and saw Pierre, who had tripped

over a pole on the ground and had nearly fallen, coming his way. It was

unpleasant to Prince Andrew to meet people of his own set in general,

and Pierre especially, for he reminded him of all the painful moments of

his last visit to Moscow.



You? What a surprise! said he. What brings you here? This is

unexpected!



As he said this his eyes and face expressed more than coldnessthey

expressed hostility, which Pierre noticed at once. He had approached

the shed full of animation, but on seeing Prince Andrews face he felt

constrained and ill at ease.



I have come... simply... you know... come... it interests me, said

Pierre, who had so often that day senselessly repeated that word

interesting. I wish to see the battle.



Oh yes, and what do the Masonic brothers say about war? How would they

stop it? said Prince Andrew sarcastically. Well, and hows Moscow? And

my people? Have they reached Moscow at last? he asked seriously.



Yes, they have. Julie Drubetskya told me so. I went to see them, but

missed them. They have gone to your estate near Moscow.











CHAPTER XXV



The officers were about to take leave, but Prince Andrew, apparently

reluctant to be left alone with his friend, asked them to stay and have

tea. Seats were brought in and so was the tea. The officers gazed with

surprise at Pierres huge stout figure and listened to his talk of

Moscow and the position of our army, round which he had ridden. Prince

Andrew remained silent, and his expression was so forbidding that Pierre

addressed his remarks chiefly to the good-natured battalion commander.



So you understand the whole position of our troops? Prince Andrew

interrupted him.



Yesthat is, how do you mean? said Pierre. Not being a military man

I cant say I have understood it fully, but I understand the general

position.



Well, then, you know more than anyone else, be it who it may, said

Prince Andrew.



Oh! said Pierre, looking over his spectacles in perplexity at Prince

Andrew. Well, and what do you think of Kutzovs appointment? he

asked.



I was very glad of his appointment, thats all I know, replied Prince

Andrew.



And tell me your opinion of Barclay de Tolly. In Moscow they are saying

heaven knows what about him.... What do you think of him?



Ask them, replied Prince Andrew, indicating the officers.



Pierre looked at Timkhin with the condescendingly interrogative smile

with which everybody involuntarily addressed that officer.



We see light again, since his Serenity has been appointed, your

excellency, said Timkhin timidly, and continually turning to glance at

his colonel.



Why so? asked Pierre.



Well, to mention only firewood and fodder, let me inform you. Why, when

we were retreating from Sventsyni we dare not touch a stick or a wisp

of hay or anything. You see, we were going away, so he would get it all

wasnt it so, your excellency? and again Timkhin turned to the prince.

But we darent. In our regiment two officers were court-martialed for

that kind of thing. But when his Serenity took command everything became

straightforward. Now we see light....



Then why was it forbidden?



Timkhin looked about in confusion, not knowing what or how to answer

such a question. Pierre put the same question to Prince Andrew.



Why, so as not to lay waste the country we were abandoning to the

enemy, said Prince Andrew with venomous irony. It is very sound

one cant permit the land to be pillaged and accustom the troops to

marauding. At Smolnsk too he judged correctly that the French might

outflank us, as they had larger forces. But he could not understand

this, cried Prince Andrew in a shrill voice that seemed to escape him

involuntarily he could not understand that there, for the first time,

we were fighting for Russian soil, and that there was a spirit in the

men such as I had never seen before, that we had held the French for

two days, and that that success had increased our strength tenfold. He

ordered us to retreat, and all our efforts and losses went for nothing.

He had no thought of betraying us, he tried to do the best he could,

he thought out everything, and that is why he is unsuitable. He is

unsuitable now, just because he plans out everything very thoroughly and

accurately as every German has to. How can I explain?... Well, say your

father has a German valet, and he is a splendid valet and satisfies your

fathers requirements better than you could, then its all right to let

him serve. But if your father is mortally sick youll send the valet

away and attend to your father with your own unpracticed, awkward hands,

and will soothe him better than a skilled man who is a stranger could.

So it has been with Barclay. While Russia was well, a foreigner could

serve her and be a splendid minister but as soon as she is in danger

she needs one of her own kin. But in your Club they have been making him

out a traitor! They slander him as a traitor, and the only result will

be that afterwards, ashamed of their false accusations, they will make

him out a hero or a genius instead of a traitor, and that will be still

more unjust. He is an honest and very punctilious German.



And they say hes a skillful commander, rejoined Pierre.



I dont understand what is meant by a skillful commander, replied

Prince Andrew ironically.



A skillful commander? replied Pierre. Why, one who foresees all

contingencies... and foresees the adversarys intentions.



But thats impossible, said Prince Andrew as if it were a matter

settled long ago.



Pierre looked at him in surprise.



And yet they say that war is like a game of chess? he remarked.



Yes, replied Prince Andrew, but with this little difference, that

in chess you may think over each move as long as you please and are not

limited for time, and with this difference too, that a knight is always

stronger than a pawn, and two pawns are always stronger than one, while

in war a battalion is sometimes stronger than a division and sometimes

weaker than a company. The relative strength of bodies of troops can

never be known to anyone. Believe me, he went on, if things

depended on arrangements made by the staff, I should be there making

arrangements, but instead of that I have the honor to serve here in

the regiment with these gentlemen, and I consider that on us tomorrows

battle will depend and not on those others.... Success never depends,

and never will depend, on position, or equipment, or even on numbers,

and least of all on position.



But on what then?



On the feeling that is in me and in him, he pointed to Timkhin, and

in each soldier.



Prince Andrew glanced at Timkhin, who looked at his commander in alarm

and bewilderment. In contrast to his former reticent taciturnity

Prince Andrew now seemed excited. He could apparently not refrain from

expressing the thoughts that had suddenly occurred to him.



A battle is won by those who firmly resolve to win it! Why did we lose

the battle at Austerlitz? The French losses were almost equal to ours,

but very early we said to ourselves that we were losing the battle,

and we did lose it. And we said so because we had nothing to fight for

there, we wanted to get away from the battlefield as soon as we could.

Weve lost, so let us run, and we ran. If we had not said that till

the evening, heaven knows what might not have happened. But tomorrow we

shant say it! You talk about our position, the left flank weak and the

right flank too extended, he went on. Thats all nonsense, theres

nothing of the kind. But what awaits us tomorrow? A hundred million most

diverse chances which will be decided on the instant by the fact that

our men or theirs run or do not run, and that this man or that man is

killed, but all that is being done at present is only play. The fact is

that those men with whom you have ridden round the position not only

do not help matters, but hinder. They are only concerned with their own

petty interests.



At such a moment? said Pierre reproachfully.



At such a moment! Prince Andrew repeated. To them it is only a moment

affording opportunities to undermine a rival and obtain an extra cross

or ribbon. For me tomorrow means this a Russian army of a hundred

thousand and a French army of a hundred thousand have met to fight, and

the thing is that these two hundred thousand men will fight and the side

that fights more fiercely and spares itself least will win. And if you

like I will tell you that whatever happens and whatever muddles those at

the top may make, we shall win tomorrows battle. Tomorrow, happen what

may, we shall win!



There now, your excellency! Thats the truth, the real truth, said

Timkhin. Who would spare himself now? The soldiers in my battalion,

believe me, wouldnt drink their vodka! Its not the day for that!

they say.



All were silent. The officers rose. Prince Andrew went out of the shed

with them, giving final orders to the adjutant. After they had gone

Pierre approached Prince Andrew and was about to start a conversation

when they heard the clatter of three horses hoofs on the road not far

from the shed, and looking in that direction Prince Andrew recognized

Wolzogen and Clausewitz accompanied by a Cossack. They rode close by

continuing to converse, and Prince Andrew involuntarily heard these

words



Der Krieg muss in Raum verlegt werden. Der Ansicht kann ich nicht genug

Preis geben, * said one of them.



     * The war must be extended widely. I cannot sufficiently

     commend that view.





Oh, ja, said the other, der Zweck ist nur den Feind zu schwchen,

so kann man gewiss nicht den Verlust der Privat-Personen in Achtung

nehmen. *



     * Oh, yes, the only aim is to weaken the enemy, so of

     course one cannot take into account the loss of private

     individuals.





Oh, no, agreed the other.



Extend widely! said Prince Andrew with an angry snort, when they had

ridden past. In that extend were my father, son, and sister, at Bald

Hills. Thats all the same to him! Thats what I was saying to youthose

German gentlemen wont win the battle tomorrow but will only make all

the mess they can, because they have nothing in their German heads but

theories not worth an empty eggshell and havent in their hearts the one

thing needed tomorrowthat which Timkhin 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 tomorrows battle? asked Pierre.



Yes, yes, answered Prince Andrew absently. One thing I would do if

I had the power, he began again, I would not take prisoners. Why take

prisoners? Its chivalry! The French have destroyed my home and are on

their way to destroy Moscow, they have outraged and are outraging me

every moment. They are my enemies. In my opinion they are all criminals.

And so thinks Timkhin and the whole army. They should be executed!

Since they are my foes they cannot be my friends, whatever may have been

said at Tilsit.



Yes, yes, muttered Pierre, looking with shining eyes at Prince Andrew.

I quite agree with you!



The question that had perturbed Pierre on the Mozhysk hill and all

that day now seemed to him quite clear and completely solved. He now

understood the whole meaning and importance of this war and of the

impending battle. All he had seen that day, all the significant and

stern expressions on the faces he had seen in passing, were lit up

for him by a new light. He understood that latent heat (as they say in

physics) of patriotism which was present in all these men he had seen,

and this explained to him why they all prepared for death calmly, and as

it were lightheartedly.



Not take prisoners, Prince Andrew continued That by itself would

quite change the whole war and make it less cruel. As it is we have

played at warthats whats vile! We play at magnanimity and all that

stuff. Such magnanimity and sensibility are like the magnanimity and

sensibility of a lady who faints when she sees a calf being killed she

is so kindhearted that she cant look at blood, but enjoys eating the

calf served up with sauce. They talk to us of the rules of war, of

chivalry, of flags of truce, of mercy to the unfortunate and so on. Its

all rubbish! I saw chivalry and flags of truce in 1805 they humbugged

us and we humbugged them. They plunder other peoples houses, issue

false paper money, and worst of all they kill my children and my

father, and then talk of rules of war and magnanimity to foes! Take no

prisoners, but kill and be killed! He who has come to this as I have

through the same sufferings...



Prince Andrew, who had thought it was all the same to him whether or

not Moscow was taken as Smolnsk had been, was suddenly checked in his

speech by an unexpected cramp in his throat. He paced up and down a

few times in silence, but his eyes glittered feverishly and his lips

quivered as he began speaking.



If there was none of this magnanimity in war, we should go to war only

when it was worth while going to certain death, as now. Then there would

not be war because Paul Ivnovich had offended Michael Ivnovich. And

when there was a war, like this one, it would be war! And then the

determination of the troops would be quite different. Then all these

Westphalians and Hessians whom Napoleon is leading would not follow

him into Russia, and we should not go to fight in Austria and Prussia

without knowing why. War is not courtesy but the most horrible thing in

life and we ought to understand that and not play at war. We ought to

accept this terrible necessity sternly and seriously. It all lies in

that get rid of falsehood and let war be war and not a game. As it is

now, war is the favorite pastime of the idle and frivolous. The military

calling is the most highly honored.



But what is war? What is needed for success in warfare? What are the

habits of the military? The aim of war is murder the methods of war

are spying, treachery, and their encouragement, the ruin of a countrys

inhabitants, robbing them or stealing to provision the army, and fraud

and falsehood termed military craft. The habits of the military class

are the absence of freedom, that is, discipline, idleness, ignorance,

cruelty, debauchery, and drunkenness. And in spite of all this it is the

highest class, respected by everyone. All the kings, except the Chinese,

wear military uniforms, and he who kills most people receives the

highest rewards.



They meet, as we shall meet tomorrow, to murder one another they kill

and maim tens of thousands, and then have thanksgiving services for

having killed so many people (they even exaggerate the number), and they

announce a victory, supposing that the more people they have killed

the greater their achievement. How does God above look at them and hear

them? exclaimed Prince Andrew in a shrill, piercing voice. Ah, my

friend, it has of late become hard for me to live. I see that I have

begun to understand too much. And it doesnt do for man to taste of the

tree of knowledge of good and evil.... Ah, well, its not for long! he

added.



However, youre sleepy, and its time for me to sleep. Go back to

Grki! said Prince Andrew suddenly.



Oh no! Pierre replied, looking at Prince Andrew with frightened,

compassionate eyes.



Go, go! Before a battle one must have ones sleep out, repeated Prince

Andrew.



He came quickly up to Pierre and embraced and kissed him. Good-by, be

off! he shouted. Whether we meet again or not... and turning away

hurriedly he entered the shed.



It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out whether the

expression of Prince Andrews face was angry or tender.



For some time he stood in silence considering whether he should follow

him or go away. No, he does not want it! Pierre concluded. And I know

that this is our last meeting! He sighed deeply and rode back to Grki.



On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay down on a rug, but he could

not sleep.



He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in his imagination. On

one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled an evening

in Petersburg. Natsha with animated and excited face was telling him

how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer and had lost

her way in the big forest. She incoherently described the depths of

the forest, her feelings, and a talk with a beekeeper she met, and

constantly interrupted her story to say No, I cant! Im not telling

it right no, you dont understand, though he encouraged her by saying

that he did understand, and he really had understood all she wanted to

say. But Natsha was not satisfied with her own words she felt that

they did not convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced

that day and wished to convey. He was such a delightful old man, and

it was so dark in the forest... and he had such kind... No, I cant

describe it, she had said, flushed and excited. Prince Andrew smiled

now the same happy smile as then when he had looked into her eyes. I

understood her, he thought. I not only understood her, but it was just

that inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frankness of soulthat

very soul of hers which seemed to be fettered by her bodyit was that

soul I loved in her... loved so strongly and happily... and suddenly

he remembered how his love had ended. He did not need anything of that

kind. He neither saw nor understood anything of the sort. He only saw in

her a pretty and fresh young girl, with whom he did not deign to unite

his fate. And I?... and he is still alive and gay!



Prince Andrew jumped up as if someone had burned him, and again began

pacing up and down in front of the shed.











CHAPTER XXVI



On August 25, the eve of the battle of Borodin, M. de Beausset, prefect

of the French Emperors palace, arrived at Napoleons quarters at

Valevo with Colonel Fabvier, the former from Paris and the latter from

Madrid.



Donning his court uniform, M. de Beausset ordered a box he had

brought for the Emperor to be carried before him and entered the first

compartment of Napoleons tent, where he began opening the box while

conversing with Napoleons aides-de-camp who surrounded him.



Fabvier, not entering the tent, remained at the entrance talking to some

generals of his acquaintance.



The Emperor Napoleon had not yet left his bedroom and was finishing his

toilet. Slightly snorting and grunting, he presented now his back and

now his plump hairy chest to the brush with which his valet was rubbing

him down. Another valet, with his finger over the mouth of a bottle,

was sprinkling Eau de Cologne on the Emperors pampered body with an

expression which seemed to say that he alone knew where and how much Eau

de Cologne should be sprinkled. Napoleons short hair was wet and

matted on the forehead, but his face, though puffy and yellow, expressed

physical satisfaction. Go on, harder, go on! he muttered to the valet

who was rubbing him, slightly twitching and grunting. An aide-de-camp,

who had entered the bedroom to report to the Emperor the number of

prisoners taken in yesterdays action, was standing by the door after

delivering his message, awaiting permission to withdraw. Napoleon,

frowning, looked at him from under his brows.



No prisoners! said he, repeating the aide-de-camps words. They

are forcing us to exterminate them. So much the worse for the Russian

army.... Go on... harder, harder! he muttered, hunching his back and

presenting his fat shoulders.



All right. Let Monsieur de Beausset enter, and Fabvier too, he said,

nodding to the aide-de-camp.



Yes, sire, and the aide-de-camp disappeared through the door of the

tent.



Two valets rapidly dressed His Majesty, and wearing the blue uniform of

the Guards he went with firm quick steps to the reception room.



De Beaussets hands meanwhile were busily engaged arranging the present

he had brought from the Empress, on two chairs directly in front of the

entrance. But Napoleon had dressed and come out with such unexpected

rapidity that he had not time to finish arranging the surprise.



Napoleon noticed at once what they were about and guessed that they were

not ready. He did not wish to deprive them of the pleasure of giving him

a surprise, so he pretended not to see de Beausset and called Fabvier to

him, listening silently and with a stern frown to what Fabvier told him

of the heroism and devotion of his troops fighting at Salamanca, at

the other end of Europe, with but one thoughtto be worthy of their

Emperorand but one fearto fail to please him. The result of that

battle had been deplorable. Napoleon made ironic remarks during

Fabviers account, as if he had not expected that matters could go

otherwise in his absence.



I must make up for that in Moscow, said Napoleon. Ill see you

later, he added, and summoned de Beausset, who by that time had

prepared the surprise, having placed something on the chairs and covered

it with a cloth.



De Beausset bowed low, with that courtly French bow which only the

old retainers of the Bourbons knew how to make, and approached him,

presenting an envelope.



Napoleon turned to him gaily and pulled his ear.



You have hurried here. I am very glad. Well, what is Paris saying? he

asked, suddenly changing his former stern expression for a most cordial

tone.



Sire, all Paris regrets your absence, replied de Beausset as was

proper.



But though Napoleon knew that de Beausset had to say something of this

kind, and though in his lucid moments he knew it was untrue, he was

pleased to hear it from him. Again he honored him by touching his ear.



I am very sorry to have made you travel so far, said he.



Sire, I expected nothing less than to find you at the gates of Moscow,

replied de Beausset.



Napoleon smiled and, lifting his head absent-mindedly, glanced to the

right. An aide-de-camp approached with gliding steps and offered him a

gold snuffbox, which he took.



Yes, it has happened luckily for you, he said, raising the open

snuffbox to his nose. You are fond of travel, and in three days you

will see Moscow. You surely did not expect to see that Asiatic capital.

You will have a pleasant journey.



De Beausset bowed gratefully at this regard for his taste for travel (of

which he had not till then been aware).



Ha, whats this? asked Napoleon, noticing that all the courtiers were

looking at something concealed under a cloth.



With courtly adroitness de Beausset half turned and without turning his

back to the Emperor retired two steps, twitching off the cloth at the

same time, and said



A present to Your Majesty from the Empress.



It was a portrait, painted in bright colors by Grard, of the son borne

to Napoleon by the daughter of the Emperor of Austria, the boy whom for

some reason everyone called The King of Rome.



A very pretty curly-headed boy with a look of the Christ in the Sistine

Madonna was depicted playing at stick and ball. The ball represented the

terrestrial globe and the stick in his other hand a scepter.



Though it was not clear what the artist meant to express by depicting

the so-called King of Rome spiking the earth with a stick, the allegory

apparently seemed to Napoleon, as it had done to all who had seen it in

Paris, quite clear and very pleasing.



The King of Rome! he said, pointing to the portrait with a graceful

gesture. Admirable!



With the natural capacity of an Italian for changing the expression of

his face at will, he drew nearer to the portrait and assumed a look

of pensive tenderness. He felt that what he now said and did would be

historical, and it seemed to him that it would now be best for himwhose

grandeur enabled his son to play stick and ball with the terrestrial

globeto show, in contrast to that grandeur, the simplest paternal

tenderness. His eyes grew dim, he moved forward, glanced round at a

chair (which seemed to place itself under him), and sat down on it

before the portrait. At a single gesture from him everyone went out on

tiptoe, leaving the great man to himself and his emotion.



Having sat still for a while he touchedhimself not knowing whythe

thick spot of paint representing the highest light in the portrait,

rose, and recalled de Beausset and the officer on duty. He ordered the

portrait to be carried outside his tent, that the Old Guard, stationed

round it, might not be deprived of the pleasure of seeing the King of

Rome, the son and heir of their adored monarch.



And while he was doing M. de Beausset the honor of breakfasting with

him, they heard, as Napoleon had anticipated, the rapturous cries of the

officers and men of the Old Guard who had run up to see the portrait.



Vive lEmpereur! Vive le roi de Rome! Vive lEmpereur! came those

ecstatic cries.



After breakfast Napoleon in de Beaussets presence dictated his order of

the day to the army.



Short and energetic! he remarked when he had read over the

proclamation which he had dictated straight off without corrections. It

ran



Soldiers! This is the battle you have so longed for. Victory depends on

you. It is essential for us it will give us all we need comfortable

quarters and a speedy return to our country. Behave as you did at

Austerlitz, Friedland, Vtebsk, and Smolnsk. Let our remotest posterity

recall your achievements this day with pride. Let it be said of each of

you He was in the great battle before Moscow!



Before Moscow! repeated Napoleon, and inviting M. de Beausset, who was

so fond of travel, to accompany him on his ride, he went out of the tent

to where the horses stood saddled.



Your Majesty is too kind! replied de Beausset to the invitation to

accompany the Emperor he wanted to sleep, did not know how to ride and

was afraid of doing so.



But Napoleon nodded to the traveler, and de Beausset had to mount. When

Napoleon came out of the tent the shouting of the Guards before his

sons portrait grew still louder. Napoleon frowned.



Take him away! he said, pointing with a gracefully majestic gesture to

the portrait. It is too soon for him to see a field of battle.



De Beausset closed his eyes, bowed his head, and sighed deeply, to

indicate how profoundly he valued and comprehended the Emperors words.











CHAPTER XXVII



On the twenty-fifth of August, so his historians tell us, Napoleon spent

the whole day on horseback inspecting the locality, considering plans

submitted to him by his marshals, and personally giving commands to his

generals.



The original line of the Russian forces along the river Koloch had

been dislocated by the capture of the Shevrdino Redoubt on the

twenty-fourth, and part of the linethe left flankhad been drawn back.

That part of the line was not entrenched and in front of it the ground

was more open and level than elsewhere. It was evident to anyone,

military or not, that it was here the French should attack. It would

seem that not much consideration was needed to reach this conclusion,

nor any particular care or trouble on the part of the Emperor and his

marshals, nor was there any need of that special and supreme quality

called genius that people are so apt to ascribe to Napoleon yet the

historians who described the event later and the men who then surrounded

Napoleon, and he himself, thought otherwise.



Napoleon rode over the plain and surveyed the locality with a profound

air and in silence, nodded with approval or shook his head dubiously,

and without communicating to the generals around him the profound

course of ideas which guided his decisions merely gave them his final

conclusions in the form of commands. Having listened to a suggestion

from Davout, who was now called Prince dEckmhl, to turn the Russian

left wing, Napoleon said it should not be done, without explaining

why not. To a proposal made by General Campan (who was to attack the

flches) to lead his division through the woods, Napoleon agreed, though

the so-called Duke of Elchingen (Ney) ventured to remark that a movement

through the woods was dangerous and might disorder the division.



Having inspected the country opposite the Shevrdino Redoubt, Napoleon

pondered a little in silence and then indicated the spots where two

batteries should be set up by the morrow to act against the Russian

entrenchments, and the places where, in line with them, the field

artillery should be placed.



After giving these and other commands he returned to his tent, and the

dispositions for the battle were written down from his dictation.



These dispositions, of which the French historians write with enthusiasm

and other historians with profound respect, were as follows



At dawn the two new batteries established during the night on the

plain occupied by the Prince dEckmhl will open fire on the opposing

batteries of the enemy.



At the same time the commander of the artillery of the 1st Corps,

General Pernetti, with thirty cannon of Campans division and all the

howitzers of Dessaixs and Friants divisions, will move forward, open

fire, and overwhelm with shellfire the enemys battery, against which

will operate



        24 guns of the artillery of the Guards

        30 guns of Campans division



 and     8 guns of Friants and Dessaixs divisions

        



 in all 62 guns.



The commander of the artillery of the 3rd Corps, General Fouch, will

place the howitzers of the 3rd and 8th Corps, sixteen in all, on the

flanks of the battery that is to bombard the entrenchment on the left,

which will have forty guns in all directed against it.



General Sorbier must be ready at the first order to advance with all the

howitzers of the Guards artillery against either one or other of the

entrenchments.



During the cannonade Prince Poniatowski is to advance through the wood

on the village and turn the enemys position.



General Campan will move through the wood to seize the first

fortification.



After the advance has begun in this manner, orders will be given in

accordance with the enemys movements.



The cannonade on the left flank will begin as soon as the guns of the

right wing are heard. The sharpshooters of Morands division and of

the vice-Kings division will open a heavy fire on seeing the attack

commence on the right wing.



The vice-King will occupy the village and cross by its three bridges,

advancing to the same heights as Morands and Gibrards divisions, which

under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt and come into

line with the rest of the forces.



All this must be done in good order (le tout se fera avec ordre et

mthode) as far as possible retaining troops in reserve.



The Imperial Camp near Mozhysk,



September, 6, 1812.





These dispositions, which are very obscure and confused if one allows

oneself to regard the arrangements without religious awe of his genius,

related to Napoleons orders to deal with four pointsfour different

orders. Not one of these was, or could be, carried out.



In the disposition it is said first that the batteries placed on the

spot chosen by Napoleon, with the guns of Pernetti and Fouch which

were to come in line with them, 102 guns in all, were to open fire and

shower shells on the Russian flches and redoubts. This could not be

done, as from the spots selected by Napoleon the projectiles did not

carry to the Russian works, and those 102 guns shot into the air until

the nearest commander, contrary to Napoleons instructions, moved them

forward.



The second order was that Poniatowski, moving to the village through the

wood, should turn the Russian left flank. This could not be done and

was not done, because Poniatowski, advancing on the village through the

wood, met Tchkov there barring his way, and could not and did not turn

the Russian position.



The third order was General Campan will move through the wood to seize

the first fortification. General Campans division did not seize the

first fortification but was driven back, for on emerging from the wood

it had to reform under grapeshot, of which Napoleon was unaware.



The fourth order was The vice-King will occupy the village (Borodin)

and cross by its three bridges, advancing to the same heights as

Morands and Grards divisions (for whose movements no directions are

given), which under his leadership will be directed against the redoubt

and come into line with the rest of the forces.



As far as one can make out, not so much from this unintelligible

sentence as from the attempts the vice-King made to execute the orders

given him, he was to advance from the left through Borodin to the

redoubt while the divisions of Morand and Grard were to advance

simultaneously from the front.



All this, like the other parts of the disposition, was not and could

not be executed. After passing through Borodin the vice-King was driven

back to the Koloch and could get no farther while the divisions of

Morand and Grard did not take the redoubt but were driven back, and the

redoubt was only taken at the end of the battle by the cavalry (a thing

probably unforeseen and not heard of by Napoleon). So not one of

the orders in the disposition was, or could be, executed. But in the

disposition it is said that, after the fight has commenced in this

manner, orders will be given in accordance with the enemys movements,

and so it might be supposed that all necessary arrangements would be

made by Napoleon during the battle. But this was not and could not be

done, for during the whole battle Napoleon was so far away that, as

appeared later, he could not know the course of the battle and not one

of his orders during the fight could be executed.











CHAPTER XXVIII



Many historians say that the French did not win the battle of Borodin

because Napoleon had a cold, and that if he had not had a cold the

orders he gave before and during the battle would have been still more

full of genius and Russia would have been lost and the face of the world

have been changed. To historians who believe that Russia was shaped

by the will of one manPeter the Greatand that France from a republic

became an empire and French armies went to Russia at the will of one

manNapoleonto say that Russia remained a power because Napoleon had a

bad cold on the twenty-fourth of August may seem logical and convincing.



If it had depended on Napoleons will to fight or not to fight the

battle of Borodin, and if this or that other arrangement depended on

his will, then evidently a cold affecting the manifestation of his will

might have saved Russia, and consequently the valet who omitted to bring

Napoleon his waterproof boots on the twenty-fourth would have been

the savior of Russia. Along that line of thought such a deduction is

indubitable, as indubitable as the deduction Voltaire made in jest

(without knowing what he was jesting at) when he saw that the Massacre

of St. Bartholomew was due to Charles IXs stomach being deranged. But

to men who do not admit that Russia was formed by the will of one man,

Peter I, or that the French Empire was formed and the war with Russia

begun by the will of one man, Napoleon, that argument seems not merely

untrue and irrational, but contrary to all human reality. To the

question of what causes historic events another answer presents itself,

namely, that the course of human events is predetermined from on

highdepends on the coincidence of the wills of all who take part in the

events, and that a Napoleons influence on the course of these events is

purely external and fictitious.



Strange as at first glance it may seem to suppose that the Massacre of

St. Bartholomew was not due to Charles IXs will, though he gave the

order for it and thought it was done as a result of that order and

strange as it may seem to suppose that the slaughter of eighty thousand

men at Borodin was not due to Napoleons will, though he ordered the

commencement and conduct of the battle and thought it was done

because he ordered it strange as these suppositions appear, yet human

dignitywhich tells me that each of us is, if not more at least not less

a man than the great Napoleondemands the acceptance of that solution of

the question, and historic investigation abundantly confirms it.



At the battle of Borodin Napoleon shot at no one and killed no one.

That was all done by the soldiers. Therefore it was not he who killed

people.



The French soldiers went to kill and be killed at the battle of Borodin

not because of Napoleons orders but by their own volition. The whole

armyFrench, Italian, German, Polish, and Dutchhungry, ragged, and

weary of the campaign, felt at the sight of an army blocking their road

to Moscow that the wine was drawn and must be drunk. Had Napoleon then

forbidden them to fight the Russians, they would have killed him and

have proceeded to fight the Russians because it was inevitable.



When they heard Napoleons proclamation offering them, as compensation

for mutilation and death, the words of posterity about their having been

in the battle before Moscow, they cried Vive lEmpereur! just as they

had cried Vive lEmpereur! at the sight of the portrait of the boy

piercing the terrestrial globe with a toy stick, and just as they would

have cried Vive lEmpereur! at any nonsense that might be told them.

There was nothing left for them to do but cry Vive lEmpereur! and go

to fight, in order to get food and rest as conquerors in Moscow. So it

was not because of Napoleons commands that they killed their fellow

men.



And it was not Napoleon who directed the course of the battle, for none

of his orders were executed and during the battle he did not know what

was going on before him. So the way in which these people killed one

another was not decided by Napoleons will but occurred independently of

him, in accord with the will of hundreds of thousands of people who took

part in the common action. It only seemed to Napoleon that it all took

place by his will. And so the question whether he had or had not a

cold has no more historic interest than the cold of the least of the

transport soldiers.



Moreover, the assertion made by various writers that his cold was

the cause of his dispositions not being as well-planned as on former

occasions, and of his orders during the battle not being as good as

previously, is quite baseless, which again shows that Napoleons cold on

the twenty-sixth of August was unimportant.



The dispositions cited above are not at all worse, but are even

better, than previous dispositions by which he had won victories. His

pseudo-orders during the battle were also no worse than formerly, but

much the same as usual. These dispositions and orders only seem worse

than previous ones because the battle of Borodin was the first Napoleon

did not win. The profoundest and most excellent dispositions and orders

seem very bad, and every learned militarist criticizes them with looks

of importance, when they relate to a battle that has been lost, and the

very worst dispositions and orders seem very good, and serious people

fill whole volumes to demonstrate their merits, when they relate to a

battle that has been won.



The dispositions drawn up by Weyrother for the battle of Austerlitz were

a model of perfection for that kind of composition, but still they were

criticizedcriticized for their very perfection, for their excessive

minuteness.



Napoleon at the battle of Borodin fulfilled his office as

representative of authority as well as, and even better than, at other

battles. He did nothing harmful to the progress of the battle he

inclined to the most reasonable opinions, he made no confusion, did not

contradict himself, did not get frightened or run away from the field of

battle, but with his great tact and military experience carried out his

role of appearing to command, calmly and with dignity.











CHAPTER XXIX



On returning from a second inspection of the lines, Napoleon remarked



The chessmen are set up, the game will begin tomorrow!



Having ordered punch and summoned de Beausset, he began to talk to him

about Paris and about some changes he meant to make in the Empress

household, surprising the prefect by his memory of minute details

relating to the court.



He showed an interest in trifles, joked about de Beaussets love of

travel, and chatted carelessly, as a famous, self-confident surgeon who

knows his job does when turning up his sleeves and putting on his apron

while a patient is being strapped to the operating table. The matter is

in my hands and is clear and definite in my head. When the time comes to

set to work I shall do it as no one else could, but now I can jest, and

the more I jest and the calmer I am the more tranquil and confident you

ought to be, and the more amazed at my genius.



Having finished his second glass of punch, Napoleon went to rest before

the serious business which, he considered, awaited him next day. He

was so much interested in that task that he was unable to sleep, and

in spite of his cold which had grown worse from the dampness of the

evening, he went into the large division of the tent at three oclock in

the morning, loudly blowing his nose. He asked whether the Russians had

not withdrawn, and was told that the enemys fires were still in the

same places. He nodded approval.



The adjutant in attendance came into the tent.



Well, Rapp, do you think we shall do good business today? Napoleon

asked him.



Without doubt, sire, replied Rapp.



Napoleon looked at him.



Do you remember, sire, what you did me the honor to say at Smolnsk?

continued Rapp. The wine is drawn and must be drunk.



Napoleon frowned and sat silent for a long time leaning his head on his

hand.



This poor army! he suddenly remarked. It has diminished greatly since

Smolnsk. Fortune is frankly a courtesan, Rapp. I have always said so

and I am beginning to experience it. But the Guards, Rapp, the Guards

are intact? he remarked interrogatively.



Yes, sire, replied Rapp.



Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and glanced at his watch.

He was not sleepy and it was still not nearly morning. It was impossible

to give further orders for the sake of killing time, for the orders had

all been given and were now being executed.



Have the biscuits and rice been served out to the regiments of the

Guards? asked Napoleon sternly.



Yes, sire.



The rice too?



Rapp replied that he had given the Emperors order about the rice, but

Napoleon shook his head in dissatisfaction as if not believing that

his order had been executed. An attendant came in with punch. Napoleon

ordered another glass to be brought for Rapp, and silently sipped his

own.



I have neither taste nor smell, he remarked, sniffing at his glass.

This cold is tiresome. They talk about medicinewhat is the good of

medicine when it cant cure a cold! Corvisart gave me these lozenges but

they dont help at all. What can doctors cure? One cant cure anything.

Our body is a machine for living. It is organized for that, it is its

nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself, it

will do more than if you paralyze it by encumbering it with remedies.

Our body is like a perfect watch that should go for a certain time the

watchmaker cannot open it, he can only adjust it by fumbling, and that

blindfold.... Yes, our body is just a machine for living, that is all.



And having entered on the path of definition, of which he was fond,

Napoleon suddenly and unexpectedly gave a new one.



Do you know, Rapp, what military art is? asked he. It is the art of

being stronger than the enemy at a given moment. Thats all.



Rapp made no reply.



Tomorrow we shall have to deal with Kutzov! said Napoleon. We shall

see! Do you remember at Braunau he commanded an army for three weeks

and did not once mount a horse to inspect his entrenchments.... We shall

see!



He looked at his watch. It was still only four oclock. He did not feel

sleepy. The punch was finished and there was still nothing to do. He

rose, walked to and fro, put on a warm overcoat and a hat, and went

out of the tent. The night was dark and damp, a scarcely perceptible

moisture was descending from above. Near by, the campfires were dimly

burning among the French Guards, and in the distance those of the

Russian line shone through the smoke. The weather was calm, and the

rustle and tramp of the French troops already beginning to move to take

up their positions were clearly audible.



Napoleon walked about in front of his tent, looked at the fires and

listened to these sounds, and as he was passing a tall guardsman in

a shaggy cap, who was standing sentinel before his tent and had drawn

himself up like a black pillar at sight of the Emperor, Napoleon stopped

in front of him.



What year did you enter the service? he asked with that affectation

of military bluntness and geniality with which he always addressed the

soldiers.



The man answered the question.



Ah! One of the old ones! Has your regiment had its rice?



It has, Your Majesty.



Napoleon nodded and walked away.





At half-past five Napoleon rode to the village of Shevrdino.



It was growing light, the sky was clearing, only a single cloud lay in

the east. The abandoned campfires were burning themselves out in the

faint morning light.



On the right a single deep report of a cannon resounded and died away in

the prevailing silence. Some minutes passed. A second and a third report

shook the air, then a fourth and a fifth boomed solemnly near by on the

right.



The first shots had not yet ceased to reverberate before others rang out

and yet more were heard mingling with and overtaking one another.



Napoleon with his suite rode up to the Shevrdino Redoubt where he

dismounted. The game had begun.











CHAPTER XXX



On returning to Grki after having seen Prince Andrew, Pierre ordered

his groom to get the horses ready and to call him early in the morning,

and then immediately fell asleep behind a partition in a corner Bors

had given up to him.



Before he was thoroughly awake next morning everybody had already left

the hut. The panes were rattling in the little windows and his groom was

shaking him.



Your excellency! Your excellency! Your excellency! he kept repeating

pertinaciously while he shook Pierre by the shoulder without looking at

him, having apparently lost hope of getting him to wake up.



What? Has it begun? Is it time? Pierre asked, waking up.



Hear the firing, said the groom, a discharged soldier. All the

gentlemen have gone out, and his Serene Highness himself rode past long

ago.



Pierre dressed hastily and ran out to the porch. Outside all was bright,

fresh, dewy, and cheerful. The sun, just bursting forth from behind a

cloud that had concealed it, was shining, with rays still half broken

by the clouds, over the roofs of the street opposite, on the

dew-besprinkled dust of the road, on the walls of the houses, on the

windows, the fence, and on Pierres horses standing before the hut. The

roar of guns sounded more distinct outside. An adjutant accompanied by a

Cossack passed by at a sharp trot.



Its time, Count its time! cried the adjutant.



Telling the groom to follow him with the horses, Pierre went down the

street to the knoll from which he had looked at the field of battle the

day before. A crowd of military men was assembled there, members of the

staff could be heard conversing in French, and Kutzovs gray head in

a white cap with a red band was visible, his gray nape sunk between his

shoulders. He was looking through a field glass down the highroad before

him.



Mounting the steps to the knoll Pierre looked at the scene before him,

spellbound by beauty. It was the same panorama he had admired from that

spot the day before, but now the whole place was full of troops and

covered by smoke clouds from the guns, and the slanting rays of the

bright sun, rising slightly to the left behind Pierre, cast upon it

through the clear morning air penetrating streaks of rosy, golden-tinted

light and long dark shadows. The forest at the farthest extremity of

the panorama seemed carved in some precious stone of a yellowish-green

color its undulating outline was silhouetted against the horizon and

was pierced beyond Valevo by the Smolnsk highroad crowded with troops.

Nearer at hand glittered golden cornfields interspersed with copses.

There were troops to be seen everywhere, in front and to the right and

left. All this was vivid, majestic, and unexpected but what impressed

Pierre most of all was the view of the battlefield itself, of Borodin

and the hollows on both sides of the Koloch.



Above the Koloch, in Borodin and on both sides of it, especially to

the left where the Vyna flowing between its marshy banks falls into

the Koloch, a mist had spread which seemed to melt, to dissolve, and to

become translucent when the brilliant sun appeared and magically colored

and outlined everything. The smoke of the guns mingled with this mist,

and over the whole expanse and through that mist the rays of the morning

sun were reflected, flashing back like lightning from the water, from

the dew, and from the bayonets of the troops crowded together by the

riverbanks and in Borodin. A white church could be seen through the

mist, and here and there the roofs of huts in Borodin as well as dense

masses of soldiers, or green ammunition chests and ordnance. And all

this moved, or seemed to move, as the smoke and mist spread out over

the whole space. Just as in the mist-enveloped hollow near Borodin, so

along the entire line outside and above it and especially in the woods

and fields to the left, in the valleys and on the summits of the high

ground, clouds of powder smoke seemed continually to spring up out of

nothing, now singly, now several at a time, some translucent, others

dense, which, swelling, growing, rolling, and blending, extended over

the whole expanse.



These puffs of smoke and (strange to say) the sound of the firing

produced the chief beauty of the spectacle.



Puff!suddenly a round compact cloud of smoke was seen merging from

violet into gray and milky white, and boom! came the report a second

later.



Puff! puff!and two clouds arose pushing one another and blending

together and boom, boom! came the sounds confirming what the eye had

seen.



Pierre glanced round at the first cloud, which he had seen as a round

compact ball, and in its place already were balloons of smoke floating

to one side, andpuff (with a pause)puff, puff! three and then four

more appeared and then from each, with the same intervalboomboom,

boom! came the fine, firm, precise sounds in reply. It seemed as if

those smoke clouds sometimes ran and sometimes stood still while woods,

fields, and glittering bayonets ran past them. From the left, over

fields and bushes, those large balls of smoke were continually appearing

followed by their solemn reports, while nearer still, in the hollows and

woods, there burst from the muskets small cloudlets that had no time

to become balls, but had their little echoes in just the same way.

Trakh-ta-ta-takh! came the frequent crackle of musketry, but it was

irregular and feeble in comparison with the reports of the cannon.



Pierre wished to be there with that smoke, those shining bayonets, that

movement, and those sounds. He turned to look at Kutzov and his suite,

to compare his impressions with those of others. They were all looking

at the field of battle as he was, and, as it seemed to him, with the

same feelings. All their faces were now shining with that latent warmth

of feeling Pierre had noticed the day before and had fully understood

after his talk with Prince Andrew.



Go, my dear fellow, go... and Christ be with you! Kutzov was

saying to a general who stood beside him, not taking his eye from the

battlefield.



Having received this order the general passed by Pierre on his way down

the knoll.



To the crossing! said the general coldly and sternly in reply to one

of the staff who asked where he was going.



Ill go there too, I too! thought Pierre, and followed the general.



The general mounted a horse a Cossack had brought him. Pierre went to

his groom who was holding his horses and, asking which was the quietest,

clambered onto it, seized it by the mane, and turning out his toes

pressed his heels against its sides and, feeling that his spectacles

were slipping off but unable to let go of the mane and reins, he

galloped after the general, causing the staff officers to smile as they

watched him from the knoll.











CHAPTER XXXI



Having descended the hill the general after whom Pierre was galloping

turned sharply to the left, and Pierre, losing sight of him, galloped

in among some ranks of infantry marching ahead of him. He tried to pass

either in front of them or to the right or left, but there were soldiers

everywhere, all with the same preoccupied expression and busy with

some unseen but evidently important task. They all gazed with the same

dissatisfied and inquiring expression at this stout man in a white hat,

who for some unknown reason threatened to trample them under his horses

hoofs.



Why ride into the middle of the battalion? one of them shouted at him.



Another prodded his horse with the butt end of a musket, and Pierre,

bending over his saddlebow and hardly able to control his shying horse,

galloped ahead of the soldiers where there was a free space.



There was a bridge ahead of him, where other soldiers stood firing.

Pierre rode up to them. Without being aware of it he had come to the

bridge across the Koloch between Grki and Borodin, which the French

(having occupied Borodin) were attacking in the first phase of the

battle. Pierre saw that there was a bridge in front of him and that

soldiers were doing something on both sides of it and in the meadow,

among the rows of new-mown hay which he had taken no notice of amid the

smoke of the campfires the day before but despite the incessant firing

going on there he had no idea that this was the field of battle. He did

not notice the sound of the bullets whistling from every side, or the

projectiles that flew over him, did not see the enemy on the other side

of the river, and for a long time did not notice the killed and wounded,

though many fell near him. He looked about him with a smile which did

not leave his face.



Whys that fellow in front of the line? shouted somebody at him again.



To the left!... Keep to the right! the men shouted to him.



Pierre went to the right, and unexpectedly encountered one of Ravskis

adjutants whom he knew. The adjutant looked angrily at him, evidently

also intending to shout at him, but on recognizing him he nodded.



How have you got here? he said, and galloped on.



Pierre, feeling out of place there, having nothing to do, and afraid of

getting in someones way again, galloped after the adjutant.



Whats happening here? May I come with you? he asked.



One moment, one moment! replied the adjutant, and riding up to a stout

colonel who was standing in the meadow, he gave him some message and

then addressed Pierre.



Why have you come here, Count? he asked with a smile. Still

inquisitive?



Yes, yes, assented Pierre.



But the adjutant turned his horse about and rode on.



Here its tolerable, said he, but with Bagratin on the left flank

theyre getting it frightfully hot.



Really? said Pierre. Where is that?



Come along with me to our knoll. We can get a view from there and in

our battery it is still bearable, said the adjutant. Will you come?



Yes, Ill come with you, replied Pierre, looking round for his groom.



It was only now that he noticed wounded men staggering along or being

carried on stretchers. On that very meadow he had ridden over the day

before, a soldier was lying athwart the rows of scented hay, with his

head thrown awkwardly back and his shako off.



Why havent they carried him away? Pierre was about to ask, but seeing

the stern expression of the adjutant who was also looking that way, he

checked himself.



Pierre did not find his groom and rode along the hollow with the

adjutant to Ravskis Redoubt. His horse lagged behind the adjutants

and jolted him at every step.



You dont seem to be used to riding, Count? remarked the adjutant.



No its not that, but her action seems so jerky, said Pierre in a

puzzled tone.



Why... shes wounded! said the adjutant. In the off foreleg above the

knee. A bullet, no doubt. I congratulate you, Count, on your baptism of

fire!



Having ridden in the smoke past the Sixth Corps, behind the artillery

which had been moved forward and was in action, deafening them with the

noise of firing, they came to a small wood. There it was cool and quiet,

with a scent of autumn. Pierre and the adjutant dismounted and walked up

the hill on foot.



Is the general here? asked the adjutant on reaching the knoll.



He was here a minute ago but has just gone that way, someone told him,

pointing to the right.



The adjutant looked at Pierre as if puzzled what to do with him now.



Dont trouble about me, said Pierre. Ill go up onto the knoll if I

may?



Yes, do. Youll see everything from there and its less dangerous, and

Ill come for you.



Pierre went to the battery and the adjutant rode on. They did not meet

again, and only much later did Pierre learn that he lost an arm that

day.



The knoll to which Pierre ascended was that famous one afterwards known

to the Russians as the Knoll Battery or Ravskis Redoubt, and to the

French as la grande redoute, la fatale redoute, la redoute du centre,

around which tens of thousands fell, and which the French regarded as

the key to the whole position.



This redoubt consisted of a knoll, on three sides of which trenches had

been dug. Within the entrenchment stood ten guns that were being fired

through openings in the earthwork.



In line with the knoll on both sides stood other guns which also fired

incessantly. A little behind the guns stood infantry. When ascending

that knoll Pierre had no notion that this spot, on which small trenches

had been dug and from which a few guns were firing, was the most

important point of the battle.



On the contrary, just because he happened to be there he thought it one

of the least significant parts of the field.



Having reached the knoll, Pierre sat down at one end of a trench

surrounding the battery and gazed at what was going on around him with

an unconsciously happy smile. Occasionally he rose and walked about the

battery still with that same smile, trying not to obstruct the soldiers

who were loading, hauling the guns, and continually running past

him with bags and charges. The guns of that battery were being fired

continually one after another with a deafening roar, enveloping the

whole neighborhood in powder smoke.



In contrast with the dread felt by the infantrymen placed in support,

here in the battery where a small number of men busy at their work were

separated from the rest by a trench, everyone experienced a common and

as it were family feeling of animation.



The intrusion of Pierres nonmilitary figure in a white hat made an

unpleasant impression at first. The soldiers looked askance at him with

surprise and even alarm as they went past him. The senior artillery

officer, a tall, long-legged, pockmarked man, moved over to Pierre as if

to see the action of the farthest gun and looked at him with curiosity.



A young round-faced officer, quite a boy still and evidently only just

out of the Cadet College, who was zealously commanding the two guns

entrusted to him, addressed Pierre sternly.



Sir, he said, permit me to ask you to stand aside. You must not be

here.



The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked at Pierre.

But when they had convinced themselves that this man in the white hat

was doing no harm, but either sat quietly on the slope of the trench

with a shy smile or, politely making way for the soldiers, paced up

and down the battery under fire as calmly as if he were on a boulevard,

their feeling of hostile distrust gradually began to change into a

kindly and bantering sympathy, such as soldiers feel for their dogs,

cocks, goats, and in general for the animals that live with the

regiment. The men soon accepted Pierre into their family, adopted him,

gave him a nickname (our gentleman), and made kindly fun of him among

themselves.



A shell tore up the earth two paces from Pierre and he looked around

with a smile as he brushed from his clothes some earth it had thrown up.



And hows it youre not afraid, sir, really now? a red-faced,

broad-shouldered soldier asked Pierre, with a grin that disclosed a set

of sound, white teeth.



Are you afraid, then? said Pierre.



What else do you expect? answered the soldier. She has no mercy, you

know! When she comes spluttering down, out go your innards. One cant

help being afraid, he said laughing.



Several of the men, with bright kindly faces, stopped beside Pierre.

They seemed not to have expected him to talk like anybody else, and the

discovery that he did so delighted them.



Its the business of us soldiers. But in a gentleman its wonderful!

Theres a gentleman for you!



To your places! cried the young officer to the men gathered round

Pierre.



The young officer was evidently exercising his duties for the first or

second time and therefore treated both his superiors and the men with

great precision and formality.



The booming cannonade and the fusillade of musketry were growing more

intense over the whole field, especially to the left where Bagratins

flches were, but where Pierre was the smoke of the firing made it

almost impossible to distinguish anything. Moreover, his whole

attention was engrossed by watching the family circleseparated from all

elseformed by the men in the battery. His first unconscious feeling of

joyful animation produced by the sights and sounds of the battlefield

was now replaced by another, especially since he had seen that soldier

lying alone in the hayfield. Now, seated on the slope of the trench, he

observed the faces of those around him.



By ten oclock some twenty men had already been carried away from the

battery two guns were smashed and cannon balls fell more and more

frequently on the battery and spent bullets buzzed and whistled around.

But the men in the battery seemed not to notice this, and merry voices

and jokes were heard on all sides.



A live one! shouted a man as a whistling shell approached.



Not this way! To the infantry! added another with loud laughter,

seeing the shell fly past and fall into the ranks of the supports.



Are you bowing to a friend, eh? remarked another, chaffing a peasant

who ducked low as a cannon ball flew over.



Several soldiers gathered by the wall of the trench, looking out to see

what was happening in front.



Theyve withdrawn the front line, it has retired, said they, pointing

over the earthwork.



Mind your own business, an old sergeant shouted at them. If theyve

retired its because theres work for them to do farther back.



And the sergeant, taking one of the men by the shoulders, gave him a

shove with his knee. This was followed by a burst of laughter.



To the fifth gun, wheel it up! came shouts from one side.



Now then, all together, like bargees! rose the merry voices of those

who were moving the gun.



Oh, she nearly knocked our gentlemans hat off! cried the red-faced

humorist, showing his teeth chaffing Pierre. Awkward baggage! he added

reproachfully to a cannon ball that struck a cannon wheel and a mans

leg.



Now then, you foxes! said another, laughing at some militiamen who,

stooping low, entered the battery to carry away the wounded man.



So this gruel isnt to your taste? Oh, you crows! Youre scared! they

shouted at the militiamen who stood hesitating before the man whose leg

had been torn off.



There, lads... oh, oh! they mimicked the peasants, they dont like it

at all!



Pierre noticed that after every ball that hit the redoubt, and after

every loss, the liveliness increased more and more.



As the flames of the fire hidden within come more and more vividly and

rapidly from an approaching thundercloud, so, as if in opposition to

what was taking place, the lightning of hidden fire growing more and

more intense glowed in the faces of these men.



Pierre did not look out at the battlefield and was not concerned to know

what was happening there he was entirely absorbed in watching this fire

which burned ever more brightly and which he felt was flaming up in the

same way in his own soul.



At ten oclock the infantry that had been among the bushes in front of

the battery and along the Kmenka streamlet retreated. From the battery

they could be seen running back past it carrying their wounded on

their muskets. A general with his suite came to the battery, and after

speaking to the colonel gave Pierre an angry look and went away again

having ordered the infantry supports behind the battery to lie down,

so as to be less exposed to fire. After this from amid the ranks of

infantry to the right of the battery came the sound of a drum and shouts

of command, and from the battery one saw how those ranks of infantry

moved forward.



Pierre looked over the wall of the trench and was particularly struck

by a pale young officer who, letting his sword hang down, was walking

backwards and kept glancing uneasily around.



The ranks of the infantry disappeared amid the smoke but their

long-drawn shout and rapid musketry firing could still be heard. A few

minutes later crowds of wounded men and stretcher-bearers came back from

that direction. Projectiles began to fall still more frequently in the

battery. Several men were lying about who had not been removed. Around

the cannon the men moved still more briskly and busily. No one any

longer took notice of Pierre. Once or twice he was shouted at for being

in the way. The senior officer moved with big, rapid strides from one

gun to another with a frowning face. The young officer, with his face

still more flushed, commanded the men more scrupulously than ever. The

soldiers handed up the charges, turned, loaded, and did their business

with strained smartness. They gave little jumps as they walked, as

though they were on springs.



The stormcloud had come upon them, and in every face the fire which

Pierre had watched kindle burned up brightly. Pierre standing beside the

commanding officer. The young officer, his hand to his shako, ran up to

his superior.



I have the honor to report, sir, that only eight rounds are left. Are

we to continue firing? he asked.



Grapeshot! the senior shouted, without answering the question, looking

over the wall of the trench.



Suddenly something happened the young officer gave a gasp and bending

double sat down on the ground like a bird shot on the wing. Everything

became strange, confused, and misty in Pierres eyes.



One cannon ball after another whistled by and struck the earthwork, a

soldier, or a gun. Pierre, who had not noticed these sounds before,

now heard nothing else. On the right of the battery soldiers shouting

Hurrah! were running not forwards but backwards, it seemed to Pierre.



A cannon ball struck the very end of the earth work by which he was

standing, crumbling down the earth a black ball flashed before his eyes

and at the same instant plumped into something. Some militiamen who were

entering the battery ran back.



All with grapeshot! shouted the officer.



The sergeant ran up to the officer and in a frightened whisper informed

him (as a butler at dinner informs his master that there is no more of

some wine asked for) that there were no more charges.



The scoundrels! What are they doing? shouted the officer, turning to

Pierre.



The officers face was red and perspiring and his eyes glittered under

his frowning brow.



Run to the reserves and bring up the ammunition boxes! he yelled,

angrily avoiding Pierre with his eyes and speaking to his men.



Ill go, said Pierre.



The officer, without answering him, strode across to the opposite side.



Dont fire.... Wait! he shouted.



The man who had been ordered to go for ammunition stumbled against

Pierre.



Eh, sir, this is no place for you, said he, and ran down the slope.



Pierre ran after him, avoiding the spot where the young officer was

sitting.



One cannon ball, another, and a third flew over him, falling in front,

beside, and behind him. Pierre ran down the slope. Where am I going?

he suddenly asked himself when he was already near the green ammunition

wagons. He halted irresolutely, not knowing whether to return or go on.

Suddenly a terrible concussion threw him backwards to the ground. At the

same instant he was dazzled by a great flash of flame, and immediately a

deafening roar, crackling, and whistling made his ears tingle.



When he came to himself he was sitting on the ground leaning on his

hands the ammunition wagons he had been approaching no longer existed,

only charred green boards and rags littered the scorched grass, and a

horse, dangling fragments of its shaft behind it, galloped past, while

another horse lay, like Pierre, on the ground, uttering prolonged and

piercing cries.











CHAPTER XXXII



Beside himself with terror Pierre jumped up and ran back to the battery,

as to the only refuge from the horrors that surrounded him.



On entering the earthwork he noticed that there were men doing something

there but that no shots were being fired from the battery. He had no

time to realize who these men were. He saw the senior officer lying on

the earth wall with his back turned as if he were examining something

down below and that one of the soldiers he had noticed before was

struggling forward shouting Brothers! and trying to free himself from

some men who were holding him by the arm. He also saw something else

that was strange.



But he had not time to realize that the colonel had been killed, that

the soldier shouting Brothers! was a prisoner, and that another man

had been bayoneted in the back before his eyes, for hardly had he run

into the redoubt before a thin, sallow-faced, perspiring man in a blue

uniform rushed on him sword in hand, shouting something. Instinctively

guarding against the shockfor they had been running together at full

speed before they saw one anotherPierre put out his hands and seized

the man (a French officer) by the shoulder with one hand and by the

throat with the other. The officer, dropping his sword, seized Pierre by

his collar.



For some seconds they gazed with frightened eyes at one anothers

unfamiliar faces and both were perplexed at what they had done and

what they were to do next. Am I taken prisoner or have I taken him

prisoner? each was thinking. But the French officer was evidently more

inclined to think he had been taken prisoner because Pierres strong

hand, impelled by instinctive fear, squeezed his throat ever tighter and

tighter. The Frenchman was about to say something, when just above their

heads, terrible and low, a cannon ball whistled, and it seemed to Pierre

that the French officers head had been torn off, so swiftly had he

ducked it.



Pierre too bent his head and let his hands fall. Without further thought

as to who had taken whom prisoner, the Frenchman ran back to the battery

and Pierre ran down the slope stumbling over the dead and wounded who,

it seemed to him, caught at his feet. But before he reached the foot

of the knoll he was met by a dense crowd of Russian soldiers who,

stumbling, tripping up, and shouting, ran merrily and wildly toward

the battery. (This was the attack for which Ermlov claimed the credit,

declaring that only his courage and good luck made such a feat possible

it was the attack in which he was said to have thrown some St. Georges

Crosses he had in his pocket into the battery for the first soldiers to

take who got there.)



The French who had occupied the battery fled, and our troops shouting

Hurrah! pursued them so far beyond the battery that it was difficult

to call them back.



The prisoners were brought down from the battery and among them was

a wounded French general, whom the officers surrounded. Crowds of

woundedsome known to Pierre and some unknownRussians and French,

with faces distorted by suffering, walked, crawled, and were carried on

stretchers from the battery. Pierre again went up onto the knoll where

he had spent over an hour, and of that family circle which had received

him as a member he did not find a single one. There were many dead whom

he did not know, but some he recognized. The young officer still sat in

the same way, bent double, in a pool of blood at the edge of the earth

wall. The red-faced man was still twitching, but they did not carry him

away.



Pierre ran down the slope once more.



Now they will stop it, now they will be horrified at what they have

done! he thought, aimlessly going toward a crowd of stretcher bearers

moving from the battlefield.



But behind the veil of smoke the sun was still high, and in front and

especially to the left, near Semnovsk, something seemed to be seething

in the smoke, and the roar of cannon and musketry did not diminish, but

even increased to desperation like a man who, straining himself, shrieks

with all his remaining strength.











CHAPTER XXXIII



The chief action of the battle of Borodin was fought within the seven

thousand feet between Borodin and Bagratins flches. Beyond that

space there was, on the one side, a demonstration made by the Russians

with Uvrovs cavalry at midday, and on the other side, beyond Uttsa,

Poniatowskis collision with Tchkov but these two were detached and

feeble actions in comparison with what took place in the center of the

battlefield. On the field between Borodin and the flches, beside the

wood, the chief action of the day took place on an open space visible

from both sides and was fought in the simplest and most artless way.



The battle began on both sides with a cannonade from several hundred

guns.



Then when the whole field was covered with smoke, two divisions,

Campans and Dessaixs, advanced from the French right, while Murats

troops advanced on Borodin from their left.



From the Shevrdino Redoubt where Napoleon was standing the flches were

two thirds of a mile away, and it was more than a mile as the crow flies

to Borodin, so that Napoleon could not see what was happening there,

especially as the smoke mingling with the mist hid the whole locality.

The soldiers of Dessaixs division advancing against the flches could

only be seen till they had entered the hollow that lay between them and

the flches. As soon as they had descended into that hollow, the smoke

of the guns and musketry on the flches grew so dense that it covered

the whole approach on that side of it. Through the smoke glimpses could

be caught of something blackprobably menand at times the glint of

bayonets. But whether they were moving or stationary, whether they were

French or Russian, could not be discovered from the Shevrdino Redoubt.



The sun had risen brightly and its slanting rays struck straight into

Napoleons face as, shading his eyes with his hand, he looked at the

flches. The smoke spread out before them, and at times it looked as if

the smoke were moving, at times as if the troops moved. Sometimes shouts

were heard through the firing, but it was impossible to tell what was

being done there.



Napoleon, standing on the knoll, looked through a field glass, and in

its small circlet saw smoke and men, sometimes his own and sometimes

Russians, but when he looked again with the naked eye, he could not tell

where what he had seen was.



He descended the knoll and began walking up and down before it.



Occasionally he stopped, listened to the firing, and gazed intently at

the battlefield.



But not only was it impossible to make out what was happening from where

he was standing down below, or from the knoll above on which some of his

generals had taken their stand, but even from the flches themselvesin

which by this time there were now Russian and now French soldiers,

alternately or together, dead, wounded, alive, frightened, or

maddenedeven at those flches themselves it was impossible to make out

what was taking place. There for several hours amid incessant cannon and

musketry fire, now Russians were seen alone, now Frenchmen alone, now

infantry, and now cavalry they appeared, fired, fell, collided, not

knowing what to do with one another, screamed, and ran back again.



From the battlefield adjutants he had sent out, and orderlies from his

marshals, kept galloping up to Napoleon with reports of the progress

of the action, but all these reports were false, both because it was

impossible in the heat of battle to say what was happening at any given

moment and because many of the adjutants did not go to the actual place

of conflict but reported what they had heard from others and also

because while an adjutant was riding more than a mile to Napoleon

circumstances changed and the news he brought was already becoming

false. Thus an adjutant galloped up from Murat with tidings that

Borodin had been occupied and the bridge over the Koloch was in the

hands of the French. The adjutant asked whether Napoleon wished the

troops to cross it? Napoleon gave orders that the troops should form up

on the farther side and wait. But before that order was givenalmost

as soon in fact as the adjutant had left Borodinthe bridge had been

retaken by the Russians and burned, in the very skirmish at which Pierre

had been present at the beginning of the battle.



An adjutant galloped up from the flches with a pale and frightened face

and reported to Napoleon that their attack had been repulsed, Campan

wounded, and Davout killed yet at the very time the adjutant had been

told that the French had been repulsed, the flches had in fact been

recaptured by other French troops, and Davout was alive and only

slightly bruised. On the basis of these necessarily untrustworthy

reports Napoleon gave his orders, which had either been executed before

he gave them or could not be and were not executed.



The marshals and generals, who were nearer to the field of battle

but, like Napoleon, did not take part in the actual fighting and only

occasionally went within musket range, made their own arrangements

without asking Napoleon and issued orders where and in what direction to

fire and where cavalry should gallop and infantry should run. But even

their orders, like Napoleons, were seldom carried out, and then but

partially. For the most part things happened contrary to their orders.

Soldiers ordered to advance ran back on meeting grapeshot soldiers

ordered to remain where they were, suddenly, seeing Russians

unexpectedly before them, sometimes rushed back and sometimes forward,

and the cavalry dashed without orders in pursuit of the flying Russians.

In this way two cavalry regiments galloped through the Semnovsk hollow

and as soon as they reached the top of the incline turned round and

galloped full speed back again. The infantry moved in the same way,

sometimes running to quite other places than those they were ordered to

go to. All orders as to where and when to move the guns, when to send

infantry to shoot or horsemen to ride down the Russian infantryall

such orders were given by the officers on the spot nearest to the

units concerned, without asking either Ney, Davout, or Murat, much less

Napoleon. They did not fear getting into trouble for not fulfilling

orders or for acting on their own initiative, for in battle what is at

stake is what is dearest to manhis own lifeand it sometimes seems that

safety lies in running back, sometimes in running forward and these men

who were right in the heat of the battle acted according to the mood

of the moment. In reality, however, all these movements forward and

backward did not improve or alter the position of the troops. All

their rushing and galloping at one another did little harm, the harm of

disablement and death was caused by the balls and bullets that flew over

the fields on which these men were floundering about. As soon as they

left the place where the balls and bullets were flying about, their

superiors, located in the background, re-formed them and brought them

under discipline and under the influence of that discipline led them

back to the zone of fire, where under the influence of fear of death

they lost their discipline and rushed about according to the chance

promptings of the throng.











CHAPTER XXXIV



Napoleons generalsDavout, Ney, and Murat, who were near that region of

fire and sometimes even entered itrepeatedly led into it huge masses of

well-ordered troops. But contrary to what had always happened in their

former battles, instead of the news they expected of the enemys flight,

these orderly masses returned thence as disorganized and terrified mobs.

The generals re-formed them, but their numbers constantly decreased.

In the middle of the day Murat sent his adjutant to Napoleon to demand

reinforcements.



Napoleon sat at the foot of the knoll, drinking punch, when Murats

adjutant galloped up with an assurance that the Russians would be routed

if His Majesty would let him have another division.



Reinforcements? said Napoleon in a tone of stern surprise, looking at

the adjutanta handsome lad with long black curls arranged like Murats

ownas though he did not understand his words.



Reinforcements! thought Napoleon to himself. How can they need

reinforcements when they already have half the army directed against a

weak, unentrenched Russian wing?



Tell the King of Naples, said he sternly, that it is not noon yet,

and I dont yet see my chessboard clearly. Go!...



The handsome boy adjutant with the long hair sighed deeply without

removing his hand from his hat and galloped back to where men were being

slaughtered.



Napoleon rose and having summoned Caulaincourt and Berthier began

talking to them about matters unconnected with the battle.



In the midst of this conversation, which was beginning to interest

Napoleon, Berthiers eyes turned to look at a general with a suite, who

was galloping toward the knoll on a lathering horse. It was Belliard.

Having dismounted he went up to the Emperor with rapid strides and in

a loud voice began boldly demonstrating the necessity of sending

reinforcements. He swore on his honor that the Russians were lost if the

Emperor would give another division.



Napoleon shrugged his shoulders and continued to pace up and down

without replying. Belliard began talking loudly and eagerly to the

generals of the suite around him.



You are very fiery, Belliard, said Napoleon, when he again came up to

the general. In the heat of a battle it is easy to make a mistake. Go

and have another look and then come back to me.



Before Belliard was out of sight, a messenger from another part of the

battlefield galloped up.



Now then, what do you want? asked Napoleon in the tone of a man

irritated at being continually disturbed.



Sire, the prince... began the adjutant.



Asks for reinforcements? said Napoleon with an angry gesture.



The adjutant bent his head affirmatively and began to report, but the

Emperor turned from him, took a couple of steps, stopped, came back, and

called Berthier.



We must give reserves, he said, moving his arms slightly apart.

Who do you think should be sent there? he asked of Berthier (whom he

subsequently termed that gosling I have made an eagle).



Send Clapardes division, sire, replied Berthier, who knew all the

divisions regiments, and battalions by heart.



Napoleon nodded assent.



The adjutant galloped to Clapardes division and a few minutes later

the Young Guards stationed behind the knoll moved forward. Napoleon

gazed silently in that direction.



No! he suddenly said to Berthier. I cant send Claparde. Send

Friants division.



Though there was no advantage in sending Friants division instead of

Clapardes, and even an obvious inconvenience and delay in stopping

Claparde and sending Friant now, the order was carried out exactly.

Napoleon did not notice that in regard to his army he was playing

the part of a doctor who hinders by his medicinesa role he so justly

understood and condemned.



Friants division disappeared as the others had done into the smoke

of the battlefield. From all sides adjutants continued to arrive at a

gallop and as if by agreement all said the same thing. They all asked

for reinforcements and all said that the Russians were holding their

positions and maintaining a hellish fire under which the French army was

melting away.



Napoleon sat on a campstool, wrapped in thought.



M. de Beausset, the man so fond of travel, having fasted since morning,

came up to the Emperor and ventured respectfully to suggest lunch to His

Majesty.



I hope I may now congratulate Your Majesty on a victory? said he.



Napoleon silently shook his head in negation. Assuming the negation to

refer only to the victory and not to the lunch, M. de Beausset ventured

with respectful jocularity to remark that there is no reason for not

having lunch when one can get it.



Go away... exclaimed Napoleon suddenly and morosely, and turned aside.



A beatific smile of regret, repentance, and ecstasy beamed on M. de

Beaussets face and he glided away to the other generals.



Napoleon was experiencing a feeling of depression like that of an

ever-lucky gambler who, after recklessly flinging money about and always

winning, suddenly just when he has calculated all the chances of the

game, finds that the more he considers his play the more surely he

loses.



His troops were the same, his generals the same, the same preparations

had been made, the same dispositions, and the same proclamation courte

et nergique, he himself was still the same he knew that and knew that

he was now even more experienced and skillful than before. Even the

enemy was the same as at Austerlitz and Friedlandyet the terrible

stroke of his arm had supernaturally become impotent.



All the old methods that had been unfailingly crowned with success the

concentration of batteries on one point, an attack by reserves to break

the enemys line, and a cavalry attack by the men of iron, all these

methods had already been employed, yet not only was there no victory,

but from all sides came the same news of generals killed and wounded,

of reinforcements needed, of the impossibility of driving back the

Russians, and of disorganization among his own troops.



Formerly, after he had given two or three orders and uttered a

few phrases, marshals and adjutants had come galloping up with

congratulations and happy faces, announcing the trophies taken, the

corps of prisoners, bundles of enemy eagles and standards, cannon and

stores, and Murat had only begged leave to loose the cavalry to gather

in the baggage wagons. So it had been at Lodi, Marengo, Arcola, Jena,

Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on. But now something strange was happening

to his troops.



Despite news of the capture of the flches, Napoleon saw that this was

not the same, not at all the same, as what had happened in his former

battles. He saw that what he was feeling was felt by all the men about

him experienced in the art of war. All their faces looked dejected, and

they all shunned one anothers eyesonly a de Beausset could fail to

grasp the meaning of what was happening.



But Napoleon with his long experience of war well knew the meaning of

a battle not gained by the attacking side in eight hours, after all

efforts had been expended. He knew that it was a lost battle and that

the least accident might nowwith the fight balanced on such a strained

centerdestroy him and his army.



When he ran his mind over the whole of this strange Russian campaign in

which not one battle had been won, and in which not a flag, or cannon,

or army corps had been captured in two months, when he looked at the

concealed depression on the faces around him and heard reports of the

Russians still holding their grounda terrible feeling like a nightmare

took possession of him, and all the unlucky accidents that might destroy

him occurred to his mind. The Russians might fall on his left wing,

might break through his center, he himself might be killed by a stray

cannon ball. All this was possible. In former battles he had only

considered the possibilities of success, but now innumerable unlucky

chances presented themselves, and he expected them all. Yes, it was like

a dream in which a man fancies that a ruffian is coming to attack him,

and raises his arm to strike that ruffian a terrible blow which he knows

should annihilate him, but then feels that his arm drops powerless and

limp like a rag, and the horror of unavoidable destruction seizes him in

his helplessness.



The news that the Russians were attacking the left flank of the French

army aroused that horror in Napoleon. He sat silently on a campstool

below the knoll, with head bowed and elbows on his knees. Berthier

approached and suggested that they should ride along the line to

ascertain the position of affairs.



What? What do you say? asked Napoleon. Yes, tell them to bring me my

horse.



He mounted and rode toward Semnovsk.



Amid the powder smoke, slowly dispersing over the whole space through

which Napoleon rode, horses and men were lying in pools of blood, singly

or in heaps. Neither Napoleon nor any of his generals had ever before

seen such horrors or so many slain in such a small area. The roar of

guns, that had not ceased for ten hours, wearied the ear and gave

a peculiar significance to the spectacle, as music does to tableaux

vivants. Napoleon rode up the high ground at Semnovsk, and through the

smoke saw ranks of men in uniforms of a color unfamiliar to him. They

were Russians.



The Russians stood in serried ranks behind Semnovsk village and its

knoll, and their guns boomed incessantly along their line and sent

forth clouds of smoke. It was no longer a battle it was a continuous

slaughter which could be of no avail either to the French or the

Russians. Napoleon stopped his horse and again fell into the reverie

from which Berthier had aroused him. He could not stop what was going on

before him and around him and was supposed to be directed by him and to

depend on him, and from its lack of success this affair, for the first

time, seemed to him unnecessary and horrible.



One of the generals rode up to Napoleon and ventured to offer to lead

the Old Guard into action. Ney and Berthier, standing near Napoleon,

exchanged looks and smiled contemptuously at this generals senseless

offer.



Napoleon bowed his head and remained silent a long time.



At eight hundred leagues from France, I will not have my Guard

destroyed! he said, and turning his horse rode back to Shevrdino.











CHAPTER XXXV



On the rug-covered bench where Pierre had seen him in the morning sat

Kutzov, his gray head hanging, his heavy body relaxed. He gave no

orders, but only assented to or dissented from what others suggested.



Yes, yes, do that, he replied to various proposals. Yes, yes go,

dear boy, and have a look, he would say to one or another of those

about him or, No, dont, wed better wait! He listened to the reports

that were brought him and gave directions when his subordinates demanded

that of him but when listening to the reports it seemed as if he

were not interested in the import of the words spoken, but rather in

something elsein the expression of face and tone of voice of those who

were reporting. By long years of military experience he knew, and with

the wisdom of age understood, that it is impossible for one man to

direct hundreds of thousands of others struggling with death, and he

knew that the result of a battle is decided not by the orders of a

commander in chief, nor the place where the troops are stationed, nor by

the number of cannon or of slaughtered men, but by that intangible force

called the spirit of the army, and he watched this force and guided it

in as far as that was in his power.



Kutzovs general expression was one of concentrated quiet attention,

and his face wore a strained look as if he found it difficult to master

the fatigue of his old and feeble body.



At eleven oclock they brought him news that the flches captured by the

French had been retaken, but that Prince Bagratin was wounded. Kutzov

groaned and swayed his head.



Ride over to Prince Peter Ivnovich and find out about it exactly, he

said to one of his adjutants, and then turned to the Duke of Wrttemberg

who was standing behind him.



Will Your Highness please take command of the first army?



Soon after the dukes departurebefore he could possibly have reached

Semnovskhis adjutant came back from him and told Kutzov that the duke

asked for more troops.



Kutzov made a grimace and sent an order to Dokhtrov to take over the

command of the first army, and a request to the dukewhom he said he

could not spare at such an important momentto return to him. When

they brought him news that Murat had been taken prisoner, and the staff

officers congratulated him, Kutzov smiled.



Wait a little, gentlemen, said he. The battle is won, and there is

nothing extraordinary in the capture of Murat. Still, it is better to

wait before we rejoice.



But he sent an adjutant to take the news round the army.



When Scherbnin came galloping from the left flank with news that the

French had captured the flches and the village of Semnovsk, Kutzov,

guessing by the sounds of the battle and by Scherbnins looks that the

news was bad, rose as if to stretch his legs and, taking Scherbnins

arm, led him aside.



Go, my dear fellow, he said to Ermlov, and see whether something

cant be done.



Kutzov was in Grki, near the center of the Russian position. The

attack directed by Napoleon against our left flank had been several

times repulsed. In the center the French had not got beyond Borodin,

and on their left flank Uvrovs cavalry had put the French to flight.



Toward three oclock the French attacks ceased. On the faces of all

who came from the field of battle, and of those who stood around him,

Kutzov noticed an expression of extreme tension. He was satisfied with

the days successa success exceeding his expectations, but the old

mans strength was failing him. Several times his head dropped low as if

it were falling and he dozed off. Dinner was brought him.



Adjutant General Wolzogen, the man who when riding past Prince Andrew

had said, the war should be extended widely, and whom Bagratin so

detested, rode up while Kutzov was at dinner. Wolzogen had come from

Barclay de Tolly to report on the progress of affairs on the left flank.

The sagacious Barclay de Tolly, seeing crowds of wounded men running

back and the disordered rear of the army, weighed all the circumstances,

concluded that the battle was lost, and sent his favorite officer to the

commander in chief with that news.



Kutzov was chewing a piece of roast chicken with difficulty and glanced

at Wolzogen with eyes that brightened under their puckering lids.



Wolzogen, nonchalantly stretching his legs, approached Kutzov with a

half-contemptuous smile on his lips, scarcely touching the peak of his

cap.



He treated his Serene Highness with a somewhat affected nonchalance

intended to show that, as a highly trained military man, he left it to

Russians to make an idol of this useless old man, but that he knew whom

he was dealing with. Der alte Herr (as in their own set the Germans

called Kutzov) is making himself very comfortable, thought Wolzogen,

and looking severely at the dishes in front of Kutzov he began to

report to the old gentleman the position of affairs on the left flank

as Barclay had ordered him to and as he himself had seen and understood

it.



All the points of our position are in the enemys hands and we cannot

dislodge them for lack of troops, the men are running away and it is

impossible to stop them, he reported.



Kutzov ceased chewing and fixed an astonished gaze on Wolzogen, as

if not understanding what was said to him. Wolzogen, noticing the old

gentlemans agitation, said with a smile



I have not considered it right to conceal from your Serene Highness

what I have seen. The troops are in complete disorder....



You have seen? You have seen?... Kutzov shouted. Frowning and rising

quickly, he went up to Wolzogen.



How... how dare you!... he shouted, choking and making a threatening

gesture with his trembling arms How dare you, sir, say that to me? You

know nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from me that his information

is incorrect and that the real course of the battle is better known to

me, the commander in chief, than to him.



Wolzogen was about to make a rejoinder, but Kutzov interrupted him.



The enemy has been repulsed on the left and defeated on the right

flank. If you have seen amiss, sir, do not allow yourself to say what

you dont know! Be so good as to ride to General Barclay and inform

him of my firm intention to attack the enemy tomorrow, said Kutzov

sternly.



All were silent, and the only sound audible was the heavy breathing of

the panting old general.



They are repulsed everywhere, for which I thank God and our brave army!

The enemy is beaten, and tomorrow we shall drive him from the sacred

soil of Russia, said Kutzov crossing himself, and he suddenly sobbed

as his eyes filled with tears.



Wolzogen, shrugging his shoulders and curling his lips, stepped silently

aside, marveling at the old gentlemans conceited stupidity.



Ah, here he is, my hero! said Kutzov to a portly, handsome,

dark-haired general who was just ascending the knoll.



This was Ravski, who had spent the whole day at the most important part

of the field of Borodin.



Ravski reported that the troops were firmly holding their ground and

that the French no longer ventured to attack.



After hearing him, Kutzov said in French



Then you do not think, like some others, that we must retreat?



On the contrary, your Highness, in indecisive actions it is always

the most stubborn who remain victors, replied Ravski, and in my

opinion...



Kaysrov! Kutzov called to his adjutant. Sit down and write out

the order of the day for tomorrow. And you, he continued, addressing

another, ride along the line and announce that tomorrow we attack.



While Kutzov was talking to Ravski and dictating the order of the day,

Wolzogen returned from Barclay and said that General Barclay wished to

have written confirmation of the order the field marshal had given.



Kutzov, without looking at Wolzogen, gave directions for the order to

be written out which the former commander in chief, to avoid personal

responsibility, very judiciously wished to receive.



And by means of that mysterious indefinable bond which maintains

throughout an army one and the same temper, known as the spirit of

the army, and which constitutes the sinew of war, Kutzovs words, his

order for a battle next day, immediately became known from one end of

the army to the other.



It was far from being the same words or the same order that reached the

farthest links of that chain. The tales passing from mouth to mouth at

different ends of the army did not even resemble what Kutzov had said,

but the sense of his words spread everywhere because what he said was

not the outcome of cunning calculations, but of a feeling that lay in

the commander in chiefs soul as in that of every Russian.



And on learning that tomorrow they were to attack the enemy, and hearing

from the highest quarters a confirmation of what they wanted to believe,

the exhausted, wavering men felt comforted and inspirited.











CHAPTER XXXVI



Prince Andrews regiment was among the reserves which till after one

oclock were stationed inactive behind Semnovsk, under heavy artillery

fire. Toward two oclock the regiment, having already lost more than

two hundred men, was moved forward into a trampled oatfield in the gap

between Semnovsk and the Knoll Battery, where thousands of men perished

that day and on which an intense, concentrated fire from several hundred

enemy guns was directed between one and two oclock.



Without moving from that spot or firing a single shot the regiment here

lost another third of its men. From in front and especially from the

right, in the unlifting smoke the guns boomed, and out of the mysterious

domain of smoke that overlay the whole space in front, quick hissing

cannon balls and slow whistling shells flew unceasingly. At times, as

if to allow them a respite, a quarter of an hour passed during which

the cannon balls and shells all flew overhead, but sometimes several men

were torn from the regiment in a minute and the slain were continually

being dragged away and the wounded carried off.



With each fresh blow less and less chance of life remained for those not

yet killed. The regiment stood in columns of battalion, three hundred

paces apart, but nevertheless the men were always in one and the same

mood. All alike were taciturn and morose. Talk was rarely heard in the

ranks, and it ceased altogether every time the thud of a successful

shot and the cry of stretchers! was heard. Most of the time, by their

officers order, the men sat on the ground. One, having taken off his

shako, carefully loosened the gathers of its lining and drew them tight

again another, rubbing some dry clay between his palms, polished

his bayonet another fingered the strap and pulled the buckle of his

bandolier, while another smoothed and refolded his leg bands and put

his boots on again. Some built little houses of the tufts in the plowed

ground, or plaited baskets from the straw in the cornfield. All seemed

fully absorbed in these pursuits. When men were killed or wounded, when

rows of stretchers went past, when some troops retreated, and when great

masses of the enemy came into view through the smoke, no one paid any

attention to these things. But when our artillery or cavalry advanced or

some of our infantry were seen to move forward, words of approval

were heard on all sides. But the liveliest attention was attracted by

occurrences quite apart from, and unconnected with, the battle. It was

as if the minds of these morally exhausted men found relief in everyday,

commonplace occurrences. A battery of artillery was passing in front of

the regiment. The horse of an ammunition cart put its leg over a trace.

Hey, look at the trace horse!... Get her leg out! Shell fall.... Ah,

they dont see it! came identical shouts from the ranks all along the

regiment. Another time, general attention was attracted by a small brown

dog, coming heaven knows whence, which trotted in a preoccupied manner

in front of the ranks with tail stiffly erect till suddenly a shell fell

close by, when it yelped, tucked its tail between its legs, and darted

aside. Yells and shrieks of laughter rose from the whole regiment. But

such distractions lasted only a moment, and for eight hours the men had

been inactive, without food, in constant fear of death, and their pale

and gloomy faces grew ever paler and gloomier.



Prince Andrew, pale and gloomy like everyone in the regiment, paced up

and down from the border of one patch to another, at the edge of the

meadow beside an oatfield, with head bowed and arms behind his back.

There was nothing for him to do and no orders to be given. Everything

went on of itself. The killed were dragged from the front, the wounded

carried away, and the ranks closed up. If any soldiers ran to the

rear they returned immediately and hastily. At first Prince Andrew,

considering it his duty to rouse the courage of the men and to set them

an example, walked about among the ranks, but he soon became convinced

that this was unnecessary and that there was nothing he could teach

them. All the powers of his soul, as of every soldier there, were

unconsciously bent on avoiding the contemplation of the horrors of their

situation. He walked along the meadow, dragging his feet, rustling the

grass, and gazing at the dust that covered his boots now he took big

strides trying to keep to the footprints left on the meadow by the

mowers, then he counted his steps, calculating how often he must walk

from one strip to another to walk a mile, then he stripped the flowers

from the wormwood that grew along a boundary rut, rubbed them in his

palms, and smelled their pungent, sweetly bitter scent. Nothing remained

of the previous days thoughts. He thought of nothing. He listened with

weary ears to the ever-recurring sounds, distinguishing the whistle

of flying projectiles from the booming of the reports, glanced at the

tiresomely familiar faces of the men of the first battalion, and

waited. Here it comes... this one is coming our way again! he thought,

listening to an approaching whistle in the hidden region of smoke. One,

another! Again! It has hit.... He stopped and looked at the ranks. No,

it has gone over. But this one has hit! And again he started trying

to reach the boundary strip in sixteen paces. A whizz and a thud! Five

paces from him, a cannon ball tore up the dry earth and disappeared. A

chill ran down his back. Again he glanced at the ranks. Probably many

had been hita large crowd had gathered near the second battalion.



Adjutant! he shouted. Order them not to crowd together.



The adjutant, having obeyed this instruction, approached Prince Andrew.

From the other side a battalion commander rode up.



Look out! came a frightened cry from a soldier and, like a bird

whirring in rapid flight and alighting on the ground, a shell dropped

with little noise within two steps of Prince Andrew and close to the

battalion commanders 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 horses terror infected the men.



Lie down! cried the adjutant, throwing himself flat on the ground.



Prince Andrew hesitated. The smoking shell spun like a top between him

and the prostrate adjutant, near a wormwood plant between the field and

the meadow.



Can this be death? thought Prince Andrew, looking with a quite new,

envious glance at the grass, the wormwood, and the streamlet of smoke

that curled up from the rotating black ball. I cannot, I do not wish to

die. I love lifeI love this grass, this earth, this air.... He thought

this, and at the same time remembered that people were looking at him.



Its shameful, sir! he said to the adjutant. What...



He did not finish speaking. At one and the same moment came the sound of

an explosion, a whistle of splinters as from a breaking window frame,

a suffocating smell of powder, and Prince Andrew started to one side,

raising his arm, and fell on his chest. Several officers ran up to him.

From the right side of his abdomen, blood was welling out making a large

stain on the grass.



The militiamen with stretchers who were called up stood behind the

officers. Prince Andrew lay on his chest with his face in the grass,

breathing heavily and noisily.



What are you waiting for? Come along!



The peasants went up and took him by his shoulders and legs, but he

moaned piteously and, exchanging looks, they set him down again.



Pick him up, lift him, its all the same! cried someone.



They again took him by the shoulders and laid him on the stretcher.



Ah, God! My God! What is it? The stomach? That means death! My

God!voices among the officers were heard saying.



It flew a hairs breadth past my ear, said the adjutant.



The peasants, adjusting the stretcher to their shoulders, started

hurriedly along the path they had trodden down, to the dressing station.



Keep in step! Ah... those peasants! shouted an officer, seizing by

their shoulders and checking the peasants, who were walking unevenly and

jolting the stretcher.



Get into step, Fdor... I say, Fdor! said the foremost peasant.



Now thats right! said the one behind joyfully, when he had got into

step.



Your excellency! Eh, Prince! said the trembling voice of Timkhin, who

had run up and was looking down on the stretcher.



Prince Andrew opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker from the

stretcher into which his head had sunk deep and again his eyelids

drooped.





The militiamen carried Prince Andrew to the dressing station by the

wood, where wagons were stationed. The dressing station consisted of

three tents with flaps turned back, pitched at the edge of a birch wood.

In the wood, wagons and horses were standing. The horses were eating

oats from their movable troughs and sparrows flew down and pecked the

grains that fell. Some crows, scenting blood, flew among the birch

trees cawing impatiently. Around the tents, over more than five acres,

bloodstained men in various garbs stood, sat, or lay. Around the wounded

stood crowds of soldier stretcher-bearers with dismal and attentive

faces, whom the officers keeping order tried in vain to drive from the

spot. Disregarding the officers orders, the soldiers stood leaning

against their stretchers and gazing intently, as if trying to comprehend

the difficult problem of what was taking place before them. From the

tents came now loud angry cries and now plaintive groans. Occasionally

dressers ran out to fetch water, or to point out those who were to be

brought in next. The wounded men awaiting their turn outside the tents

groaned, sighed, wept, screamed, swore, or asked for vodka. Some were

delirious. Prince Andrews bearers, stepping over the wounded who had

not yet been bandaged, took him, as a regimental commander, close up to

one of the tents and there stopped, awaiting instructions. Prince Andrew

opened his eyes and for a long time could not make out what was going

on around him. He remembered the meadow, the wormwood, the field, the

whirling black ball, and his sudden rush of passionate love of life.

Two steps from him, leaning against a branch and talking loudly and

attracting general attention, stood a tall, handsome, black-haired

noncommissioned officer with a bandaged head. He had been wounded in the

head and leg by bullets. Around him, eagerly listening to his talk, a

crowd of wounded and stretcher-bearers was gathered.



We kicked him out from there so that he chucked everything, we grabbed

the King himself! cried he, looking around him with eyes that glittered

with fever. If only reserves had come up just then, lads, there

wouldnt have been nothing left of him! I tell you surely....



Like all the others near the speaker, Prince Andrew looked at him with

shining eyes and experienced a sense of comfort. But isnt it all the

same now? thought he. And what will be there, and what has there been

here? Why was I so reluctant to part with life? There was something in

this life I did not and do not understand.











CHAPTER XXXVII



One of the doctors came out of the tent in a bloodstained apron,

holding a cigar between the thumb and little finger of one of his small

bloodstained hands, so as not to smear it. He raised his head and looked

about him, but above the level of the wounded men. He evidently wanted a

little respite. After turning his head from right to left for some time,

he sighed and looked down.



All right, immediately, he replied to a dresser who pointed Prince

Andrew out to him, and he told them to carry him into the tent.



Murmurs arose among the wounded who were waiting.



It seems that even in the next world only the gentry are to have a

chance! remarked one.



Prince Andrew was carried in and laid on a table that had only just been

cleared and which a dresser was washing down. Prince Andrew could not

make out distinctly what was in that tent. The pitiful groans from all

sides and the torturing pain in his thigh, stomach, and back distracted

him. All he saw about him merged into a general impression of naked,

bleeding human bodies that seemed to fill the whole of the low tent, as

a few weeks previously, on that hot August day, such bodies had filled

the dirty pond beside the Smolnsk road. Yes, it was the same flesh,

the same chair  canon, the sight of which had even then filled him with

horror, as by a presentiment.



There were three operating tables in the tent. Two were occupied, and

on the third they placed Prince Andrew. For a little while he was left

alone and involuntarily witnessed what was taking place on the other two

tables. On the nearest one sat a Tartar, probably a Cossack, judging by

the uniform thrown down beside him. Four soldiers were holding him, and

a spectacled doctor was cutting into his muscular brown back.



Ooh, ooh, ooh! grunted the Tartar, and suddenly lifting up his swarthy

snub-nosed face with its high cheekbones, and baring his white teeth,

he began to wriggle and twitch his body and utter piercing, ringing,

and prolonged yells. On the other table, round which many people were

crowding, a tall well-fed man lay on his back with his head thrown back.

His curly hair, its color, and the shape of his head seemed strangely

familiar to Prince Andrew. Several dressers were pressing on his chest

to hold him down. One large, white, plump leg twitched rapidly all

the time with a feverish tremor. The man was sobbing and choking

convulsively. Two doctorsone of whom was pale and tremblingwere

silently doing something to this mans other, gory leg. When he had

finished with the Tartar, whom they covered with an overcoat, the

spectacled doctor came up to Prince Andrew, wiping his hands.



He glanced at Prince Andrews face and quickly turned away.



Undress him! What are you waiting for? he cried angrily to the

dressers.



His very first, remotest recollections of childhood came back to Prince

Andrews mind when the dresser with sleeves rolled up began hastily to

undo the buttons of his clothes and undressed him. The doctor bent

down over the wound, felt it, and sighed deeply. Then he made a sign to

someone, and the torturing pain in his abdomen caused Prince Andrew to

lose consciousness. When he came to himself the splintered portions of

his thighbone had been extracted, the torn flesh cut away, and the

wound bandaged. Water was being sprinkled on his face. As soon as Prince

Andrew opened his eyes, the doctor bent over, kissed him silently on the

lips, and hurried away.



After the sufferings he had been enduring, Prince Andrew enjoyed a

blissful feeling such as he had not experienced for a long time. All the

best and happiest moments of his lifeespecially his earliest childhood,

when he used to be undressed and put to bed, and when leaning over him

his nurse sang him to sleep and he, burying his head in the pillow,

felt happy in the mere consciousness of lifereturned to his memory, not

merely as something past but as something present.



The doctors were busily engaged with the wounded man the shape of whose

head seemed familiar to Prince Andrew they were lifting him up and

trying to quiet him.



Show it to me.... Oh, ooh... Oh! Oh, ooh! his frightened moans could

be heard, subdued by suffering and broken by sobs.



Hearing those moans Prince Andrew wanted to weep. Whether because he

was dying without glory, or because he was sorry to part with life,

or because of those memories of a childhood that could not return, or

because he was suffering and others were suffering and that man near him

was groaning so piteouslyhe felt like weeping childlike, kindly, and

almost happy tears.



The wounded man was shown his amputated leg stained with clotted blood

and with the boot still on.



Oh! Oh, ooh! he sobbed, like a woman.



The doctor who had been standing beside him, preventing Prince Andrew

from seeing his face, moved away.



My God! What is this? Why is he here? said Prince Andrew to himself.



In the miserable, sobbing, enfeebled man whose leg had just been

amputated, he recognized Anatole Kurgin. Men were supporting him in

their arms and offering him a glass of water, but his trembling, swollen

lips could not grasp its rim. Anatole was sobbing painfully. Yes, it is

he! Yes, that man is somehow closely and painfully connected with me,

thought Prince Andrew, not yet clearly grasping what he saw before him.

What is the connection of that man with my childhood and life? he

asked himself without finding an answer. And suddenly a new unexpected

memory from that realm of pure and loving childhood presented itself to

him. He remembered Natsha as he had seen her for the first time at the

ball in 1810, with her slender neck and arms and with a frightened happy

face ready for rapture, and love and tenderness for her, stronger

and more vivid than ever, awoke in his soul. He now remembered the

connection that existed between himself and this man who was dimly

gazing at him through tears that filled his swollen eyes. He remembered

everything, and ecstatic pity and love for that man overflowed his happy

heart.



Prince Andrew could no longer restrain himself and wept tender loving

tears for his fellow men, for himself, and for his own and their errors.



Compassion, love of our brothers, for those who love us and for those

who hate us, love of our enemies yes, that love which God preached on

earth and which Princess Mary taught me and I did not understandthat is

what made me sorry to part with life, that is what remained for me had I

lived. But now it is too late. I know it!











CHAPTER XXXVIII



The terrible spectacle of the battlefield covered with dead and wounded,

together with the heaviness of his head and the news that some twenty

generals he knew personally had been killed or wounded, and the

consciousness of the impotence of his once mighty arm, produced an

unexpected impression on Napoleon who usually liked to look at the

killed and wounded, thereby, he considered, testing his strength of

mind. This day the horrible appearance of the battlefield overcame

that strength of mind which he thought constituted his merit and his

greatness. He rode hurriedly from the battlefield and returned to the

Shevrdino knoll, where he sat on his campstool, his sallow face

swollen and heavy, his eyes dim, his nose red, and his voice hoarse,

involuntarily listening, with downcast eyes, to the sounds of firing.

With painful dejection he awaited the end of this action, in which he

regarded himself as a participant and which he was unable to arrest.

A personal, human feeling for a brief moment got the better of the

artificial phantasm of life he had served so long. He felt in his own

person the sufferings and death he had witnessed on the battlefield.

The heaviness of his head and chest reminded him of the possibility

of suffering and death for himself. At that moment he did not desire

Moscow, or victory, or glory (what need had he for any more glory?). The

one thing he wished for was rest, tranquillity, and freedom. But when he

had been on the Semnovsk heights the artillery commander had proposed

to him to bring several batteries of artillery up to those heights to

strengthen the fire on the Russian troops crowded in front of Knyazkvo.

Napoleon had assented and had given orders that news should be brought

to him of the effect those batteries produced.



An adjutant came now to inform him that the fire of two hundred guns

had been concentrated on the Russians, as he had ordered, but that they

still held their ground.



Our fire is mowing them down by rows, but still they hold on, said the

adjutant.



They want more!... said Napoleon in a hoarse voice.



Sire? asked the adjutant who had not heard the remark.



They want more! croaked Napoleon frowning. Let them have it!



Even before he gave that order the thing he did not desire, and for

which he gave the order only because he thought it was expected of him,

was being done. And he fell back into that artificial realm of imaginary

greatness, and againas a horse walking a treadmill thinks it is doing

something for itselfhe submissively fulfilled the cruel, sad, gloomy,

and inhuman role predestined for him.



And not for that day and hour alone were the mind and conscience

darkened of this man on whom the responsibility for what was happening

lay more than on all the others who took part in it. Never to the end

of his life could he understand goodness, beauty, or truth, or the

significance of his actions which were too contrary to goodness and

truth, too remote from everything human, for him ever to be able to

grasp their meaning. He could not disavow his actions, belauded as they

were by half the world, and so he had to repudiate truth, goodness, and

all humanity.



Not only on that day, as he rode over the battlefield strewn with men

killed and maimed (by his will as he believed), did he reckon as he

looked at them how many Russians there were for each Frenchman and,

deceiving himself, find reason for rejoicing in the calculation that

there were five Russians for every Frenchman. Not on that day alone

did he write in a letter to Paris that the battle field was superb,

because fifty thousand corpses lay there, but even on the island of St.

Helena in the peaceful solitude where he said he intended to devote his

leisure to an account of the great deeds he had done, he wrote



The Russian war should have been the most popular war of modern times

it was a war of good sense, for real interests, for the tranquillity and

security of all it was purely pacific and conservative.



It was a war for a great cause, the end of uncertainties and the

beginning of security. A new horizon and new labors were opening out,

full of well-being and prosperity for all. The European system was

already founded all that remained was to organize it.



Satisfied on these great points and with tranquility everywhere, I

too should have had my Congress and my Holy Alliance. Those ideas were

stolen from me. In that reunion of great sovereigns we should have

discussed our interests like one family, and have rendered account to

the peoples as clerk to master.



Europe would in this way soon have been, in fact, but one people, and

anyone who traveled anywhere would have found himself always in the

common fatherland. I should have demanded the freedom of all navigable

rivers for everybody, that the seas should be common to all, and that

the great standing armies should be reduced henceforth to mere guards

for the sovereigns.



On returning to France, to the bosom of the great, strong, magnificent,

peaceful, and glorious fatherland, I should have proclaimed

her frontiers immutable all future wars purely defensive, all

aggrandizement antinational. I should have associated my son in the

Empire my dictatorship would have been finished, and his constitutional

reign would have begun.



Paris would have been the capital of the world, and the French the envy

of the nations!



My leisure then, and my old age, would have been devoted, in company

with the Empress and during the royal apprenticeship of my son, to

leisurely visiting, with our own horses and like a true country couple,

every corner of the Empire, receiving complaints, redressing wrongs,

and scattering public buildings and benefactions on all sides and

everywhere.



Napoleon, predestined by Providence for the gloomy role of executioner

of the peoples, assured himself that the aim of his actions had been the

peoples welfare and that he could control the fate of millions and by

the employment of power confer benefactions.



Of four hundred thousand who crossed the Vistula, he wrote further

of the Russian war, half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles,

Bavarians, Wrttembergers, Mecklenburgers, Spaniards, Italians, and

Neapolitans. The Imperial army, strictly speaking, was one third

composed of Dutch, Belgians, men from the borders of the Rhine,

Piedmontese, Swiss, Genevese, Tuscans, Romans, inhabitants of the

Thirty-second Military Division, of Bremen, of Hamburg, and so on it

included scarcely a hundred and forty thousand who spoke French. The

Russian expedition actually cost France less than fifty thousand men

the Russian army in its retreat from Vlna to Moscow lost in the various

battles four times more men than the French army the burning of Moscow

cost the lives of a hundred thousand Russians who died of cold and want

in the woods finally, in its march from Moscow to the Oder the Russian

army also suffered from the severity of the season so that by the time

it reached Vlna it numbered only fifty thousand, and at Klisch less

than eighteen thousand.



He imagined that the war with Russia came about by his will, and the

horrors that occurred did not stagger his soul. He boldly took the

whole responsibility for what happened, and his darkened mind found

justification in the belief that among the hundreds of thousands who

perished there were fewer Frenchmen than Hessians and Bavarians.











CHAPTER XXXIX



Several tens of thousands of the slain lay in diverse postures and

various uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to the Davdov

family and to the crown serfsthose fields and meadows where for

hundreds of years the peasants of Borodin, Grki, Shevrdino, and

Semnovsk had reaped their harvests and pastured their cattle. At the

dressing stations the grass and earth were soaked with blood for a space

of some three acres around. Crowds of men of various arms, wounded and

unwounded, with frightened faces, dragged themselves back to Mozhysk

from the one army and back to Valevo from the other. Other crowds,

exhausted and hungry, went forward led by their officers. Others held

their ground and continued to fire.



Over the whole field, previously so gaily beautiful with the glitter of

bayonets and cloudlets of smoke in the morning sun, there now spread a

mist of damp and smoke and a strange acid smell of saltpeter and blood.

Clouds gathered and drops of rain began to fall on the dead and wounded,

on the frightened, exhausted, and hesitating men, as if to say Enough,

men! Enough! Cease... bethink yourselves! What are you doing?



To the men of both sides alike, worn out by want of food and rest,

it began equally to appear doubtful whether they should continue to

slaughter one another all the faces expressed hesitation, and the

question arose in every soul For what, for whom, must I kill and be

killed?... You may go and kill whom you please, but I dont want to do

so any more! By evening this thought had ripened in every soul. At any

moment these men might have been seized with horror at what they were

doing and might have thrown up everything and run away anywhere.



But though toward the end of the battle the men felt all the horror of

what they were doing, though they would have been glad to leave off,

some incomprehensible, mysterious power continued to control them, and

they still brought up the charges, loaded, aimed, and applied the match,

though only one artilleryman survived out of every three, and though

they stumbled and panted with fatigue, perspiring and stained with blood

and powder. The cannon balls flew just as swiftly and cruelly from both

sides, crushing human bodies, and that terrible work which was not done

by the will of a man but at the will of Him who governs men and worlds

continued.



Anyone looking at the disorganized rear of the Russian army would have

said that, if only the French made one more slight effort, it would

disappear and anyone looking at the rear of the French army would have

said that the Russians need only make one more slight effort and the

French would be destroyed. But neither the French nor the Russians made

that effort, and the flame of battle burned slowly out.



The Russians did not make that effort because they were not attacking

the French. At the beginning of the battle they stood blocking the

way to Moscow and they still did so at the end of the battle as at the

beginning. But even had the aim of the Russians been to drive the French

from their positions, they could not have made this last effort, for all

the Russian troops had been broken up, there was no part of the Russian

army that had not suffered in the battle, and though still holding their

positions they had lost ONE HALF of their army.



The French, with the memory of all their former victories during

fifteen years, with the assurance of Napoleons invincibility, with the

consciousness that they had captured part of the battlefield and had

lost only a quarter of their men and still had their Guards intact,

twenty thousand strong, might easily have made that effort. The French

who had attacked the Russian army in order to drive it from its position

ought to have made that effort, for as long as the Russians continued to

block the road to Moscow as before, the aim of the French had not been

attained and all their efforts and losses were in vain. But the French

did not make that effort. Some historians say that Napoleon need only

have used his Old Guards, who were intact, and the battle would have

been won. To speak of what would have happened had Napoleon sent his

Guards is like talking of what would happen if autumn became spring. It

could not be. Napoleon did not give his Guards, not because he did not

want to, but because it could not be done. All the generals, officers,

and soldiers of the French army knew it could not be done, because the

flagging spirit of the troops would not permit it.



It was not Napoleon alone who had experienced that nightmare feeling

of the mighty arm being stricken powerless, but all the generals and

soldiers of his army whether they had taken part in the battle or not,

after all their experience of previous battleswhen after one tenth of

such efforts the enemy had fledexperienced a similar feeling of terror

before an enemy who, after losing HALF his men, stood as threateningly

at the end as at the beginning of the battle. The moral force of the

attacking French army was exhausted. Not that sort of victory which is

defined by the capture of pieces of material fastened to sticks, called

standards, and of the ground on which the troops had stood and were

standing, but a moral victory that convinces the enemy of the moral

superiority of his opponent and of his own impotence was gained by the

Russians at Borodin. The French invaders, like an infuriated animal

that has in its onslaught received a mortal wound, felt that they were

perishing, but could not stop, any more than the Russian army, weaker

by one half, could help swerving. By impetus gained, the French army was

still able to roll forward to Moscow, but there, without further effort

on the part of the Russians, it had to perish, bleeding from the mortal

wound it had received at Borodin. The direct consequence of the battle

of Borodin was Napoleons senseless flight from Moscow, his retreat

along the old Smolnsk road, the destruction of the invading army of

five hundred thousand men, and the downfall of Napoleonic France, on

which at Borodin for the first time the hand of an opponent of stronger

spirit had been laid.











BOOK ELEVEN 1812











CHAPTER I



Absolute continuity of motion is not comprehensible to the human mind.

Laws of motion of any kind become comprehensible to man only when he

examines arbitrarily selected elements of that motion but at the

same time, a large proportion of human error comes from the arbitrary

division of continuous motion into discontinuous elements. There is a

well-known, so-called sophism of the ancients consisting in this, that

Achilles could never catch up with a tortoise he was following, in spite

of the fact that he traveled ten times as fast as the tortoise. By

the time Achilles has covered the distance that separated him from the

tortoise, the tortoise has covered one tenth of that distance ahead

of him when Achilles has covered that tenth, the tortoise has covered

another one hundredth, and so on forever. This problem seemed to

the ancients insoluble. The absurd answer (that Achilles could never

overtake the tortoise) resulted from this that motion was arbitrarily

divided into discontinuous elements, whereas the motion both of Achilles

and of the tortoise was continuous.



By adopting smaller and smaller elements of motion we only approach a

solution of the problem, but never reach it. Only when we have admitted

the conception of the infinitely small, and the resulting geometrical

progression with a common ratio of one tenth, and have found the sum of

this progression to infinity, do we reach a solution of the problem.



A modern branch of mathematics having achieved the art of dealing with

the infinitely small can now yield solutions in other more complex

problems of motion which used to appear insoluble.



This modern branch of mathematics, unknown to the ancients, when dealing

with problems of motion admits the conception of the infinitely small,

and so conforms to the chief condition of motion (absolute continuity)

and thereby corrects the inevitable error which the human mind cannot

avoid when it deals with separate elements of motion instead of

examining continuous motion.



In seeking the laws of historical movement just the same thing happens.

The movement of humanity, arising as it does from innumerable arbitrary

human wills, is continuous.



To understand the laws of this continuous movement is the aim of

history. But to arrive at these laws, resulting from the sum of all

those human wills, mans mind postulates arbitrary and disconnected

units. The first method of history is to take an arbitrarily selected

series of continuous events and examine it apart from others, though

there is and can be no beginning to any event, for one event always

flows uninterruptedly from another.



The second method is to consider the actions of some one mana king or a

commanderas equivalent to the sum of many individual wills whereas the

sum of individual wills is never expressed by the activity of a single

historic personage.



Historical science in its endeavor to draw nearer to truth continually

takes smaller and smaller units for examination. But however small the

units it takes, we feel that to take any unit disconnected from others,

or to assume a beginning of any phenomenon, or to say that the will of

many men is expressed by the actions of any one historic personage, is

in itself false.



It needs no critical exertion to reduce utterly to dust any deductions

drawn from history. It is merely necessary to select some larger or

smaller unit as the subject of observationas criticism has every

right to do, seeing that whatever unit history observes must always be

arbitrarily selected.



Only by taking infinitesimally small units for observation (the

differential of history, that is, the individual tendencies of men) and

attaining to the art of integrating them (that is, finding the sum of

these infinitesimals) can we hope to arrive at the laws of history.



The first fifteen years of the nineteenth century in Europe present an

extraordinary movement of millions of people. Men leave their customary

pursuits, hasten from one side of Europe to the other, plunder and

slaughter one another, triumph and are plunged in despair, and for some

years the whole course of life is altered and presents an intensive

movement which first increases and then slackens. What was the cause of

this movement, by what laws was it governed? asks the mind of man.



The historians, replying to this question, lay before us the sayings and

doings of a few dozen men in a building in the city of Paris, calling

these sayings and doings the Revolution then they give a detailed

biography of Napoleon and of certain people favorable or hostile to him

tell of the influence some of these people had on others, and say that

is why this movement took place and those are its laws.



But the mind of man not only refuses to believe this explanation, but

plainly says that this method of explanation is fallacious, because in

it a weaker phenomenon is taken as the cause of a stronger. The sum of

human wills produced the Revolution and Napoleon, and only the sum of

those wills first tolerated and then destroyed them.



But every time there have been conquests there have been conquerors

every time there has been a revolution in any state there have been

great men, says history. And, indeed, human reason replies every time

conquerors appear there have been wars, but this does not prove that the

conquerors caused the wars and that it is possible to find the laws of

a war in the personal activity of a single man. Whenever I look at my

watch and its hands point to ten, I hear the bells of the neighboring

church but because the bells begin to ring when the hands of the clock

reach ten, I have no right to assume that the movement of the bells is

caused by the position of the hands of the watch.



Whenever I see the movement of a locomotive I hear the whistle and see

the valves opening and wheels turning but I have no right to conclude

that the whistling and the turning of wheels are the cause of the

movement of the engine.



The peasants say that a cold wind blows in late spring because the oaks

are budding, and really every spring cold winds do blow when the oak

is budding. But though I do not know what causes the cold winds to blow

when the oak buds unfold, I cannot agree with the peasants that the

unfolding of the oak buds is the cause of the cold wind, for the

force of the wind is beyond the influence of the buds. I see only a

coincidence of occurrences such as happens with all the phenomena of

life, and I see that however much and however carefully I observe the

hands of the watch, and the valves and wheels of the engine, and the

oak, I shall not discover the cause of the bells ringing, the engine

moving, or of the winds of spring. To that I must entirely change my

point of view and study the laws of the movement of steam, of the

bells, and of the wind. History must do the same. And attempts in this

direction have already been made.



To study the laws of history we must completely change the subject of

our observation, must leave aside kings, ministers, and generals, and

study the common, infinitesimally small elements by which the masses are

moved. No one can say in how far it is possible for man to advance

in this way toward an understanding of the laws of history but it is

evident that only along that path does the possibility of discovering

the laws of history lie, and that as yet not a millionth part as much

mental effort has been applied in this direction by historians as has

been devoted to describing the actions of various kings, commanders,

and ministers and propounding the historians own reflections concerning

these actions.











CHAPTER II



The forces of a dozen European nations burst into Russia. The Russian

army and people avoided a collision till Smolnsk was reached, and again

from Smolnsk to Borodin. The French army pushed on to Moscow, its

goal, its impetus ever increasing as it neared its aim, just as the

velocity of a falling body increases as it approaches the earth. Behind

it were seven hundred miles of hunger-stricken, hostile country ahead

were a few dozen miles separating it from its goal. Every soldier in

Napoleons army felt this and the invasion moved on by its own momentum.



The more the Russian army retreated the more fiercely a spirit of hatred

of the enemy flared up, and while it retreated the army increased and

consolidated. At Borodin a collision took place. Neither army was

broken up, but the Russian army retreated immediately after the

collision as inevitably as a ball recoils after colliding with another

having a greater momentum, and with equal inevitability the ball

of invasion that had advanced with such momentum rolled on for some

distance, though the collision had deprived it of all its force.



The Russians retreated eighty milesto beyond Moscowand the French

reached Moscow and there came to a standstill. For five weeks after that

there was not a single battle. The French did not move. As a bleeding,

mortally wounded animal licks its wounds, they remained inert in Moscow

for five weeks, and then suddenly, with no fresh reason, fled back

they made a dash for the Kalga road, and (after a victoryfor at

Mlo-Yaroslvets the field of conflict again remained theirs) without

undertaking a single serious battle, they fled still more rapidly back

to Smolnsk, beyond Smolnsk, beyond the Berzina, beyond Vlna, and

farther still.



On the evening of the twenty-sixth of August, Kutzov and the whole

Russian army were convinced that the battle of Borodin was a victory.

Kutzov reported so to the Emperor. He gave orders to prepare for a

fresh conflict to finish the enemy and did this not to deceive anyone,

but because he knew that the enemy was beaten, as everyone who had taken

part in the battle knew it.



But all that evening and next day reports came in one after another

of unheard-of losses, of the loss of half the army, and a fresh battle

proved physically impossible.



It was impossible to give battle before information had been collected,

the wounded gathered in, the supplies of ammunition replenished, the

slain reckoned up, new officers appointed to replace those who had been

killed, and before the men had had food and sleep. And meanwhile, the

very next morning after the battle, the French army advanced of itself

upon the Russians, carried forward by the force of its own momentum now

seemingly increased in inverse proportion to the square of the distance

from its aim. Kutzovs wish was to attack next day, and the whole

army desired to do so. But to make an attack the wish to do so is not

sufficient, there must also be a possibility of doing it, and that

possibility did not exist. It was impossible not to retreat a days

march, and then in the same way it was impossible not to retreat another

and a third days march, and at last, on the first of September when

the army drew near Moscowdespite the strength of the feeling that had

arisen in all ranksthe force of circumstances compelled it to retire

beyond Moscow. And the troops retired one more, last, days march, and

abandoned Moscow to the enemy.



For people accustomed to think that plans of campaign and battles are

made by generalsas anyone of us sitting over a map in his study may

imagine how he would have arranged things in this or that battlethe

questions present themselves Why did Kutzov during the retreat not do

this or that? Why did he not take up a position before reaching Fil?

Why did he not retire at once by the Kalga road, abandoning Moscow? and

so on. People accustomed to think in that way forget, or do not know,

the inevitable conditions which always limit the activities of any

commander in chief. The activity of a commander in chief does not at all

resemble the activity we imagine to ourselves when we sit at ease in

our studies examining some campaign on the map, with a certain number of

troops on this and that side in a certain known locality, and begin our

plans from some given moment. A commander in chief is never dealing with

the beginning of any eventthe position from which we always contemplate

it. The commander in chief is always in the midst of a series of

shifting events and so he never can at any moment consider the whole

import of an event that is occurring. Moment by moment the event is

imperceptibly shaping itself, and at every moment of this continuous,

uninterrupted shaping of events the commander in chief is in the

midst of a most complex play of intrigues, worries, contingencies,

authorities, projects, counsels, threats, and deceptions and is

continually obliged to reply to innumerable questions addressed to him,

which constantly conflict with one another.



Learned military authorities quite seriously tell us that Kutzov should

have moved his army to the Kalga road long before reaching Fil, and

that somebody actually submitted such a proposal to him. But a commander

in chief, especially at a difficult moment, has always before him not

one proposal but dozens simultaneously. And all these proposals, based

on strategics and tactics, contradict each other.



A commander in chiefs business, it would seem, is simply to choose one

of these projects. But even that he cannot do. Events and time do not

wait. For instance, on the twenty-eighth it is suggested to him to

cross to the Kalga road, but just then an adjutant gallops up from

Milordovich asking whether he is to engage the French or retire. An

order must be given him at once, that instant. And the order to retreat

carries us past the turn to the Kalga road. And after the adjutant

comes the commissary general asking where the stores are to be taken,

and the chief of the hospitals asks where the wounded are to go, and a

courier from Petersburg brings a letter from the sovereign which does

not admit of the possibility of abandoning Moscow, and the commander in

chiefs rival, the man who is undermining him (and there are always

not merely one but several such), presents a new project diametrically

opposed to that of turning to the Kalga road, and the commander in

chief himself needs sleep and refreshment to maintain his energy and

a respectable general who has been overlooked in the distribution of

rewards comes to complain, and the inhabitants of the district pray to

be defended, and an officer sent to inspect the locality comes in and

gives a report quite contrary to what was said by the officer

previously sent and a spy, a prisoner, and a general who has been

on reconnaissance, all describe the position of the enemys army

differently. People accustomed to misunderstand or to forget these

inevitable conditions of a commander in chiefs actions describe to

us, for instance, the position of the army at Fil and assume that the

commander in chief could, on the first of September, quite freely decide

whether to abandon Moscow or defend it whereas, with the Russian army

less than four miles from Moscow, no such question existed. When had

that question been settled? At Drissa and at Smolnsk and most

palpably of all on the twenty-fourth of August at Shevrdino and on

the twenty-sixth at Borodin, and each day and hour and minute of the

retreat from Borodin to Fil.











CHAPTER III



When Ermlov, having been sent by Kutzov to inspect the position, told

the field marshal that it was impossible to fight there before Moscow

and that they must retreat, Kutzov looked at him in silence.



Give me your hand, said he and, turning it over so as to feel the

pulse, added You are not well, my dear fellow. Think what you are

saying!



Kutzov could not yet admit the possibility of retreating beyond Moscow

without a battle.



On the Poklnny Hill, four miles from the Dorogomlov gate of Moscow,

Kutzov got out of his carriage and sat down on a bench by the roadside.

A great crowd of generals gathered round him, and Count Rostopchn, who

had come out from Moscow, joined them. This brilliant company separated

into several groups who all discussed the advantages and disadvantages

of the position, the state of the army, the plans suggested, the

situation of Moscow, and military questions generally. Though they had

not been summoned for the purpose, and though it was not so called, they

all felt that this was really a council of war. The conversations all

dealt with public questions. If anyone gave or asked for personal

news, it was done in a whisper and they immediately reverted to general

matters. No jokes, or laughter, or smiles even, were seen among all

these men. They evidently all made an effort to hold themselves at the

height the situation demanded. And all these groups, while talking

among themselves, tried to keep near the commander in chief (whose

bench formed the center of the gathering) and to speak so that he might

overhear them. The commander in chief listened to what was being said

and sometimes asked them to repeat their remarks, but did not himself

take part in the conversations or express any opinion. After hearing

what was being said by one or other of these groups he generally turned

away with an air of disappointment, as though they were not speaking of

anything he wished to hear. Some discussed the position that had been

chosen, criticizing not the position itself so much as the mental

capacity of those who had chosen it. Others argued that a mistake had

been made earlier and that a battle should have been fought two days

before. Others again spoke of the battle of Salamanca, which was

described by Crosart, a newly arrived Frenchman in a Spanish uniform.

(This Frenchman and one of the German princes serving with the Russian

army were discussing the siege of Saragossa and considering the

possibility of defending Moscow in a similar manner.) Count Rostopchn

was telling a fourth group that he was prepared to die with the city

train bands under the walls of the capital, but that he still could not

help regretting having been left in ignorance of what was happening, and

that had he known it sooner things would have been different.... A

fifth group, displaying the profundity of their strategic perceptions,

discussed the direction the troops would now have to take. A sixth group

was talking absolute nonsense. Kutzovs expression grew more and more

preoccupied and gloomy. From all this talk he saw only one thing that

to defend Moscow was a physical impossibility in the full meaning of

those words, that is to say, so utterly impossible that if any senseless

commander were to give orders to fight, confusion would result but the

battle would still not take place. It would not take place because the

commanders not merely all recognized the position to be impossible, but

in their conversations were only discussing what would happen after its

inevitable abandonment. How could the commanders lead their troops to

a field of battle they considered impossible to hold? The lower-grade

officers and even the soldiers (who too reason) also considered the

position impossible and therefore could not go to fight, fully convinced

as they were of defeat. If Bennigsen insisted on the position being

defended and others still discussed it, the question was no longer

important in itself but only as a pretext for disputes and intrigue.

This Kutzov knew well.



Bennigsen, who had chosen the position, warmly displayed his Russian

patriotism (Kutzov could not listen to this without wincing) by

insisting that Moscow must be defended. His aim was as clear as daylight

to Kutzov if the defense failed, to throw the blame on Kutzov who had

brought the army as far as the Sparrow Hills without giving battle if

it succeeded, to claim the success as his own or if battle were not

given, to clear himself of the crime of abandoning Moscow. But this

intrigue did not now occupy the old mans mind. One terrible question

absorbed him and to that question he heard no reply from anyone. The

question for him now was Have I really allowed Napoleon to reach

Moscow, and when did I do so? When was it decided? Can it have been

yesterday when I ordered Pltov to retreat, or was it the evening

before, when I had a nap and told Bennigsen to issue orders? Or was it

earlier still?... When, when was this terrible affair decided? Moscow

must be abandoned. The army must retreat and the order to do so must

be given. To give that terrible order seemed to him equivalent to

resigning the command of the army. And not only did he love power to

which he was accustomed (the honours awarded to Prince Prozorvski,

under whom he had served in Turkey, galled him), but he was convinced

that he was destined to save Russia and that that was why, against

the Emperors wish and by the will of the people, he had been chosen

commander in chief. He was convinced that he alone could maintain

command of the army in these difficult circumstances, and that in all

the world he alone could encounter the invincible Napoleon without fear,

and he was horrified at the thought of the order he had to issue. But

something had to be decided, and these conversations around him which

were assuming too free a character must be stopped.



He called the most important generals to him.



My head, be it good or bad, must depend on itself, said he, rising

from the bench, and he rode to Fil where his carriages were waiting.











CHAPTER IV



The Council of War began to assemble at two in the afternoon in the

better and roomier part of Andrew Savostynovs hut. The men, women, and

children of the large peasant family crowded into the back room across

the passage. Only Malsha, Andrews six-year-old granddaughter whom

his Serene Highness had petted and to whom he had given a lump of sugar

while drinking his tea, remained on the top of the brick oven in the

larger room. Malsha looked down from the oven with shy delight at the

faces, uniforms, and decorations of the generals, who one after another

came into the room and sat down on the broad benches in the corner

under the icons. Granddad himself, as Malsha in her own mind called

Kutzov, sat apart in a dark corner behind the oven. He sat, sunk deep

in a folding armchair, and continually cleared his throat and pulled at

the collar of his coat which, though it was unbuttoned, still seemed

to pinch his neck. Those who entered went up one by one to the field

marshal he pressed the hands of some and nodded to others. His adjutant

Kaysrov was about to draw back the curtain of the window facing

Kutzov, but the latter moved his hand angrily and Kaysrov understood

that his Serene Highness did not wish his face to be seen.



Round the peasants deal table, on which lay maps, plans, pencils, and

papers, so many people gathered that the orderlies brought in another

bench and put it beside the table. Ermlov, Kaysrov, and Toll, who had

just arrived, sat down on this bench. In the foremost place, immediately

under the icons, sat Barclay de Tolly, his high forehead merging into

his bald crown. He had a St. Georges Cross round his neck and looked

pale and ill. He had been feverish for two days and was now shivering

and in pain. Beside him sat Uvrov, who with rapid gesticulations was

giving him some information, speaking in low tones as they all did.

Chubby little Dokhtrov was listening attentively with eyebrows

raised and arms folded on his stomach. On the other side sat Count

Ostermann-Tolsty, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts. His broad

head with its bold features and glittering eyes was resting on his hand.

Ravski, twitching forward the black hair on his temples as was his

habit, glanced now at Kutzov and now at the door with a look of

impatience. Konovntsyns firm, handsome, and kindly face was lit up by

a tender, sly smile. His glance met Malshas, and the expression of his

eyes caused the little girl to smile.



They were all waiting for Bennigsen, who on the pretext of inspecting

the position was finishing his savory dinner. They waited for him from

four till six oclock and did not begin their deliberations all that

time but talked in low tones of other matters.



Only when Bennigsen had entered the hut did Kutzov leave his corner and

draw toward the table, but not near enough for the candles that had been

placed there to light up his face.



Bennigsen opened the council with the question Are we to abandon

Russias ancient and sacred capital without a struggle, or are we to

defend it? A prolonged and general silence followed. There was a frown

on every face and only Kutzovs angry grunts and occasional cough

broke the silence. All eyes were gazing at him. Malsha too looked at

Granddad. She was nearest to him and saw how his face puckered he

seemed about to cry, but this did not last long.



Russias ancient and sacred capital! he suddenly said, repeating

Bennigsens words in an angry voice and thereby drawing attention to the

false note in them. Allow me to tell you, your excellency, that that

question has no meaning for a Russian. (He lurched his heavy body

forward.) Such a question cannot be put it is senseless! The question

I have asked these gentlemen to meet to discuss is a military one.

The question is that of saving Russia. Is it better to give up Moscow

without a battle, or by accepting battle to risk losing the army as well

as Moscow? That is the question on which I want your opinion, and he

sank back in his chair.



The discussion began. Bennigsen did not yet consider his game lost.

Admitting the view of Barclay and others that a defensive battle at

Fil was impossible, but imbued with Russian patriotism and the love

of Moscow, he proposed to move troops from the right to the left flank

during the night and attack the French right flank the following day.

Opinions were divided, and arguments were advanced for and against that

project. Ermlov, Dokhtrov, and Ravski agreed with Bennigsen. Whether

feeling it necessary to make a sacrifice before abandoning the capital

or guided by other, personal considerations, these generals seemed not

to understand that this council could not alter the inevitable course

of events and that Moscow was in effect already abandoned. The other

generals, however, understood it and, leaving aside the question of

Moscow, spoke of the direction the army should take in its retreat.

Malsha, who kept her eyes fixed on what was going on before her,

understood the meaning of the council differently. It seemed to her that

it was only a personal struggle between Granddad and Long-coat as

she termed Bennigsen. She saw that they grew spiteful when they spoke to

one another, and in her heart she sided with Granddad. In the midst of

the conversation she noticed Granddad give Bennigsen a quick, subtle

glance, and then to her joys she saw that Granddad said something to

Long-coat which settled him. Bennigsen suddenly reddened and paced

angrily up and down the room. What so affected him was Kutzovs calm

and quiet comment on the advantage or disadvantage of Bennigsens

proposal to move troops by night from the right to the left flank to

attack the French right wing.



Gentlemen, said Kutzov, I cannot approve of the counts plan. Moving

troops in close proximity to an enemy is always dangerous, and military

history supports that view. For instance... Kutzov seemed to reflect,

searching for an example, then with a clear, nave look at Bennigsen he

added Oh yes take the battle of Friedland, which I think the count

well remembers, and which was... not fully successful, only because our

troops were rearranged too near the enemy....



There followed a momentary pause, which seemed very long to them all.



The discussion recommenced, but pauses frequently occurred and they all

felt that there was no more to be said.



During one of these pauses Kutzov heaved a deep sigh as if preparing to

speak. They all looked at him.



Well, gentlemen, I see that it is I who will have to pay for the broken

crockery, said he, and rising slowly he moved to the table. Gentlemen,

I have heard your views. Some of you will not agree with me. But I, he

paused, by the authority entrusted to me by my Sovereign and country,

order a retreat.



After that the generals began to disperse with the solemnity and

circumspect silence of people who are leaving, after a funeral.



Some of the generals, in low tones and in a strain very different from

the way they had spoken during the council, communicated something to

their commander in chief.



Malsha, who had long been expected for supper, climbed carefully

backwards down from the oven, her bare little feet catching at its

projections, and slipping between the legs of the generals she darted

out of the room.



When he had dismissed the generals Kutzov sat a long time with his

elbows on the table, thinking always of the same terrible question

When, when did the abandonment of Moscow become inevitable? When was

that done which settled the matter? And who was to blame for it?



I did not expect this, said he to his adjutant Schneider when the

latter came in late that night. I did not expect this! I did not think

this would happen.



You should take some rest, your Serene Highness, replied Schneider.



But no! They shall eat horseflesh yet, like the Turks! exclaimed

Kutzov without replying, striking the table with his podgy fist. They

shall too, if only...











CHAPTER V



At that very time, in circumstances even more important than retreating

without a battle, namely the evacuation and burning of Moscow,

Rostopchn, who is usually represented as being the instigator of that

event, acted in an altogether different manner from Kutzov.



After the battle of Borodin the abandonment and burning of Moscow was

as inevitable as the retreat of the army beyond Moscow without fighting.



Every Russian might have predicted it, not by reasoning but by the

feeling implanted in each of us and in our fathers.



The same thing that took place in Moscow had happened in all the towns

and villages on Russian soil beginning with Smolnsk, without the

participation of Count Rostopchn and his broadsheets. The people

awaited the enemy unconcernedly, did not riot or become excited or tear

anyone to pieces, but faced its fate, feeling within it the strength to

find what it should do at that most difficult moment. And as soon as the

enemy drew near the wealthy classes went away abandoning their property,

while the poorer remained and burned and destroyed what was left.



The consciousness that this would be so and would always be so was and

is present in the heart of every Russian. And a consciousness of this,

and a foreboding that Moscow would be taken, was present in Russian

Moscow society in 1812. Those who had quitted Moscow already in July

and at the beginning of August showed that they expected this. Those who

went away, taking what they could and abandoning their houses and half

their belongings, did so from the latent patriotism which expresses

itself not by phrases or by giving ones children to save the fatherland

and similar unnatural exploits, but unobtrusively, simply, organically,

and therefore in the way that always produces the most powerful results.



It is disgraceful to run away from danger only cowards are running

away from Moscow, they were told. In his broadsheets Rostopchn

impressed on them that to leave Moscow was shameful. They were ashamed

to be called cowards, ashamed to leave, but still they left, knowing

it had to be done. Why did they go? It is impossible to suppose that

Rostopchn had scared them by his accounts of horrors Napoleon had

committed in conquered countries. The first people to go away were the

rich educated people who knew quite well that Vienna and Berlin had

remained intact and that during Napoleons occupation the inhabitants

had spent their time pleasantly in the company of the charming Frenchmen

whom the Russians, and especially the Russian ladies, then liked so

much.



They went away because for Russians there could be no question as to

whether things would go well or ill under French rule in Moscow. It was

out of the question to be under French rule, it would be the worst thing

that could happen. They went away even before the battle of Borodin and

still more rapidly after it, despite Rostopchns calls to defend Moscow

or the announcement of his intention to take the wonder-working icon of

the Iberian Mother of God and go to fight, or of the balloons that were

to destroy the French, and despite all the nonsense Rostopchn wrote in

his broadsheets. They knew that it was for the army to fight, and that

if it could not succeed it would not do to take young ladies and house

serfs to the Three Hills quarter of Moscow to fight Napoleon, and that

they must go away, sorry as they were to abandon their property

to destruction. They went away without thinking of the tremendous

significance of that immense and wealthy city being given over to

destruction, for a great city with wooden buildings was certain when

abandoned by its inhabitants to be burned. They went away each on his

own account, and yet it was only in consequence of their going away

that the momentous event was accomplished that will always remain the

greatest glory of the Russian people. The lady who, afraid of being

stopped by Count Rostopchns orders, had already in June moved with her

Negroes and her women jesters from Moscow to her Sartov estate, with

a vague consciousness that she was not Bonapartes servant, was really,

simply, and truly carrying out the great work which saved Russia. But

Count Rostopchn, who now taunted those who left Moscow and now had the

government offices removed now distributed quite useless weapons to

the drunken rabble now had processions displaying the icons, and now

forbade Father Augustin to remove icons or the relics of saints now

seized all the private carts in Moscow and on one hundred and thirty-six

of them removed the balloon that was being constructed by Leppich now

hinted that he would burn Moscow and related how he had set fire to his

own house now wrote a proclamation to the French solemnly upbraiding

them for having destroyed his Orphanage now claimed the glory of

having hinted that he would burn Moscow and now repudiated the deed

now ordered the people to catch all spies and bring them to him, and now

reproached them for doing so now expelled all the French residents from

Moscow, and now allowed Madame Aubert-Chalm (the center of the whole

French colony in Moscow) to remain, but ordered the venerable old

postmaster Klyucharv to be arrested and exiled for no particular

offense now assembled the people at the Three Hills to fight the French

and now, to get rid of them, handed over to them a man to be killed

and himself drove away by a back gate now declared that he would

not survive the fall of Moscow, and now wrote French verses in albums

concerning his share in the affairthis man did not understand the

meaning of what was happening but merely wanted to do something himself

that would astonish people, to perform some patriotically heroic

feat and like a child he made sport of the momentous, and unavoidable

eventthe abandonment and burning of Moscowand tried with his puny hand

now to speed and now to stay the enormous, popular tide that bore him

along with it.











CHAPTER VI



Hlne, having returned with the court from Vlna to Petersburg, found

herself in a difficult position.



In Petersburg she had enjoyed the special protection of a grandee who

occupied one of the highest posts in the Empire. In Vlna she had formed

an intimacy with a young foreign prince. When she returned to Petersburg

both the magnate and the prince were there, and both claimed their

rights. Hlne was faced by a new problemhow to preserve her intimacy

with both without offending either.



What would have seemed difficult or even impossible to another woman did

not cause the least embarrassment to Countess Bezkhova, who evidently

deserved her reputation of being a very clever woman. Had she attempted

concealment, or tried to extricate herself from her awkward position

by cunning, she would have spoiled her case by acknowledging herself

guilty. But Hlne, like a really great man who can do whatever

he pleases, at once assumed her own position to be correct, as she

sincerely believed it to be, and that everyone else was to blame.



The first time the young foreigner allowed himself to reproach her, she

lifted her beautiful head and, half turning to him, said firmly Thats

just like a manselfish and cruel! I expected nothing else. A woman

sacrifices herself for you, she suffers, and this is her reward! What

right have you, monseigneur, to demand an account of my attachments and

friendships? He is a man who has been more than a father to me! The

prince was about to say something, but Hlne interrupted him.



Well, yes, said she, it may be that he has other sentiments for me

than those of a father, but that is not a reason for me to shut my door

on him. I am not a man, that I should repay kindness with ingratitude!

Know, monseigneur, that in all that relates to my intimate feelings I

render account only to God and to my conscience, she concluded, laying

her hand on her beautiful, fully expanded bosom and looking up to

heaven.



But for heavens sake listen to me!



Marry me, and I will be your slave!



But thats impossible.



You wont deign to demean yourself by marrying me, you... said Hlne,

beginning to cry.



The prince tried to comfort her, but Hlne, as if quite distraught,

said through her tears that there was nothing to prevent her marrying,

that there were precedents (there were up to that time very few, but

she mentioned Napoleon and some other exalted personages), that she had

never been her husbands 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 cant

arrange that? said Hlne.



The prince was surprised that so simple an idea had not occurred to him,

and he applied for advice to the holy brethren of the Society of Jesus,

with whom he was on intimate terms.



A few days later at one of those enchanting fetes which Hlne gave at

her country house on the Stone Island, the charming Monsieur de Jobert,

a man no longer young, with snow white hair and brilliant black eyes,

a Jesuit  robe courte * was presented to her, and in the garden by the

light of the illuminations and to the sound of music talked to her for a

long time of the love of God, of Christ, of the Sacred Heart, and of the

consolations the one true Catholic religion affords in this world and

the next. Hlne was touched, and more than once tears rose to her eyes

and to those of Monsieur de Jobert and their voices trembled. A dance,

for which her partner came to seek her, put an end to her discourse with

her future directeur de conscience, but the next evening Monsieur de

Jobert came to see Hlne when she was alone, and after that often came

again.



    * Lay member of the Society of Jesus.



One day he took the countess to a Roman Catholic church, where she knelt

down before the altar to which she was led. The enchanting, middle-aged

Frenchman laid his hands on her head and, as she herself afterward

described it, she felt something like a fresh breeze wafted into her

soul. It was explained to her that this was la grce.



After that a long-frocked abb was brought to her. She confessed to

him, and he absolved her from her sins. Next day she received a box

containing the Sacred Host, which was left at her house for her to

partake of. A few days later Hlne learned with pleasure that she had

now been admitted to the true Catholic Church and that in a few days the

Pope himself would hear of her and would send her a certain document.



All that was done around her and to her at this time, all the attention

devoted to her by so many clever men and expressed in such pleasant,

refined ways, and the state of dove-like purity she was now in (she wore

only white dresses and white ribbons all that time) gave her pleasure,

but her pleasure did not cause her for a moment to forget her aim. And

as it always happens in contests of cunning that a stupid person gets

the better of cleverer ones, Hlnehaving realized that the main object

of all these words and all this trouble was, after converting her to

Catholicism, to obtain money from her for Jesuit institutions (as to

which she received indications)before parting with her money insisted

that the various operations necessary to free her from her husband

should be performed. In her view the aim of every religion was merely

to preserve certain proprieties while affording satisfaction to

human desires. And with this aim, in one of her talks with her Father

Confessor, she insisted on an answer to the question, in how far was she

bound by her marriage?



They were sitting in the twilight by a window in the drawing room.

The scent of flowers came in at the window. Hlne was wearing a white

dress, transparent over her shoulders and bosom. The abb, a well-fed

man with a plump, clean-shaven chin, a pleasant firm mouth, and white

hands meekly folded on his knees, sat close to Hlne and, with a

subtle smile on his lips and a peaceful look of delight at her beauty,

occasionally glanced at her face as he explained his opinion on the

subject. Hlne with an uneasy smile looked at his curly hair and his

plump, clean-shaven, blackish cheeks and every moment expected the

conversation to take a fresh turn. But the abb, though he evidently

enjoyed the beauty of his companion, was absorbed in his mastery of the

matter.



The course of the Father Confessors arguments ran as follows Ignorant

of the import of what you were undertaking, you made a vow of conjugal

fidelity to a man who on his part, by entering the married state without

faith in the religious significance of marriage, committed an act of

sacrilege. That marriage lacked the dual significance it should have

had. Yet in spite of this your vow was binding. You swerved from it.

What did you commit by so acting? A venial, or a mortal, sin? A venial

sin, for you acted without evil intention. If now you married again

with the object of bearing children, your sin might be forgiven. But the

question is again a twofold one firstly...



But suddenly Hlne, who was getting bored, said with one of her

bewitching smiles But I think that having espoused the true religion I

cannot be bound by what a false religion laid upon me.



The director of her conscience was astounded at having the case

presented to him thus with the simplicity of Columbus egg. He was

delighted at the unexpected rapidity of his pupils progress, but could

not abandon the edifice of argument he had laboriously constructed.



Let us understand one another, Countess, said he with a smile, and

began refuting his spiritual daughters arguments.











CHAPTER VII



Hlne understood that the question was very simple and easy from

the ecclesiastical point of view, and that her directors were making

difficulties only because they were apprehensive as to how the matter

would be regarded by the secular authorities.



So she decided that it was necessary to prepare the opinion of society.

She provoked the jealousy of the elderly magnate and told him what she

had told her other suitor that is, she put the matter so that the only

way for him to obtain a right over her was to marry her. The elderly

magnate was at first as much taken aback by this suggestion of marriage

with a woman whose husband was alive, as the younger man had been, but

Hlnes imperturbable conviction that it was as simple and natural as

marrying a maiden had its effect on him too. Had Hlne herself shown

the least sign of hesitation, shame, or secrecy, her cause would

certainly have been lost but not only did she show no signs of secrecy

or shame, on the contrary, with good-natured navet she told her

intimate friends (and these were all Petersburg) that both the prince

and the magnate had proposed to her and that she loved both and was

afraid of grieving either.



A rumor immediately spread in Petersburg, not that Hlne wanted to

be divorced from her husband (had such a report spread many would have

opposed so illegal an intention) but simply that the unfortunate and

interesting Hlne was in doubt which of the two men she should marry.

The question was no longer whether this was possible, but only which was

the better match and how the matter would be regarded at court. There

were, it is true, some rigid individuals unable to rise to the height of

such a question, who saw in the project a desecration of the sacrament

of marriage, but there were not many such and they remained silent,

while the majority were interested in Hlnes good fortune and in the

question which match would be the more advantageous. Whether it was

right or wrong to remarry while one had a husband living they did not

discuss, for that question had evidently been settled by people wiser

than you or me, as they said, and to doubt the correctness of that

decision would be to risk exposing ones stupidity and incapacity to

live in society.



Only Mrya Dmtrievna Akhrosmova, who had come to Petersburg that

summer to see one of her sons, allowed herself plainly to express

an opinion contrary to the general one. Meeting Hlne at a ball she

stopped her in the middle of the room and, amid general silence, said

in her gruff voice So wives of living men have started marrying

again! Perhaps you think you have invented a novelty? You have been

forestalled, my dear! It was thought of long ago. It is done in all the

brothels, and with these words Mrya Dmtrievna, turning up her wide

sleeves with her usual threatening gesture and glancing sternly round,

moved across the room.



Though people were afraid of Mrya Dmtrievna she was regarded in

Petersburg as a buffoon, and so of what she had said they only noticed,

and repeated in a whisper, the one coarse word she had used, supposing

the whole sting of her remark to lie in that word.



Prince Vasli, who of late very often forgot what he had said and

repeated one and the same thing a hundred times, remarked to his

daughter whenever he chanced to see her



Hlne, I have a word to say to you, and he would lead her

aside, drawing her hand downward. I have heard of certain projects

concerning... you know. Well my dear child, you know how your fathers

heart rejoices to know that you... You have suffered so much.... But, my

dear child, consult only your own heart. That is all I have to say, and

concealing his unvarying emotion he would press his cheek against his

daughters and move away.



Bilbin, who had not lost his reputation of an exceedingly clever man,

and who was one of the disinterested friends so brilliant a woman as

Hlne always hasmen friends who can never change into loversonce gave

her his view of the matter at a small and intimate gathering.



Listen, Bilbin, said Hlne (she always called friends of that sort

by their surnames), and she touched his coat sleeve with her white,

beringed fingers. Tell me, as you would a sister, what I ought to do.

Which of the two?



Bilbin wrinkled up the skin over his eyebrows and pondered, with a

smile on his lips.



You are not taking me unawares, you know, said he. As a true friend,

I have thought and thought again about your affair. You see, if you

marry the princehe meant the younger manand he crooked one finger,

you forever lose the chance of marrying the other, and you will

displease the court besides. (You know there is some kind of

connection.) But if you marry the old count you will make his last days

happy, and as widow of the Grand... the prince would no longer be making

a msalliance by marrying you, and Bilbin smoothed out his forehead.



Thats a true friend! said Hlne beaming, and again touching

Bilbins sleeve. But I love them, you know, and dont want to distress

either of them. I would give my life for the happiness of them both.



Bilbin shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that not even he could

help in that difficulty.



Une matresse-femme! * Thats what is called putting things squarely.

She would like to be married to all three at the same time, thought he.



    * A masterly woman.



But tell me, how will your husband look at the matter? Bilbin asked,

his reputation being so well established that he did not fear to ask so

nave a question. Will he agree?



Oh, he loves me so! said Hlne, who for some reason imagined that

Pierre too loved her. He will do anything for me.



Bilbin puckered his skin in preparation for something witty.



Even divorce you? said he.



Hlne laughed.



Among those who ventured to doubt the justifiability of the proposed

marriage was Hlnes mother, Princess Kurgina. She was continually

tormented by jealousy of her daughter, and now that jealousy concerned

a subject near to her own heart, she could not reconcile herself to the

idea. She consulted a Russian priest as to the possibility of divorce

and remarriage during a husbands lifetime, and the priest told her that

it was impossible, and to her delight showed her a text in the Gospel

which (as it seemed to him) plainly forbids remarriage while the husband

is alive.



Armed with these arguments, which appeared to her unanswerable, she

drove to her daughters early one morning so as to find her alone.



Having listened to her mothers objections, Hlne smiled blandly and

ironically.



But it says plainly Whosoever shall marry her that is divorced...

said the old princess.



Ah, Maman, ne dites pas de btises. Vous ne comprenez rien. Dans ma

position jai des devoirs, * said Hlne changing from Russian, in

which language she always felt that her case did not sound quite clear,

into French which suited it better.



     * Oh, Mamma, dont talk nonsense! You dont understand

     anything. In my position I have obligations.





But, my dear....



Oh, Mamma, how is it you dont understand that the Holy Father, who has

the right to grant dispensations...



Just then the lady companion who lived with Hlne came in to announce

that His Highness was in the ballroom and wished to see her.



Non, dites-lui que je ne veux pas le voir, que je suis furieuse contre

lui, parce quil ma manqu parole. *



     * No, tell him I dont wish to see him, I am furious with

     him for not keeping his word to me.





Comtesse,  tout pch misricorde, * said a fair-haired young man

with a long face and nose, as he entered the room.



    * Countess, there is mercy for every sin.





The old princess rose respectfully and curtsied. The young man who had

entered took no notice of her. The princess nodded to her daughter and

sidled out of the room.



Yes, she is right, thought the old princess, all her convictions

dissipated by the appearance of His Highness. She is right, but how

is it that we in our irrecoverable youth did not know it? Yet it is so

simple, she thought as she got into her carriage.





By the beginning of August Hlnes affairs were clearly defined and

she wrote a letter to her husbandwho, as she imagined, loved her very

muchinforming him of her intention to marry N.N. and of her having

embraced the one true faith, and asking him to carry out all the

formalities necessary for a divorce, which would be explained to him by

the bearer of the letter.



And so I pray God to have you, my friend, in His holy and powerful

keepingYour friend Hlne.



This letter was brought to Pierres house when he was on the field of

Borodin.











CHAPTER VIII



Toward the end of the battle of Borodin, Pierre, having run down

from Ravskis battery a second time, made his way through a gully to

Knyazkvo with a crowd of soldiers, reached the dressing station, and

seeing blood and hearing cries and groans hurried on, still entangled in

the crowds of soldiers.



The one thing he now desired with his whole soul was to get away quickly

from the terrible sensations amid which he had lived that day and return

to ordinary conditions of life and sleep quietly in a room in his own

bed. He felt that only in the ordinary conditions of life would he

be able to understand himself and all he had seen and felt. But such

ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found.



Though shells and bullets did not whistle over the road along which he

was going, still on all sides there was what there had been on the field

of battle. There were still the same suffering, exhausted, and sometimes

strangely indifferent faces, the same blood, the same soldiers

overcoats, the same sounds of firing which, though distant now, still

aroused terror, and besides this there were the foul air and the dust.



Having gone a couple of miles along the Mozhysk road, Pierre sat down

by the roadside.



Dusk had fallen, and the roar of guns died away. Pierre lay leaning on

his elbow for a long time, gazing at the shadows that moved past him in

the darkness. He was continually imagining that a cannon ball was flying

toward him with a terrific whizz, and then he shuddered and sat up. He

had no idea how long he had been there. In the middle of the night three

soldiers, having brought some firewood, settled down near him and began

lighting a fire.



The soldiers, who threw sidelong glances at Pierre, got the fire to burn

and placed an iron pot on it into which they broke some dried bread and

put a little dripping. The pleasant odor of greasy viands mingled with

the smell of smoke. Pierre sat up and sighed. The three soldiers were

eating and talking among themselves, taking no notice of him.



And who may you be? one of them suddenly asked Pierre, evidently

meaning what Pierre himself had in mind, namely If you want to eat

well give you some food, only let us know whether you are an honest

man.



I, I... said Pierre, feeling it necessary to minimize his social

position as much as possible so as to be nearer to the soldiers and

better understood by them. By rights I am a militia officer, but my men

are not here. I came to the battle and have lost them.



There now! said one of the soldiers.



Another shook his head.



Would you like a little mash? the first soldier asked, and handed

Pierre a wooden spoon after licking it clean.



Pierre sat down by the fire and began eating the mash, as they called

the food in the cauldron, and he thought it more delicious than any food

he had ever tasted. As he sat bending greedily over it, helping himself

to large spoonfuls and chewing one after another, his face was lit up by

the fire and the soldiers looked at him in silence.



Where have you to go to? Tell us! said one of them.



To Mozhysk.



Youre a gentleman, arent you?



Yes.



And whats your name?



Peter Kirlych.



Well then, Peter Kirlych, come along with us, well take you there.



In the total darkness the soldiers walked with Pierre to Mozhysk.



By the time they got near Mozhysk and began ascending the steep hill

into the town, the cocks were already crowing. Pierre went on with the

soldiers, quite forgetting that his inn was at the bottom of the hill

and that he had already passed it. He would not soon have remembered

this, such was his state of forgetfulness, had he not halfway up the

hill stumbled upon his groom, who had been to look for him in the

town and was returning to the inn. The groom recognized Pierre in the

darkness by his white hat.



Your excellency! he said. Why, we were beginning to despair! How is

it you are on foot? And where are you going, please?



Oh, yes! said Pierre.



The soldiers stopped.



So youve found your folk? said one of them. Well, good-by, Peter

Kirlychisnt it?



Good-by, Peter Kirlych! Pierre heard the other voices repeat.



Good-by! he said and turned with his groom toward the inn.



I ought to give them something! he thought, and felt in his pocket.

No, better not! said another, inner voice.



There was not a room to be had at the inn, they were all occupied.

Pierre went out into the yard and, covering himself up head and all, lay

down in his carriage.











CHAPTER IX



Scarcely had Pierre laid his head on the pillow before he felt himself

falling asleep, but suddenly, almost with the distinctness of reality,

he heard the boom, boom, boom of firing, the thud of projectiles, groans

and cries, and smelled blood and powder, and a feeling of horror and

dread of death seized him. Filled with fright he opened his eyes and

lifted his head from under his cloak. All was tranquil in the yard. Only

someones orderly passed through the gateway, splashing through the mud,

and talked to the innkeeper. Above Pierres head some pigeons, disturbed

by the movement he had made in sitting up, fluttered under the dark roof

of the penthouse. The whole courtyard was permeated by a strong peaceful

smell of stable yards, delightful to Pierre at that moment. He could see

the clear starry sky between the dark roofs of two penthouses.



Thank God, there is no more of that! he thought, covering up his head

again. Oh, what a terrible thing is fear, and how shamefully I yielded

to it! But they... they were steady and calm all the time, to the

end... thought he.



They, in Pierres mind, were the soldiers, those who had been at the

battery, those who had given him food, and those who had prayed before

the icon. They, those strange men he had not previously known, stood out

clearly and sharply from everyone else.



To be a soldier, just a soldier! thought Pierre as he fell asleep,

to enter communal life completely, to be imbued by what makes them what

they are. But how cast off all the superfluous, devilish burden of my

outer man? There was a time when I could have done it. I could have run

away from my father, as I wanted to. Or I might have been sent to serve

as a soldier after the duel with Dlokhov. And the memory of the dinner

at the English Club when he had challenged Dlokhov flashed through

Pierres mind, and then he remembered his benefactor at Torzhk. And now

a picture of a solemn meeting of the lodge presented itself to his mind.

It was taking place at the English Club and someone near and dear to him

sat at the end of the table. Yes, that is he! It is my benefactor.

But he died! thought Pierre. Yes, he died, and I did not know he was

alive. How sorry I am that he died, and how glad I am that he is alive

again! On one side of the table sat Anatole, Dlokhov, Nesvtski,

Densov, and others like them (in his dream the category to which these

men belonged was as clearly defined in his mind as the category of

those he termed they), and he heard those people, Anatole and Dlokhov,

shouting and singing loudly yet through their shouting the voice of his

benefactor was heard speaking all the time and the sound of his words

was as weighty and uninterrupted as the booming on the battlefield, but

pleasant and comforting. Pierre did not understand what his benefactor

was saying, but he knew (the categories of thoughts were also quite

distinct in his dream) that he was talking of goodness and the

possibility of being what they were. And they with their simple, kind,

firm faces surrounded his benefactor on all sides. But though they were

kindly they did not look at Pierre and did not know him. Wishing to

speak and to attract their attention, he got up, but at that moment his

legs grew cold and bare.



He felt ashamed, and with one arm covered his legs from which his cloak

had in fact slipped. For a moment as he was rearranging his cloak Pierre

opened his eyes and saw the same penthouse roofs, posts, and yard, but

now they were all bluish, lit up, and glittering with frost or dew.



It is dawn, thought Pierre. But thats not what I want. I want to

hear and understand my benefactors words. Again he covered himself up

with his cloak, but now neither the lodge nor his benefactor was there.

There were only thoughts clearly expressed in words, thoughts that

someone was uttering or that he himself was formulating.



Afterwards when he recalled those thoughts Pierre was convinced that

someone outside himself had spoken them, though the impressions of that

day had evoked them. He had never, it seemed to him, been able to think

and express his thoughts like that when awake.



To endure war is the most difficult subordination of mans freedom to

the law of God, the voice had said. Simplicity is submission to the

will of God you cannot escape from Him. And they are simple. They do

not talk, but act. The spoken word is silver but the unspoken is golden.

Man can be master of nothing while he fears death, but he who does not

fear it possesses all. If there were no suffering, man would not know

his limitations, would not know himself. The hardest thing (Pierre went

on thinking, or hearing, in his dream) is to be able in your soul to

unite the meaning of all. To unite all? he asked himself. No, not

to unite. Thoughts cannot be united, but to harness all these thoughts

together is what we need! Yes, one must harness them, must harness

them! he repeated to himself with inward rapture, feeling that these

words and they alone expressed what he wanted to say and solved the

question that tormented him.



Yes, one must harness, it is time to harness.



Time to harness, time to harness, your excellency! Your excellency!

some voice was repeating. We must harness, it is time to harness....



It was the voice of the groom, trying to wake him. The sun shone

straight into Pierres face. He glanced at the dirty innyard in the

middle of which soldiers were watering their lean horses at the pump

while carts were passing out of the gate. Pierre turned away with

repugnance, and closing his eyes quickly fell back on the carriage seat.

No, I dont want that, I dont want to see and understand that. I want

to understand what was revealing itself to me in my dream. One second

more and I should have understood it all! But what am I to do? Harness,

but how can I harness everything? and Pierre felt with horror that the

meaning of all he had seen and thought in the dream had been destroyed.



The groom, the coachman, and the innkeeper told Pierre that an officer

had come with news that the French were already near Mozhysk and that

our men were leaving it.



Pierre got up and, having told them to harness and overtake him, went on

foot through the town.



The troops were moving on, leaving about ten thousand wounded behind

them. There were wounded in the yards, at the windows of the houses, and

the streets were crowded with them. In the streets, around carts that

were to take some of the wounded away, shouts, curses, and blows could

be heard. Pierre offered the use of his carriage, which had overtaken

him, to a wounded general he knew, and drove with him to Moscow. On the

way Pierre was told of the death of his brother-in-law Anatole and of

that of Prince Andrew.











CHAPTER X



On the thirtieth of August Pierre reached Moscow. Close to the gates of

the city he was met by Count Rostopchns adjutant.



We have been looking for you everywhere, said the adjutant. The count

wants to see you particularly. He asks you to come to him at once on a

very important matter.



Without going home, Pierre took a cab and drove to see the Moscow

commander in chief.



Count Rostopchn had only that morning returned to town from his summer

villa at Soklniki. The anteroom and reception room of his house

were full of officials who had been summoned or had come for orders.

Vaslchikov and Pltov had already seen the count and explained to him

that it was impossible to defend Moscow and that it would have to be

surrendered. Though this news was being concealed from the inhabitants,

the officialsthe heads of the various government departmentsknew that

Moscow would soon be in the enemys hands, just as Count Rostopchn

himself knew it, and to escape personal responsibility they had all

come to the governor to ask how they were to deal with their various

departments.



As Pierre was entering the reception room a courier from the army came

out of Rostopchns private room.



In answer to questions with which he was greeted, the courier made a

despairing gesture with his hand and passed through the room.



While waiting in the reception room Pierre with weary eyes watched the

various officials, old and young, military and civilian, who were there.

They all seemed dissatisfied and uneasy. Pierre went up to a group of

men, one of whom he knew. After greeting Pierre they continued their

conversation.



If theyre sent out and brought back again later on it will do no harm,

but as things are now one cant answer for anything.



But you see what he writes... said another, pointing to a printed

sheet he held in his hand.



Thats another matter. Thats necessary for the people, said the

first.



What is it? asked Pierre.



Oh, its a fresh broadsheet.



Pierre took it and began reading.



His Serene Highness has passed through Mozhysk in order to join up with

the troops moving toward him and has taken up a strong position where

the enemy will not soon attack him. Forty-eight guns with ammunition

have been sent him from here, and his Serene Highness says he will

defend Moscow to the last drop of blood and is even ready to fight in

the streets. Do not be upset, brothers, that the law courts are closed

things have to be put in order, and we will deal with villains in our

own way! When the time comes I shall want both town and peasant lads and

will raise the cry a day or two beforehand, but they are not wanted yet

so I hold my peace. An ax will be useful, a hunting spear not bad, but a

three-pronged fork will be best of all a Frenchman is no heavier than a

sheaf of rye. Tomorrow after dinner I shall take the Iberian icon of

the Mother of God to the wounded in the Catherine Hospital where we will

have some water blessed. That will help them to get well quicker. I,

too, am well now one of my eyes was sore but now I am on the lookout

with both.



But military men have told me that it is impossible to fight in the

town, said Pierre, and that the position...



Well, of course! Thats what we were saying, replied the first

speaker.



And what does he mean by One of my eyes was sore but now I am on the

lookout with both? asked Pierre.



The count had a sty, replied the adjutant smiling, and was very much

upset when I told him people had come to ask what was the matter with

him. By the by, Count, he added suddenly, addressing Pierre with a

smile, we heard that you have family troubles and that the countess,

your wife...



I have heard nothing, Pierre replied unconcernedly. But what have you

heard?



Oh, well, you know people often invent things. I only say what I

heard.



But what did you hear?



Well, they say, continued the adjutant with the same smile, that

the countess, your wife, is preparing to go abroad. I expect its

nonsense....



Possibly, remarked Pierre, looking about him absent-mindedly. And who

is that? he asked, indicating a short old man in a clean blue peasant

overcoat, with a big snow-white beard and eyebrows and a ruddy face.



He? Thats a tradesman, that is to say, hes the restaurant

keeper, Vereshchgin. Perhaps you have heard of that affair with the

proclamation.



Oh, so that is Vereshchgin! said Pierre, looking at the firm, calm

face of the old man and seeking any indication of his being a traitor.



Thats not he himself, thats the father of the fellow who wrote the

proclamation, said the adjutant. The young man is in prison and I

expect it will go hard with him.



An old gentleman wearing a star and another official, a German wearing a

cross round his neck, approached the speaker.



Its a complicated story, you know, said the adjutant. That

proclamation appeared about two months ago. The count was informed of

it. He gave orders to investigate the matter. Gabriel Ivnovich

here made the inquiries. The proclamation had passed through exactly

sixty-three hands. He asked one, From whom did you get it? From

so-and-so. He went to the next one. From whom did you get it? and so

on till he reached Vereshchgin, a half educated tradesman, you know, a

pet of a trader, said the adjutant smiling. They asked him, Who gave

it you? And the point is that we knew whom he had it from. He could

only have had it from the Postmaster. But evidently they had come to

some understanding. He replied From no one I made it up myself.

They threatened and questioned him, but he stuck to that I made it

up myself. And so it was reported to the count, who sent for the man.

From whom did you get the proclamation? I wrote it myself. Well, you

know the count, said the adjutant cheerfully, with a smile of pride,

he flared up dreadfullyand just think of the fellows audacity, lying,

and obstinacy!



And the count wanted him to say it was from Klyucharv? I understand!

said Pierre.



Not at all, rejoined the adjutant in dismay. Klyucharv had his own

sins to answer for without that and that is why he has been banished.

But the point is that the count was much annoyed. How could you have

written it yourself? said he, and he took up the Hamburg Gazette that

was lying on the table. Here it is! You did not write it yourself but

translated it, and translated it abominably, because you dont 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 thats so, youre a traitor

and Ill have you tried, and youll be hanged! Say from whom you had

it. I have seen no papers, I made it up myself. And that was the end

of it. The count had the father fetched, but the fellow stuck to it.

He was sent for trial and condemned to hard labor, I believe. Now the

father has come to intercede for him. But hes a good-for-nothing lad!

You know that sort of tradesmans son, a dandy and lady-killer. He

attended some lectures somewhere and imagines that the devil is no match

for him. Thats the sort of fellow he is. His father keeps a cookshop

here by the Stone Bridge, and you know there was a large icon of God

Almighty painted with a scepter in one hand and an orb in the other.

Well, he took that icon home with him for a few days and what did he do?

He found some scoundrel of a painter...











CHAPTER XI



In the middle of this fresh tale Pierre was summoned to the commander in

chief.



When he entered the private room Count Rostopchn, puckering his face,

was rubbing his forehead and eyes with his hand. A short man was saying

something, but when Pierre entered he stopped speaking and went out.



Ah, how do you do, great warrior? said Rostopchn as soon as the short

man had left the room. We have heard of your prowess. But thats not

the point. Between ourselves, mon cher, do you belong to the Masons? he

went on severely, as though there were something wrong about it which

he nevertheless intended to pardon. Pierre remained silent. I am well

informed, my friend, but I am aware that there are Masons and I hope

that you are not one of those who on pretense of saving mankind wish to

ruin Russia.



Yes, I am a Mason, Pierre replied.



There, you see, mon cher! I expect you know that Messrs. Spernski and

Magntski have been deported to their proper place. Mr. Klyucharv has

been treated in the same way, and so have others who on the plea of

building up the temple of Solomon have tried to destroy the temple of

their fatherland. You can understand that there are reasons for this and

that I could not have exiled the Postmaster had he not been a harmful

person. It has now come to my knowledge that you lent him your carriage

for his removal from town, and that you have even accepted papers from

him for safe custody. I like you and dont wish you any harm andas

you are only half my ageI advise you, as a father would, to cease

all communication with men of that stamp and to leave here as soon as

possible.



But what did Klyucharv do wrong, Count? asked Pierre.



That is for me to know, but not for you to ask, shouted Rostopchn.



If he is accused of circulating Napoleons proclamation it is not

proved that he did so, said Pierre without looking at Rostopchn, and

Vereshchgin...



There we are! Rostopchn shouted at Pierre louder than before,

frowning suddenly. Vereshchgin is a renegade and a traitor who will

be punished as he deserves, said he with the vindictive heat with which

people speak when recalling an insult. But I did not summon you to

discuss my actions, but to give you adviceor an order if you prefer it.

I beg you to leave the town and break off all communication with such

men as Klyucharv. And I will knock the nonsense out of anybodybut

probably realizing that he was shouting at Bezkhov who so far was not

guilty of anything, he added, taking Pierres hand in a friendly manner,

We are on the eve of a public disaster and I havent time to be polite

to everybody who has business with me. My head is sometimes in a whirl.

Well, mon cher, what are you doing personally?



Why, nothing, answered Pierre without raising his eyes or changing the

thoughtful expression of his face.



The count frowned.



A word of friendly advice, mon cher. Be off as soon as you can, thats

all I have to tell you. Happy he who has ears to hear. Good-by, my dear

fellow. Oh, by the by! he shouted through the doorway after Pierre,

is it true that the countess has fallen into the clutches of the holy

fathers of the Society of Jesus?



Pierre did not answer and left Rostopchns room more sullen and angry

than he had ever before shown himself.



When he reached home it was already getting dark. Some eight people had

come to see him that evening the secretary of a committee, the colonel

of his battalion, his steward, his major-domo, and various petitioners.

They all had business with Pierre and wanted decisions from him. Pierre

did not understand and was not interested in any of these questions and

only answered them in order to get rid of these people. When left alone

at last he opened and read his wifes letter.



They, the soldiers at the battery, Prince Andrew killed... that old

man... Simplicity is submission to God. Suffering is necessary... the

meaning of all... one must harness... my wife is getting married... One

must forget and understand... And going to his bed he threw himself on

it without undressing and immediately fell asleep.



When he awoke next morning the major-domo came to inform him that a

special messenger, a police officer, had come from Count Rostopchn to

know whether Count Bezkhov had left or was leaving the town.



A dozen persons who had business with Pierre were awaiting him in the

drawing room. Pierre dressed hurriedly and, instead of going to see

them, went to the back porch and out through the gate.



From that time till the end of the destruction of Moscow no one of

Bezkhovs household, despite all the search they made, saw Pierre again

or knew where he was.











CHAPTER XII



The Rostvs remained in Moscow till the first of September, that is,

till the eve of the enemys entry into the city.



After Ptya had joined Obolnskis regiment of Cossacks and left for

Blaya Tsrkov where that regiment was forming, the countess was seized

with terror. The thought that both her sons were at the war, had both

gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either or both of them

might be killed like the three sons of one of her acquaintances, struck

her that summer for the first time with cruel clearness. She tried to

get Nicholas back and wished to go herself to join Ptya, or to get

him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proved

possible. Ptya could not return unless his regiment did so or unless

he was transferred to another regiment on active service. Nicholas was

somewhere with the army and had not sent a word since his last letter,

in which he had given a detailed account of his meeting with Princess

Mary. The countess did not sleep at night, or when she did fall asleep

dreamed that she saw her sons lying dead. After many consultations and

conversations, the count at last devised means to tranquillize her. He

got Ptya transferred from Obolnskis regiment to Bezkhovs, which was

in training near Moscow. Though Ptya would remain in the service, this

transfer would give the countess the consolation of seeing at least one

of her sons under her wing, and she hoped to arrange matters for her

Ptya so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed to

places where he could not possibly take part in a battle. As long as

Nicholas alone was in danger the countess imagined that she loved her

first-born more than all her other children and even reproached herself

for it but when her youngest the scapegrace who had been bad at

lessons, was always breaking things in the house and making himself a

nuisance to everybody, that snub-nosed Ptya with his merry black eyes

and fresh rosy cheeks where soft down was just beginning to showwhen

he was thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel men who were fighting

somewhere about something and apparently finding pleasure in itthen

his mother thought she loved him more, much more, than all her other

children. The nearer the time came for Ptya to return, the more uneasy

grew the countess. She began to think she would never live to see such

happiness. The presence of Snya, of her beloved Natsha, or even of

her husband irritated her. What do I want with them? I want no one but

Ptya, she thought.



At the end of August the Rostvs received another letter from Nicholas.

He wrote from the province of Vornezh where he had been sent to procure

remounts, but that letter did not set the countess at ease. Knowing that

one son was out of danger she became the more anxious about Ptya.



Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostvs acquaintances

had left Moscow, and though everybody tried to persuade the countess to

get away as quickly as possible, she would not hear of leaving before

her treasure, her adored Ptya, returned. On the twenty-eighth of August

he arrived. The passionate tenderness with which his mother received him

did not please the sixteen-year-old officer. Though she concealed from

him her intention of keeping him under her wing, Ptya guessed her

designs, and instinctively fearing that he might give way to emotion

when with hermight become womanish as he termed it to himselfhe

treated her coldly, avoided her, and during his stay in Moscow attached

himself exclusively to Natsha for whom he had always had a particularly

brotherly tenderness, almost lover-like.



Owing to the counts customary carelessness nothing was ready for their

departure by the twenty-eighth of August and the carts that were to

come from their Ryazn and Moscow estates to remove their household

belongings did not arrive till the thirtieth.



From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow was in a bustle

and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded at Borodin were

brought in by the Dorogomlov gate and taken to various parts of Moscow,

and thousands of carts conveyed the inhabitants and their possessions

out by the other gates. In spite of Rostopchns broadsheets, or because

of them or independently of them, the strangest and most contradictory

rumors were current in the town. Some said that no one was to be allowed

to leave the city, others on the contrary said that all the icons had

been taken out of the churches and everybody was to be ordered to leave.

Some said there had been another battle after Borodin at which the

French had been routed, while others on the contrary reported that the

Russian army had been destroyed. Some talked about the Moscow militia

which, preceded by the clergy, would go to the Three Hills others

whispered that Augustin had been forbidden to leave, that traitors had

been seized, that the peasants were rioting and robbing people on their

way from Moscow, and so on. But all this was only talk in reality

(though the Council of Fil, at which it was decided to abandon Moscow,

had not yet been held) both those who went away and those who remained

behind felt, though they did not show it, that Moscow would certainly

be abandoned, and that they ought to get away as quickly as possible and

save their belongings. It was felt that everything would suddenly break

up and change, but up to the first of September nothing had done so.

As a criminal who is being led to execution knows that he must die

immediately, but yet looks about him and straightens the cap that is

awry on his head, so Moscow involuntarily continued its wonted life,

though it knew that the time of its destruction was near when the

conditions of life to which its people were accustomed to submit would

be completely upset.



During the three days preceding the occupation of Moscow the whole

Rostv family was absorbed in various activities. The head of the

family, Count Ily Rostv, continually drove about the city collecting

the current rumors from all sides and gave superficial and hasty orders

at home about the preparations for their departure.



The countess watched the things being packed, was dissatisfied with

everything, was constantly in pursuit of Ptya who was always running

away from her, and was jealous of Natsha with whom he spent all his

time. Snya alone directed the practical side of matters by getting

things packed. But of late Snya had been particularly sad and silent.

Nicholas letter in which he mentioned Princess Mary had elicited, in

her presence, joyous comments from the countess, who saw an intervention

of Providence in this meeting of the princess and Nicholas.



I was never pleased at Bolknskis engagement to Natsha, said the

countess, but I always wanted Nicholas to marry the princess, and had a

presentiment that it would happen. What a good thing it would be!



Snya felt that this was true that the only possibility of retrieving

the Rostvs affairs was by Nicholas marrying a rich woman, and that the

princess was a good match. It was very bitter for her. But despite

her grief, or perhaps just because of it, she took on herself all the

difficult work of directing the storing and packing of their things and

was busy for whole days. The count and countess turned to her when they

had any orders to give. Ptya and Natsha on the contrary, far from

helping their parents, were generally a nuisance and a hindrance to

everyone. Almost all day long the house resounded with their running

feet, their cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They laughed and were

gay not because there was any reason to laugh, but because gaiety and

mirth were in their hearts and so everything that happened was a cause

for gaiety and laughter to them. Ptya was in high spirits because

having left home a boy he had returned (as everybody told him) a fine

young man, because he was at home, because he had left Blaya Tsrkov

where there was no hope of soon taking part in a battle and had come to

Moscow where there was to be fighting in a few days, and chiefly because

Natsha, whose lead he always followed, was in high spirits. Natsha was

gay because she had been sad too long and now nothing reminded her of

the cause of her sadness, and because she was feeling well. She was also

happy because she had someone to adore her the adoration of others was

a lubricant the wheels of her machine needed to make them run freelyand

Ptya adored her. Above all, they were gay because there was a war near

Moscow, there would be fighting at the town gates, arms were being

given out, everybody was escapinggoing away somewhere, and in general

something extraordinary was happening, and that is always exciting,

especially to the young.











CHAPTER XIII



On Saturday, the thirty-first of August, everything in the Rostvs

house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, all the furniture was

being carried out or moved about, and the mirrors and pictures had been

taken down. There were trunks in the rooms, and hay, wrapping paper, and

ropes were scattered about. The peasants and house serfs carrying out

the things were treading heavily on the parquet floors. The yard was

crowded with peasant carts, some loaded high and already corded up,

others still empty.



The voices and footsteps of the many servants and of the peasants who

had come with the carts resounded as they shouted to one another in

the yard and in the house. The count had been out since morning. The

countess had a headache brought on by all the noise and turmoil and was

lying down in the new sitting room with a vinegar compress on her head.

Ptya was not at home, he had gone to visit a friend with whom he meant

to obtain a transfer from the militia to the active army. Snya was in

the ballroom looking after the packing of the glass and china. Natsha

was sitting on the floor of her dismantled room with dresses, ribbons,

and scarves strewn all about her, gazing fixedly at the floor and

holding in her hands the old ball dress (already out of fashion) which

she had worn at her first Petersburg ball.



Natsha was ashamed of doing nothing when everyone else was so busy, and

several times that morning had tried to set to work, but her heart was

not in it, and she could not and did not know how to do anything except

with all her heart and all her might. For a while she had stood beside

Snya while the china was being packed and tried to help, but soon gave

it up and went to her room to pack her own things. At first she found it

amusing to give away dresses and ribbons to the maids, but when that was

done and what was left had still to be packed, she found it dull.



Dunysha, you pack! You will, wont you, dear? And when Dunysha

willingly promised to do it all for her, Natsha sat down on the floor,

took her old ball dress, and fell into a reverie quite unrelated to what

ought to have occupied her thoughts now. She was roused from her reverie

by the talk of the maids in the next room (which was theirs) and by the

sound of their hurried footsteps going to the back porch. Natsha got

up and looked out of the window. An enormously long row of carts full of

wounded men had stopped in the street.



The housekeeper, the old nurse, the cooks, coachmen, maids, footmen,

postilions, and scullions stood at the gate, staring at the wounded.



Natsha, throwing a clean pocket handkerchief over her hair and holding

an end of it in each hand, went out into the street.



The former housekeeper, old Mvra Kuzmnichna, had stepped out of the

crowd by the gate, gone up to a cart with a hood constructed of bast

mats, and was speaking to a pale young officer who lay inside.

Natsha moved a few steps forward and stopped shyly, still holding her

handkerchief, and listened to what the housekeeper was saying.



Then you have nobody in Moscow? she was saying. You would be more

comfortable somewhere in a house... in ours, for instance... the family

are leaving.



I dont know if it would be allowed, replied the officer in a weak

voice. Here is our commanding officer... ask him, and he pointed to a

stout major who was walking back along the street past the row of carts.



Natsha glanced with frightened eyes at the face of the wounded officer

and at once went to meet the major.



May the wounded men stay in our house? she asked.



The major raised his hand to his cap with a smile.



Which one do you want, Maamselle? said he, screwing up his eyes and

smiling.



Natsha quietly repeated her question, and her face and whole

manner were so serious, though she was still holding the ends of her

handkerchief, that the major ceased smiling and after some reflectionas

if considering in how far the thing was possiblereplied in the

affirmative.



Oh yes, why not? They may, he said.



With a slight inclination of her head, Natsha stepped back quickly to

Mvra Kuzmnichna, who stood talking compassionately to the officer.



They may. He says they may! whispered Natsha.



The cart in which the officer lay was turned into the Rostvs yard,

and dozens of carts with wounded men began at the invitation of the

townsfolk to turn into the yards and to draw up at the entrances of the

houses in Povarskya Street. Natsha was evidently pleased to be dealing

with new people outside the ordinary routine of her life. She and Mvra

Kuzmnichna tried to get as many of the wounded as possible into their

yard.



Your Papa must be told, though, said Mvra Kuzmnichna.



Never mind, never mind, what does it matter? For one day we can move

into the drawing room. They can have all our half of the house.



There now, young lady, you do take things into your head! Even if we

put them into the wing, the mens room, or the nurses room, we must ask

permission.



Well, Ill ask.



Natsha ran into the house and went on tiptoe through the half-open door

into the sitting room, where there was a smell of vinegar and Hoffmans

drops.



Are you asleep, Mamma?



Oh, what sleep? said the countess, waking up just as she was dropping

into a doze.



Mamma darling! said Natsha, kneeling by her mother and bringing her

face close to her mothers, I am sorry, forgive me, Ill never do it

again I woke you up! Mvra Kuzmnichna has sent me they have brought

some wounded hereofficers. Will you let them come? They have nowhere to

go. I knew youd let them come! she said quickly all in one breath.



What officers? Whom have they brought? I dont understand anything

about it, said the countess.



Natsha laughed, and the countess too smiled slightly.



I knew youd give permission... so Ill tell them, and, having kissed

her mother, Natsha got up and went to the door.



In the hall she met her father, who had returned with bad news.



Weve stayed too long! said the count with involuntary vexation. The

Club is closed and the police are leaving.



Papa, is it all rightIve invited some of the wounded into the house?

said Natsha.



Of course it is, he answered absently. Thats not the point. I beg

you not to indulge in trifles now, but to help to pack, and tomorrow we

must go, go, go!...



And the count gave a similar order to the major-domo and the servants.



At dinner Ptya having returned home told them the news he had heard.

He said the people had been getting arms in the Krmlin, and that though

Rostopchns broadsheet had said that he would sound a call two or three

days in advance, the order had certainly already been given for everyone

to go armed to the Three Hills tomorrow, and that there would be a big

battle there.



The countess looked with timid horror at her sons eager, excited face

as he said this. She realized that if she said a word about his not

going to the battle (she knew he enjoyed the thought of the impending

engagement) he would say something about men, honor, and the

fatherlandsomething senseless, masculine, and obstinate which there

would be no contradicting, and her plans would be spoiled and so,

hoping to arrange to leave before then and take Ptya with her as their

protector and defender, she did not answer him, but after dinner called

the count aside and implored him with tears to take her away quickly,

that very night if possible. With a womans involuntary loving cunning

she, who till then had not shown any alarm, said that she would die of

fright if they did not leave that very night. Without any pretense she

was now afraid of everything.











CHAPTER XIV



Madame Schoss, who had been out to visit her daughter, increased the

countess fears still more by telling what she had seen at a spirit

dealers in Myasntski Street. When returning by that street she had

been unable to pass because of a drunken crowd rioting in front of

the shop. She had taken a cab and driven home by a side street and the

cabman had told her that the people were breaking open the barrels at

the drink store, having received orders to do so.



After dinner the whole Rostv household set to work with enthusiastic

haste packing their belongings and preparing for their departure. The

old count, suddenly setting to work, kept passing from the yard to the

house and back again, shouting confused instructions to the hurrying

people, and flurrying them still more. Ptya directed things in the

yard. Snya, owing to the counts contradictory orders, lost her head

and did not know what to do. The servants ran noisily about the house

and yard, shouting and disputing. Natsha, with the ardor characteristic

of all she did suddenly set to work too. At first her intervention in

the business of packing was received skeptically. Everybody expected

some prank from her and did not wish to obey her but she resolutely

and passionately demanded obedience, grew angry and nearly cried because

they did not heed her, and at last succeeded in making them believe her.

Her first exploit, which cost her immense effort and established her

authority, was the packing of the carpets. The count had valuable

Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets in the house. When Natsha set

to work two cases were standing open in the ballroom, one almost full

up with crockery, the other with carpets. There was also much china

standing on the tables, and still more was being brought in from the

storeroom. A third case was needed and servants had gone to fetch it.



Snya, wait a bitwell pack everything into these, said Natsha.



You cant, Miss, we have tried to, said the butlers assistant.



No, wait a minute, please.



And Natsha began rapidly taking out of the case dishes and plates

wrapped in paper.



The dishes must go in here among the carpets, said she.



Why, its a mercy if we can get the carpets alone into three cases,

said the butlers assistant.



Oh, wait, please! And Natsha began rapidly and deftly sorting out the

things. These arent needed, said she, putting aside some plates

of Kiev ware. Theseyes, these must go among the carpets, she said,

referring to the Saxony china dishes.



Dont, Natsha! Leave it alone! Well get it all packed, urged Snya

reproachfully.



What a young lady she is! remarked the major-domo.



But Natsha would not give in. She turned everything out and began

quickly repacking, deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and

unnecessary crockery should not be taken at all. When everything had

been taken out of the cases, they recommenced packing, and it turned

out that when the cheaper things not worth taking had nearly all been

rejected, the valuable ones really did all go into the two cases. Only

the lid of the case containing the carpets would not shut down. A few

more things might have been taken out, but Natsha insisted on having

her own way. She packed, repacked, pressed, made the butlers assistant

and Ptyawhom she had drawn into the business of packingpress on the

lid, and made desperate efforts herself.



Thats enough, Natsha, said Snya. I see you were right, but just

take out the top one.



I wont! cried Natsha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung

over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the

carpets. Now press, Ptya! Press, Vaslich, press hard! she cried.



The carpets yielded and the lid closed Natsha, clapping her hands,

screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this only

lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trusted her

completely. The count was not angry even when they told him that Natsha

had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now came to her

to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether it might

be corded up. Thanks to Natshas directions the work now went on

expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the most valuable

packed as compactly as possible.



But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they could not

get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and the count,

having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed.



Snya and Natsha slept in the sitting room without undressing.



That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskya, and Mvra

Kuzmnichna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought into the

Rostvs yard. Mvra Kuzmnichna concluded that he was a very important

man. He was being conveyed in a calche with a raised hood, and was

quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat a venerable

old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in a

cart.



Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole house

will be empty, said the old woman to the old attendant.



Well, perhaps, said he with a sigh. We dont expect to get him home

alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but its a long way from

here, and theres nobody living in it.



Do us the honor to come in, theres plenty of everything in the

masters house. Come in, said Mvra Kuzmnichna. Is he very ill? she

asked.



The attendant made a hopeless gesture.



We dont 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 calche, looked into it, shook his

head disconsolately, told the driver to turn into the yard, and stopped

beside Mvra Kuzmnichna.



O, Lord Jesus Christ! she murmured.



She invited them to take the wounded man into the house.



The masters wont object... she said.



But they had to avoid carrying the man upstairs, and so they took him

into the wing and put him in the room that had been Madame Schoss.



This wounded man was Prince Andrew Bolknski.











CHAPTER XV



Moscows last day had come. It was a clear bright autumn day, a Sunday.

The church bells everywhere were ringing for service, just as usual on

Sundays. Nobody seemed yet to realize what awaited the city.



Only two things indicated the social condition of Moscowthe rabble,

that is the poor people, and the price of commodities. An enormous crowd

of factory hands, house serfs, and peasants, with whom some officials,

seminarists, and gentry were mingled, had gone early that morning to

the Three Hills. Having waited there for Rostopchn who did not turn

up, they became convinced that Moscow would be surrendered, and then

dispersed all about the town to the public houses and cookshops. Prices

too that day indicated the state of affairs. The price of weapons, of

gold, of carts and horses, kept rising, but the value of paper money and

city articles kept falling, so that by midday there were instances of

carters removing valuable goods, such as cloth, and receiving in payment

a half of what they carted, while peasant horses were fetching five

hundred rubles each, and furniture, mirrors, and bronzes were being

given away for nothing.



In the Rostvs staid old-fashioned house the dissolution of former

conditions of life was but little noticeable. As to the serfs the only

indication was that three out of their huge retinue disappeared

during the night, but nothing was stolen and as to the value of their

possessions, the thirty peasant carts that had come in from their

estates and which many people envied proved to be extremely valuable and

they were offered enormous sums of money for them. Not only were huge

sums offered for the horses and carts, but on the previous evening and

early in the morning of the first of September, orderlies and servants

sent by wounded officers came to the Rostvs and wounded men dragged

themselves there from the Rostvs and from neighboring houses where

they were accommodated, entreating the servants to try to get them

a lift out of Moscow. The major-domo to whom these entreaties were

addressed, though he was sorry for the wounded, resolutely refused,

saying that he dare not even mention the matter to the count. Pity these

wounded men as one might, it was evident that if they were given one

cart there would be no reason to refuse another, or all the carts and

ones own carriages as well. Thirty carts could not save all the wounded

and in the general catastrophe one could not disregard oneself and ones

own family. So thought the major-domo on his masters behalf.



On waking up that morning Count Ily Rostv left his bedroom softly, so

as not to wake the countess who had fallen asleep only toward morning,

and came out to the porch in his lilac silk dressing gown. In the yard

stood the carts ready corded. The carriages were at the front porch.

The major-domo stood at the porch talking to an elderly orderly and to

a pale young officer with a bandaged arm. On seeing the count the

major-domo made a significant and stern gesture to them both to go away.



Well, Vaslich, is everything ready? asked the count, and stroking his

bald head he looked good-naturedly at the officer and the orderly and

nodded to them. (He liked to see new faces.)



We can harness at once, your excellency.



Well, thats right. As soon as the countess wakes well be off, God

willing! What is it, gentlemen? he added, turning to the officer. Are

you staying in my house?



The officer came nearer and suddenly his face flushed crimson.



Count, be so good as to allow me... for Gods sake, to get into some

corner of one of your carts! I have nothing here with me.... I shall be

all right on a loaded cart....



Before the officer had finished speaking the orderly made the same

request on behalf of his master.



Oh, yes, yes, yes! said the count hastily. I shall be very pleased,

very pleased. Vaslich, youll see to it. Just unload one or two carts.

Well, what of it... do whats necessary... said the count, muttering

some indefinite order.



But at the same moment an expression of warm gratitude on the officers

face had already sealed the order. The count looked around him. In the

yard, at the gates, at the window of the wings, wounded officers and

their orderlies were to be seen. They were all looking at the count and

moving toward the porch.



Please step into the gallery, your excellency, said the major-domo.

What are your orders about the pictures?



The count went into the house with him, repeating his order not to

refuse the wounded who asked for a lift.



Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded, he added in a

soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard.



At nine oclock the countess woke up, and Matrna Timofevna, who had

been her ladys maid before her marriage and now performed a sort of

chief gendarmes duty for her, came to say that Madame Schoss was much

offended and the young ladies summer dresses could not be left behind.

On inquiry, the countess learned that Madame Schoss was offended because

her trunk had been taken down from its cart, and all the loads were

being uncorded and the luggage taken out of the carts to make room for

wounded men whom the count in the simplicity of his heart had ordered

that they should take with them. The countess sent for her husband.



What is this, my dear? I hear that the luggage is being unloaded.



You know, love, I wanted to tell you... Countess dear... an officer

came to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours are

things that can be bought but think what being left behind means to

them!... Really now, in our own yardwe asked them in ourselves and

there are officers among them.... You know, I think, my dear... let them

be taken... wheres the hurry?



The count spoke timidly, as he always did when talking of money matters.

The countess was accustomed to this tone as a precursor of news of

something detrimental to the childrens interests, such as the building

of a new gallery or conservatory, the inauguration of a private theater

or an orchestra. She was accustomed always to oppose anything announced

in that timid tone and considered it her duty to do so.



She assumed her dolefully submissive manner and said to her husband

Listen to me, Count, you have managed matters so that we are getting

nothing for the house, and now you wish to throw away all ourall the

childrens property! You said yourself that we have a hundred thousand

rubles worth of things in the house. I dont consent, my dear, I dont!

Do as you please! Its the governments business to look after the

wounded they know that. Look at the Lopukhns opposite, they cleared

out everything two days ago. Thats what other people do. Its only

we who are such fools. If you have no pity on me, have some for the

children.



Flourishing his arms in despair the count left the room without

replying.



Papa, what are you doing that for? asked Natsha, who had followed him

into her mothers room.



Nothing! What business is it of yours? muttered the count angrily.



But I heard, said Natsha. Why does Mamma object?



What business is it of yours? cried the count.



Natsha stepped up to the window and pondered.



Papa! Heres Berg coming to see us, said she, looking out of the

window.











CHAPTER XVI



Berg, the Rostvs son-in-law, was already a colonel wearing the orders

of Vladmir and Anna, and he still filled the quiet and agreeable post

of assistant to the head of the staff of the assistant commander of the

first division of the Second Army.



On the first of September he had come to Moscow from the army.



He had nothing to do in Moscow, but he had noticed that everyone in the

army was asking for leave to visit Moscow and had something to do there.

So he considered it necessary to ask for leave of absence for family and

domestic reasons.



Berg drove up to his father-in-laws house in his spruce little trap

with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He

looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up to the

porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it.



From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps into the

drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands of Natsha

and Snya, and hastened to inquire after Mammas health.



Health, at a time like this? said the count. Come, tell us the news!

Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?



God Almighty alone can decide the fate of our fatherland, Papa, said

Berg. The army is burning with a spirit of heroism and the leaders, so

to say, have now assembled in council. No one knows what is coming. But

in general I can tell you, Papa, that such a heroic spirit, the truly

antique valor of the Russian army, which theywhich it (he corrected

himself) has shown or displayed in the battle of the twenty-sixththere

are no words worthy to do it justice! I tell you, Papa (he smote

himself on the breast as a general he had heard speaking had done, but

Berg did it a trifle late for he should have struck his breast at the

words Russian army), I tell you frankly that we, the commanders, far

from having to urge the men on or anything of that kind, could hardly

restrain those... those... yes, those exploits of antique valor, he

went on rapidly. General Barclay de Tolly risked his life everywhere at

the head of the troops, I can assure you. Our corps was stationed on a

hillside. You can imagine!



And Berg related all that he remembered of the various tales he had

heard those days. Natsha watched him with an intent gaze that confused

him, as if she were trying to find in his face the answer to some

question.



Altogether such heroism as was displayed by the Russian warriors

cannot be imagined or adequately praised! said Berg, glancing round

at Natsha, and as if anxious to conciliate her, replying to her intent

look with a smile. Russia is not in Moscow, she lives in the hearts of

her sons! Isnt it so, Papa? said he.



Just then the countess came in from the sitting room with a weary and

dissatisfied expression. Berg hurriedly jumped up, kissed her hand,

asked about her health, and, swaying his head from side to side to

express sympathy, remained standing beside her.



Yes, Mamma, I tell you sincerely that these are hard and sad times for

every Russian. But why are you so anxious? You have still time to get

away....



I cant think what the servants are about, said the countess, turning

to her husband. I have just been told that nothing is ready yet.

Somebody after all must see to things. One misses Mtenka at such times.

There wont be any end to it.



The count was about to say something, but evidently restrained himself.

He got up from his chair and went to the door.



At that moment Berg drew out his handkerchief as if to blow his nose

and, seeing the knot in it, pondered, shaking his head sadly and

significantly.



And I have a great favor to ask of you, Papa, said he.



Hm... said the count, and stopped.



I was driving past Yuspovs house just now, said Berg with a laugh,

when the steward, a man I know, ran out and asked me whether I wouldnt

buy something. I went in out of curiosity, you know, and there is a

small chiffonier and a dressing table. You know how dear Vra wanted a

chiffonier like that and how we had a dispute about it. (At the mention

of the chiffonier and dressing table Berg involuntarily changed his tone

to one of pleasure at his admirable domestic arrangements.) And its

such a beauty! It pulls out and has a secret English drawer, you know!

And dear Vra has long wanted one. I wish to give her a surprise, you

see. I saw so many of those peasant carts in your yard. Please let me

have one, I will pay the man well, and...



The count frowned and coughed.



Ask the countess, I dont give orders.



If its inconvenient, please dont, said Berg. Only I so wanted it,

for dear Vras sake.



Oh, go to the devil, all of you! To the devil, the devil, the devil...

cried the old count. My heads in a whirl!



And he left the room. The countess began to cry.



Yes, Mamma! Yes, these are very hard times! said Berg.



Natsha left the room with her father and, as if finding it difficult to

reach some decision, first followed him and then ran downstairs.



Ptya was in the porch, engaged in giving out weapons to the servants

who were to leave Moscow. The loaded carts were still standing in the

yard. Two of them had been uncorded and a wounded officer was climbing

into one of them helped by an orderly.



Do you know what its about? Ptya asked Natsha.



She understood that he meant what were their parents quarreling about.

She did not answer.



Its because Papa wanted to give up all the carts to the wounded, said

Ptya. Vaslich told me. I consider...



I consider, Natsha suddenly almost shouted, turning her angry face to

Ptya, I consider it so horrid, so abominable, so... I dont know what.

Are we despicable Germans?



Her throat quivered with convulsive sobs and, afraid of weakening and

letting the force of her anger run to waste, she turned and rushed

headlong up the stairs.



Berg was sitting beside the countess consoling her with the respectful

attention of a relative. The count, pipe in hand, was pacing up and down

the room, when Natsha, her face distorted by anger, burst in like a

tempest and approached her mother with rapid steps.



Its horrid! Its abominable! she screamed. You cant possibly have

ordered it!



Berg and the countess looked at her, perplexed and frightened. The count

stood still at the window and listened.



Mamma, its impossible see what is going on in the yard! she cried.

They will be left!...



Whats the matter with you? Who are they? What do you want?



Why, the wounded! Its impossible, Mamma. Its monstrous!... No, Mamma

darling, its not the thing. Please forgive me, darling.... Mamma, what

does it matter what we take away? Only look what is going on in the

yard... Mamma!... Its impossible!



The count stood by the window and listened without turning round.

Suddenly he sniffed and put his face closer to the window.



The countess glanced at her daughter, saw her face full of shame for her

mother, saw her agitation, and understood why her husband did not turn

to look at her now, and she glanced round quite disconcerted.



Oh, do as you like! Am I hindering anyone? she said, not surrendering

at once.



Mamma, darling, forgive me!



But the countess pushed her daughter away and went up to her husband.



My dear, you order what is right.... You know I dont understand about

it, said she, dropping her eyes shamefacedly.



The eggs... the eggs are teaching the hen, muttered the count through

tears of joy, and he embraced his wife who was glad to hide her look of

shame on his breast.



Papa! Mamma! May I see to it? May I?... asked Natsha. We will still

take all the most necessary things.



The count nodded affirmatively, and Natsha, at the rapid pace at which

she used to run when playing at tag, ran through the ballroom to the

anteroom and downstairs into the yard.



The servants gathered round Natsha, but could not believe the strange

order she brought them until the count himself, in his wifes name,

confirmed the order to give up all the carts to the wounded and take the

trunks to the storerooms. When they understood that order the servants

set to work at this new task with pleasure and zeal. It no longer seemed

strange to them but on the contrary it seemed the only thing that could

be done, just as a quarter of an hour before it had not seemed strange

to anyone that the wounded should be left behind and the goods carted

away but that had seemed the only thing to do.



The whole household, as if to atone for not having done it sooner, set

eagerly to work at the new task of placing the wounded in the carts. The

wounded dragged themselves out of their rooms and stood with pale but

happy faces round the carts. The news that carts were to be had spread

to the neighboring houses, from which wounded men began to come into the

Rostvs yard. Many of the wounded asked them not to unload the carts

but only to let them sit on the top of the things. But the work of

unloading, once started, could not be arrested. It seemed not to matter

whether all or only half the things were left behind. Cases full of

china, bronzes, pictures, and mirrors that had been so carefully

packed the night before now lay about the yard, and still they went on

searching for and finding possibilities of unloading this or that and

letting the wounded have another and yet another cart.



We can take four more men, said the steward. They can have my trap,

or else what is to become of them?



Let them have my wardrobe cart, said the countess. Dunysha can go

with me in the carriage.



They unloaded the wardrobe cart and sent it to take wounded men from a

house two doors off. The whole household, servants included, was bright

and animated. Natsha was in a state of rapturous excitement such as she

had not known for a long time.



What could we fasten this onto? asked the servants, trying to fix a

trunk on the narrow footboard behind a carriage. We must keep at least

one cart.



Whats in it? asked Natsha.



The counts books.



Leave it, Vaslich will put it away. Its not wanted.



The phaeton was full of people and there was a doubt as to where Count

Peter could sit.



On the box. Youll sit on the box, wont you, Ptya? cried Natsha.



Snya too was busy all this time, but the aim of her efforts was quite

different from Natshas. She was putting away the things that had to

be left behind and making a list of them as the countess wished, and she

tried to get as much taken away with them as possible.











CHAPTER XVII



Before two oclock in the afternoon the Rostvs 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 calche in which Prince Andrew was being taken attracted Snyas

attention as it passed the front porch. With the help of a maid she was

arranging a seat for the countess in the huge high coach that stood at

the entrance.



Whose calche is that? she inquired, leaning out of the carriage

window.



Why, didnt 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? Whats his name?



Its our intended that wasPrince Bolknski himself! They say he is

dying, replied the maid with a sigh.



Snya jumped out of the coach and ran to the countess. The countess,

tired out and already dressed in shawl and bonnet for her journey,

was pacing up and down the drawing room, waiting for the household to

assemble for the usual silent prayer with closed doors before starting.

Natsha was not in the room.



Mamma, said Snya, Prince Andrew is here, mortally wounded. He is

going with us.



The countess opened her eyes in dismay and, seizing Snyas arm, glanced

around.



Natsha? she murmured.



At that moment this news had only one significance for both of them.

They knew their Natsha, and alarm as to what would happen if she heard

this news stifled all sympathy for the man they both liked.



Natsha does not know yet, but he is going with us, said Snya.



You say he is dying?



Snya nodded.



The countess put her arms around Snya and began to cry.



The ways of God are past finding out! she thought, feeling that the

Almighty Hand, hitherto unseen, was becoming manifest in all that was

now taking place.



Well, Mamma? Everything is ready. Whats the matter? asked Natsha, as

with animated face she ran into the room.



Nothing, answered the countess. If everything is ready let us start.



And the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face. Snya

embraced Natsha and kissed her.



Natsha looked at her inquiringly.



What is it? What has happened?



Nothing... No...



Is it something very bad for me? What is it? persisted Natsha with

her quick intuition.



Snya sighed and made no reply. The count, Ptya, Madame Schoss, Mvra

Kuzmnichna, and Vaslich came into the drawing room and, having closed

the doors, they all sat down and remained for some moments silently

seated without looking at one another.



The count was the first to rise, and with a loud sigh crossed himself

before the icon. All the others did the same. Then the count embraced

Mvra Kuzmnichna and Vaslich, who were to remain in Moscow, and while

they caught at his hand and kissed his shoulder he patted their backs

lightly with some vaguely affectionate and comforting words. The

countess went into the oratory and there Snya found her on her knees

before the icons that had been left here and there hanging on the wall.

(The most precious ones, with which some family tradition was connected,

were being taken with them.)



In the porch and in the yard the men whom Ptya had armed with swords

and daggers, with trousers tucked inside their high boots and with belts

and girdles tightened, were taking leave of those remaining behind.



As is always the case at a departure, much had been forgotten or put in

the wrong place, and for a long time two menservants stood one on

each side of the open door and the carriage steps waiting to help the

countess in, while maids rushed with cushions and bundles from the house

to the carriages, the calche, the phaeton, and back again.



They always will forget everything! said the countess. Dont you know

I cant sit like that?



And Dunysha, with clenched teeth, without replying but with an

aggrieved look on her face, hastily got into the coach to rearrange the

seat.



Oh, those servants! said the count, swaying his head.



Efm, the old coachman, who was the only one the countess trusted to

drive her, sat perched up high on the box and did not so much as glance

round at what was going on behind him. From thirty years experience

he knew it would be some time yet before the order, Be off, in Gods

name! would be given him and he knew that even when it was said

he would be stopped once or twice more while they sent back to fetch

something that had been forgotten, and even after that he would again

be stopped and the countess herself would lean out of the window and beg

him for the love of heaven to drive carefully down the hill. He knew

all this and therefore waited calmly for what would happen, with more

patience than the horses, especially the near one, the chestnut Falcon,

who was pawing the ground and champing his bit. At last all were

seated, the carriage steps were folded and pulled up, the door was shut,

somebody was sent for a traveling case, and the countess leaned out

and said what she had to say. Then Efm deliberately doffed his hat and

began crossing himself. The postilion and all the other servants did the

same. Off, in Gods name! said Efm, putting on his hat. Start! The

postilion started the horses, the off pole horse tugged at his collar,

the high springs creaked, and the body of the coach swayed. The footman

sprang onto the box of the moving coach which jolted as it passed out

of the yard onto the uneven roadway the other vehicles jolted in

their turn, and the procession of carriages moved up the street. In the

carriages, the calche, and the phaeton, all crossed themselves as they

passed the church opposite the house. Those who were to remain in Moscow

walked on either side of the vehicles seeing the travelers off.



Rarely had Natsha experienced so joyful a feeling as now, sitting in

the carriage beside the countess and gazing at the slowly receding

walls of forsaken, agitated Moscow. Occasionally she leaned out of the

carriage window and looked back and then forward at the long train of

wounded in front of them. Almost at the head of the line she could see

the raised hood of Prince Andrews calche. She did not know who was

in it, but each time she looked at the procession her eyes sought that

calche. She knew it was right in front.



In Kdrino, from the Niktski, Prsnya, and Podnovnsk Streets came

several other trains of vehicles similar to the Rostvs, and as they

passed along the Sadvaya Street the carriages and carts formed two rows

abreast.



As they were going round the Skharev water tower Natsha, who was

inquisitively and alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walking

past, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise



Dear me! Mamma, Snya, look, its he!



Who? Who?



Look! Yes, on my word, its Bezkhov! said Natsha, putting her head

out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachmans

long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving was evidently

a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under the arch of the

Skharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced, beardless old man

in a frieze coat.



Yes, it really is Bezkhov in a coachmans coat, with a queer-looking

old boy. Really, said Natsha, look, look!



No, its not he. How can you talk such nonsense?



Mamma, screamed Natsha, Ill stake my head its he! I assure you!

Stop, stop! she cried to the coachman.



But the coachman could not stop, for from the Meshchnski Street came

more carts and carriages, and the Rostvs were being shouted at to move

on and not block the way.



In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, the Rostvs

all saw Pierreor someone extraordinarily like himin a coachmans coat,

going down the street with head bent and a serious face beside a small,

beardless old man who looked like a footman. That old man noticed a

face thrust out of the carriage window gazing at them, and respectfully

touching Pierres elbow said something to him and pointed to the

carriage. Pierre, evidently engrossed in thought, could not at first

understand him. At length when he had understood and looked in the

direction the old man indicated, he recognized Natsha, and following

his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidly toward the coach. But

having taken a dozen steps he seemed to remember something and stopped.



Natshas face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzical

kindliness.



Peter Kirlovich, come here! We have recognized you! This is

wonderful! she cried, holding out her hand to him. What are you doing?

Why are you like this?



Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed it awkwardly as he walked

along beside her while the coach still moved on.



What is the matter, Count? asked the countess in a surprised and

commiserating tone.



What? What? Why? Dont ask me, said Pierre, and looked round at

Natsha whose radiant, happy expressionof which he was conscious

without looking at herfilled him with enchantment.



Are you remaining in Moscow, then?



Pierre hesitated.



In Moscow? he said in a questioning tone. Yes, in Moscow. Good-by!



Ah, if only I were a man! Id certainly stay with you. How splendid!

said Natsha. Mamma, if youll let me, Ill stay!



Pierre glanced absently at Natsha and was about to say something, but

the countess interrupted him.



You were at the battle, we heard.



Yes, I was, Pierre answered. There will be another battle

tomorrow... he began, but Natsha interrupted him.



But what is the matter with you, Count? You are not like yourself....



Oh, dont ask me, dont ask me! I dont know myself. Tomorrow... But

no! Good-by, good-by! he muttered. Its an awful time! and dropping

behind the carriage he stepped onto the pavement.



Natsha continued to lean out of the window for a long time, beaming at

him with her kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile.











CHAPTER XVIII



For the last two days, ever since leaving home, Pierre had been living

in the empty house of his deceased benefactor, Bazdev. This is how it

happened.



When he woke up on the morning after his return to Moscow and his

interview with Count Rostopchn, he could not for some time make out

where he was and what was expected of him. When he was informed that

among others awaiting him in his reception room there was a Frenchman

who had brought a letter from his wife, the Countess Hlne, he felt

suddenly overcome by that sense of confusion and hopelessness to which

he was apt to succumb. He felt that everything was now at an end, all

was in confusion and crumbling to pieces, that nobody was right or

wrong, the future held nothing, and there was no escape from this

position. Smiling unnaturally and muttering to himself, he first sat

down on the sofa in an attitude of despair, then rose, went to the door

of the reception room and peeped through the crack, returned flourishing

his arms, and took up a book. His major-domo came in a second time to

say that the Frenchman who had brought the letter from the countess

was very anxious to see him if only for a minute, and that someone from

Bazdevs widow had called to ask Pierre to take charge of her husbands

books, as she herself was leaving for the country.



Oh, yes, in a minute wait... or no! No, of course... go and say I will

come directly, Pierre replied to the major-domo.



But as soon as the man had left the room Pierre took up his hat which

was lying on the table and went out of his study by the other door.

There was no one in the passage. He went along the whole length of this

passage to the stairs and, frowning and rubbing his forehead with

both hands, went down as far as the first landing. The hall porter was

standing at the front door. From the landing where Pierre stood there

was a second staircase leading to the back entrance. He went down that

staircase and out into the yard. No one had seen him. But there were

some carriages waiting, and as soon as Pierre stepped out of the gate

the coachmen and the yard porter noticed him and raised their caps to

him. When he felt he was being looked at he behaved like an ostrich

which hides its head in a bush in order not to be seen he hung his head

and quickening his pace went down the street.



Of all the affairs awaiting Pierre that day the sorting of Joseph

Bazdevs books and papers appeared to him the most necessary.



He hired the first cab he met and told the driver to go to the

Patriarchs Ponds, where the widow Bazdevs house was.



Continually turning round to look at the rows of loaded carts that were

making their way from all sides out of Moscow, and balancing his bulky

body so as not to slip out of the ramshackle old vehicle, Pierre,

experiencing the joyful feeling of a boy escaping from school, began to

talk to his driver.



The man told him that arms were being distributed today at the Krmlin

and that tomorrow everyone would be sent out beyond the Three Hills

gates and a great battle would be fought there.



Having reached the Patriarchs Ponds Pierre found the Bazdevs house,

where he had not been for a long time past. He went up to the gate.

Gersim, that sallow beardless old man Pierre had seen at Torzhk five

years before with Joseph Bazdev, came out in answer to his knock.



At home? asked Pierre.



Owing to the present state of things Sophia Danlovna has gone to the

Torzhk 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. Makr Alexevich, the brother of my late

mastermay the kingdom of heaven be hishas remained here, but he is in

a weak state as you know, said the old servant.



Pierre knew that Makr Alexevich was Joseph Bazdevs half-insane

brother and a hard drinker.



Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in... said Pierre and entered the house.



A tall, bald-headed old man with a red nose, wearing a dressing gown and

with galoshes on his bare feet, stood in the anteroom. On seeing Pierre

he muttered something angrily and went away along the passage.



He was a very clever man but has now grown quite feeble, as your honor

sees, said Gersim. Will you step into the study? Pierre nodded. As

it was sealed up so it has remained, but Sophia Danlovna gave orders

that if anyone should come from you they were to have the books.



Pierre went into that gloomy study which he had entered with such

trepidation in his benefactors lifetime. The room, dusty and untouched

since the death of Joseph Bazdev was now even gloomier.



Gersim opened one of the shutters and left the room on tiptoe. Pierre

went round the study, approached the cupboard in which the manuscripts

were kept, and took out what had once been one of the most important,

the holy of holies of the order. This was the authentic Scotch Acts

with Bazdevs notes and explanations. He sat down at the dusty writing

table, and, having laid the manuscripts before him, opened them out,

closed them, finally pushed them away, and resting his head on his hand

sank into meditation.



Gersim looked cautiously into the study several times and saw Pierre

always sitting in the same attitude.



More than two hours passed and Gersim took the liberty of making a

slight noise at the door to attract his attention, but Pierre did not

hear him.



Is the cabman to be discharged, your honor?



Oh yes! said Pierre, rousing himself and rising hurriedly. Look

here, he added, taking Gersim by a button of his coat and looking down

at the old man with moist, shining, and ecstatic eyes, I say, do you

know that there is going to be a battle tomorrow?



We heard so, replied the man.



I beg you not to tell anyone who I am, and to do what I ask you.



Yes, your excellency, replied Gersim. Will you have something to

eat?



No, but I want something else. I want peasant clothes and a pistol,

said Pierre, unexpectedly blushing.



Yes, your excellency, said Gersim after thinking for a moment.



All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactors study,

and Gersim heard him pacing restlessly from one corner to another and

talking to himself. And he spent the night on a bed made up for him

there.



Gersim, being a servant who in his time had seen many strange things,

accepted Pierres taking up his residence in the house without surprise,

and seemed pleased to have someone to wait on. That same eveningwithout

even asking himself what they were wanted forhe procured a coachmans

coat and cap for Pierre, and promised to get him the pistol next day.

Makr Alexevich came twice that evening shuffling along in his galoshes

as far as the door and stopped and looked ingratiatingly at Pierre. But

as soon as Pierre turned toward him he wrapped his dressing gown around

him with a shamefaced and angry look and hurried away. It was when

Pierre (wearing the coachmans coat which Gersim had procured for him

and had disinfected by steam) was on his way with the old man to buy the

pistol at the Skharev market that he met the Rostvs.











CHAPTER XIX



Kutzovs order to retreat through Moscow to the Ryazn road was issued

at night on the first of September.



The first troops started at once, and during the night they marched

slowly and steadily without hurry. At daybreak, however, those nearing

the town at the Dorogomlov bridge saw ahead of them masses of soldiers

crowding and hurrying across the bridge, ascending on the opposite side

and blocking the streets and alleys, while endless masses of troops were

bearing down on them from behind, and an unreasoning hurry and alarm

overcame them. They all rushed forward to the bridge, onto it, and

to the fords and the boats. Kutzov himself had driven round by side

streets to the other side of Moscow.



By ten oclock in the morning of the second of September, only the rear

guard remained in the Dorogomlov suburb, where they had ample room. The

main army was on the other side of Moscow or beyond it.



At that very time, at ten in the morning of the second of September,

Napoleon was standing among his troops on the Poklnny Hill looking at

the panorama spread out before him. From the twenty-sixth of August

to the second of September, that is from the battle of Borodin to the

entry of the French into Moscow, during the whole of that agitating,

memorable week, there had been the extraordinary autumn weather that

always comes as a surprise, when the sun hangs low and gives more heat

than in spring, when everything shines so brightly in the rare clear

atmosphere that the eyes smart, when the lungs are strengthened and

refreshed by inhaling the aromatic autumn air, when even the nights

are warm, and when in those dark warm nights, golden stars startle and

delight us continually by falling from the sky.



At ten in the morning of the second of September this weather still

held.



The brightness of the morning was magical. Moscow seen from the Poklnny

Hill lay spaciously spread out with her river, her gardens, and her

churches, and she seemed to be living her usual life, her cupolas

glittering like stars in the sunlight.



The view of the strange city with its peculiar architecture, such as

he had never seen before, filled Napoleon with the rather envious and

uneasy curiosity men feel when they see an alien form of life that has

no knowledge of them. This city was evidently living with the full force

of its own life. By the indefinite signs which, even at a distance,

distinguish a living body from a dead one, Napoleon from the Poklnny

Hill perceived the throb of life in the town and felt, as it were, the

breathing of that great and beautiful body.



Every Russian looking at Moscow feels her to be a mother every

foreigner who sees her, even if ignorant of her significance as the

mother city, must feel her feminine character, and Napoleon felt it.



Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables glises, Moscou la sainte. La

voil donc enfin, cette fameuse ville! Il tait temps, * said he, and

dismounting he ordered a plan of Moscow to be spread out before him, and

summoned Lelorgne dIdeville, the interpreter.



     * That Asiatic city of the innumerable churches, holy

     Moscow! Here it is then at last, that famous city. It was

     high time.





A town captured by the enemy is like a maid who has lost her honor,

thought he (he had said so to Tchkov at Smolnsk). From that point of

view he gazed at the Oriental beauty he had not seen before. It seemed

strange to him that his long-felt wish, which had seemed unattainable,

had at last been realized. In the clear morning light he gazed now at

the city and now at the plan, considering its details, and the assurance

of possessing it agitated and awed him.



But could it be otherwise? he thought. Here is this capital at my

feet. Where is Alexander now, and of what is he thinking? A strange,

beautiful, and majestic city and a strange and majestic moment! In what

light must I appear to them! thought he, thinking of his troops.

Here she is, the reward for all those fainthearted men, he reflected,

glancing at those near him and at the troops who were approaching and

forming up. One word from me, one movement of my hand, and that ancient

capital of the Tsars would perish. But my clemency is always ready to

descend upon the vanquished. I must be magnanimous and truly great. But

no, it cant be true that I am in Moscow, he suddenly thought.

Yet here she is lying at my feet, with her golden domes and crosses

scintillating and twinkling in the sunshine. But I shall spare her. On

the ancient monuments of barbarism and despotism I will inscribe great

words of justice and mercy.... It is just this which Alexander will

feel most painfully, I know him. (It seemed to Napoleon that the chief

import of what was taking place lay in the personal struggle between

himself and Alexander.) From the height of the Krmlinyes, there

is the Krmlin, yesI will give them just laws I will teach them the

meaning of true civilization, I will make generations of boyars remember

their conqueror with love. I will tell the deputation that I did not,

and do not, desire war, that I have waged war only against the false

policy of their court that I love and respect Alexander and that in

Moscow I will accept terms of peace worthy of myself and of my people.

I do not wish to utilize the fortunes of war to humiliate an honored

monarch. Boyars, I will say to them, I do not desire war, I desire

the peace and welfare of all my subjects. However, I know their

presence will inspire me, and I shall speak to them as I always do

clearly, impressively, and majestically. But can it be true that I am in

Moscow? Yes, there she lies.



Quon mamne les boyars, * said he to his suite.



    * Bring the boyars to me.





A general with a brilliant suite galloped off at once to fetch the

boyars.



Two hours passed. Napoleon had lunched and was again standing in the

same place on the Poklnny Hill awaiting the deputation. His speech to

the boyars had already taken definite shape in his imagination. That

speech was full of dignity and greatness as Napoleon understood it.



He was himself carried away by the tone of magnanimity he intended to

adopt toward Moscow. In his imagination he appointed days for assemblies

at the palace of the Tsars, at which Russian notables and his own would

mingle. He mentally appointed a governor, one who would win the

hearts of the people. Having learned that there were many charitable

institutions in Moscow he mentally decided that he would shower favors

on them all. He thought that, as in Africa he had to put on a burnoose

and sit in a mosque, so in Moscow he must be beneficent like the Tsars.

And in order finally to touch the hearts of the Russiansand being like

all Frenchmen unable to imagine anything sentimental without a reference

to ma chre, ma tendre, ma pauvre mre * he decided that he would

place an inscription on all these establishments in large letters

This establishment is dedicated to my dear mother. Or no, it should

be simply Maison de ma Mre, *(2) he concluded. But am I really in

Moscow? Yes, here it lies before me, but why is the deputation from the

city so long in appearing? he wondered.



     * My dear, my tender, my poor mother.



     * (2) House of my Mother.





Meanwhile an agitated consultation was being carried on in whispers

among his generals and marshals at the rear of his suite. Those sent to

fetch the deputation had returned with the news that Moscow was empty,

that everyone had left it. The faces of those who were not conferring

together were pale and perturbed. They were not alarmed by the fact

that Moscow had been abandoned by its inhabitants (grave as that fact

seemed), but by the question how to tell the Emperorwithout putting

him in the terrible position of appearing ridiculousthat he had been

awaiting the boyars so long in vain that there were drunken mobs left

in Moscow but no one else. Some said that a deputation of some sort must

be scraped together, others disputed that opinion and maintained that

the Emperor should first be carefully and skillfully prepared, and then

told the truth.



He will have to be told, all the same, said some gentlemen of the

suite. But, gentlemen...



The position was the more awkward because the Emperor, meditating upon

his magnanimous plans, was pacing patiently up and down before the

outspread map, occasionally glancing along the road to Moscow from under

his lifted hand with a bright and proud smile.



But its impossible... declared the gentlemen of the suite, shrugging

their shoulders but not venturing to utter the implied wordle

ridicule....



At last the Emperor, tired of futile expectation, his actors instinct

suggesting to him that the sublime moment having been too long drawn out

was beginning to lose its sublimity, gave a sign with his hand. A single

report of a signaling gun followed, and the troops, who were already

spread out on different sides of Moscow, moved into the city through the

Tver, Kalga, and Dorogomlov gates. Faster and faster, vying with

one another, they moved at the double or at a trot, vanishing amid the

clouds of dust they raised and making the air ring with a deafening roar

of mingling shouts.



Drawn on by the movement of his troops Napoleon rode with them as far as

the Dorogomlov gate, but there again stopped and, dismounting from his

horse, paced for a long time by the Kmmer-Kollzski rampart, awaiting

the deputation.











CHAPTER XX



Meanwhile Moscow was empty. There were still people in it, perhaps a

fiftieth part of its former inhabitants had remained, but it was empty.

It was empty in the sense that a dying queenless hive is empty.



In a queenless hive no life is left though to a superficial glance it

seems as much alive as other hives.



The bees circle round a queenless hive in the hot beams of the midday

sun as gaily as around the living hives from a distance it smells of

honey like the others, and bees fly in and out in the same way. But one

has only to observe that hive to realize that there is no longer any

life in it. The bees do not fly in the same way, the smell and the sound

that meet the beekeeper are not the same. To the beekeepers tap on the

wall of the sick hive, instead of the former instant unanimous

humming of tens of thousands of bees with their abdomens threateningly

compressed, and producing by the rapid vibration of their wings an

aerial living sound, the only reply is a disconnected buzzing from

different parts of the deserted hive. From the alighting board, instead

of the former spirituous fragrant smell of honey and venom, and the warm

whiffs of crowded life, comes an odor of emptiness and decay mingling

with the smell of honey. There are no longer sentinels sounding the

alarm with their abdomens raised, and ready to die in defense of the

hive. There is no longer the measured quiet sound of throbbing activity,

like the sound of boiling water, but diverse discordant sounds of

disorder. In and out of the hive long black robber bees smeared with

honey fly timidly and shiftily. They do not sting, but crawl away from

danger. Formerly only bees laden with honey flew into the hive, and they

flew out empty now they fly out laden. The beekeeper opens the lower

part of the hive and peers in. Instead of black, glossy beestamed by

toil, clinging to one anothers legs and drawing out the wax, with a

ceaseless hum of laborthat used to hang in long clusters down to the

floor of the hive, drowsy shriveled bees crawl about separately in

various directions on the floor and walls of the hive. Instead of a

neatly glued floor, swept by the bees with the fanning of their wings,

there is a floor littered with bits of wax, excrement, dying bees

scarcely moving their legs, and dead ones that have not been cleared

away.



The beekeeper opens the upper part of the hive and examines the super.

Instead of serried rows of bees sealing up every gap in the combs and

keeping the brood warm, he sees the skillful complex structures of the

combs, but no longer in their former state of purity. All is neglected

and foul. Black robber bees are swiftly and stealthily prowling about

the combs, and the short home bees, shriveled and listless as if they

were old, creep slowly about without trying to hinder the robbers,

having lost all motive and all sense of life. Drones, bumblebees, wasps,

and butterflies knock awkwardly against the walls of the hive in their

flight. Here and there among the cells containing dead brood and honey

an angry buzzing can sometimes be heard. Here and there a couple of

bees, by force of habit and custom cleaning out the brood cells, with

efforts beyond their strength laboriously drag away a dead bee or

bumblebee without knowing why they do it. In another corner two old bees

are languidly fighting, or cleaning themselves, or feeding one another,

without themselves knowing whether they do it with friendly or hostile

intent. In a third place a crowd of bees, crushing one another, attack

some victim and fight and smother it, and the victim, enfeebled or

killed, drops from above slowly and lightly as a feather, among the heap

of corpses. The keeper opens the two center partitions to examine

the brood cells. In place of the former close dark circles formed by

thousands of bees sitting back to back and guarding the high mystery

of generation, he sees hundreds of dull, listless, and sleepy shells of

bees. They have almost all died unawares, sitting in the sanctuary they

had guarded and which is now no more. They reek of decay and death. Only

a few of them still move, rise, and feebly fly to settle on the enemys

hand, lacking the spirit to die stinging him the rest are dead and fall

as lightly as fish scales. The beekeeper closes the hive, chalks a mark

on it, and when he has time tears out its contents and burns it clean.



So in the same way Moscow was empty when Napoleon, weary, uneasy, and

morose, paced up and down in front of the Kmmer-Kollzski rampart,

awaiting what to his mind was a necessary, if but formal, observance of

the proprietiesa deputation.



In various corners of Moscow there still remained a few people aimlessly

moving about, following their old habits and hardly aware of what they

were doing.



When with due circumspection Napoleon was informed that Moscow was

empty, he looked angrily at his informant, turned away, and silently

continued to walk to and fro.



My carriage! he said.



He took his seat beside the aide-de-camp on duty and drove into the

suburb. Moscow deserted! he said to himself. What an incredible

event!



He did not drive into the town, but put up at an inn in the Dorogomlov

suburb.



The coup de thtre had not come off.











CHAPTER XXI



The Russian troops were passing through Moscow from two oclock at night

till two in the afternoon and bore away with them the wounded and the

last of the inhabitants who were leaving.



The greatest crush during the movement of the troops took place at the

Stone, Moskv, and Yaza bridges.



While the troops, dividing into two parts when passing around the

Krmlin, were thronging the Moskv and the Stone bridges, a great many

soldiers, taking advantage of the stoppage and congestion, turned back

from the bridges and slipped stealthily and silently past the church of

Vasli the Beatified and under the Borovtski gate, back up the hill

to the Red Square where some instinct told them they could easily take

things not belonging to them. Crowds of the kind seen at cheap sales

filled all the passages and alleys of the Bazaar. But there were no

dealers with voices of ingratiating affability inviting customers to

enter there were no hawkers, nor the usual motley crowd of female

purchasersbut only soldiers, in uniforms and overcoats though without

muskets, entering the Bazaar empty-handed and silently making their way

out through its passages with bundles. Tradesmen and their assistants

(of whom there were but few) moved about among the soldiers quite

bewildered. They unlocked their shops and locked them up again, and

themselves carried goods away with the help of their assistants. On the

square in front of the Bazaar were drummers beating the muster call.

But the roll of the drums did not make the looting soldiers run in the

direction of the drum as formerly, but made them, on the contrary, run

farther away. Among the soldiers in the shops and passages some men were

to be seen in gray coats, with closely shaven heads. Two officers, one

with a scarf over his uniform and mounted on a lean, dark-gray horse,

the other in an overcoat and on foot, stood at the corner of Ilynka

Street, talking. A third officer galloped up to them.



The general orders them all to be driven out at once, without fail.

This is outrageous! Half the men have dispersed.



Where are you off to?... Where?... he shouted to three infantrymen

without muskets who, holding up the skirts of their overcoats, were

slipping past him into the Bazaar passage. Stop, you rascals!



But how are you going to stop them? replied another officer. There is

no getting them together. The army should push on before the rest bolt,

thats all!



How can one push on? They are stuck there, wedged on the bridge, and

dont move. Shouldnt we put a cordon round to prevent the rest from

running away?



Come, go in there and drive them out! shouted the senior officer.



The officer in the scarf dismounted, called up a drummer, and went with

him into the arcade. Some soldiers started running away in a group. A

shopkeeper with red pimples on his cheeks near the nose, and a calm,

persistent, calculating expression on his plump face, hurriedly and

ostentatiously approached the officer, swinging his arms.



Your honor! said he. Be so good as to protect us! We wont grudge

trifles, you are welcome to anythingwe shall be delighted! Pray!...

Ill fetch a piece of cloth at once for such an honorable gentleman,

or even two pieces with pleasure. For we feel how it is but whats all

thissheer robbery! If you please, could not guards be placed if only to

let us close the shop....



Several shopkeepers crowded round the officer.



Eh, what twaddle! said one of them, a thin, stern-looking man. When

ones head is gone one doesnt weep for ones hair! Take what any of you

like! And flourishing his arm energetically he turned sideways to the

officer.



Its all very well for you, Ivn Sidrych, to talk, said the first

tradesman angrily. Please step inside, your honor!



Talk indeed! cried the thin one. In my three shops here I have a

hundred thousand rubles worth of goods. Can they be saved when the army

has gone? Eh, what people! Against Gods might our hands cant fight.



Come inside, your honor! repeated the tradesman, bowing.



The officer stood perplexed and his face showed indecision.



Its not my business! he exclaimed, and strode on quickly down one of

the passages.



From one open shop came the sound of blows and vituperation, and just

as the officer came up to it a man in a gray coat with a shaven head was

flung out violently.



This man, bent double, rushed past the tradesman and the officer. The

officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shops, but at that

moment fearful screams reached them from the huge crowd on the Moskv

bridge and the officer ran out into the square.



What is it? What is it? he asked, but his comrade was already

galloping off past Vasli the Beatified in the direction from which the

screams came.



The officer mounted his horse and rode after him. When he reached the

bridge he saw two unlimbered guns, the infantry crossing the bridge,

several overturned carts, and frightened and laughing faces among the

troops. Beside the cannon a cart was standing to which two horses were

harnessed. Four borzois with collars were pressing close to the wheels.

The cart was loaded high, and at the very top, beside a childs chair

with its legs in the air, sat a peasant woman uttering piercing and

desperate shrieks. He was told by his fellow officers that the screams

of the crowd and the shrieks of the woman were due to the fact that

General Ermlov, coming up to the crowd and learning that soldiers were

dispersing among the shops while crowds of civilians blocked the bridge,

had ordered two guns to be unlimbered and made a show of firing at the

bridge. The crowd, crushing one another, upsetting carts, and shouting

and squeezing desperately, had cleared off the bridge and the troops

were now moving forward.











CHAPTER XXII



Meanwhile, the city itself was deserted. There was hardly anyone in the

streets. The gates and shops were all closed, only here and there round

the taverns solitary shouts or drunken songs could be heard. Nobody

drove through the streets and footsteps were rarely heard. The

Povarskya was quite still and deserted. The huge courtyard of the

Rostvs house was littered with wisps of hay and with dung from the

horses, and not a soul was to be seen there. In the great drawing

room of the house, which had been left with all it contained, were

two people. They were the yard porter Ignt, and the page boy Mshka,

Vaslichs grandson who had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather.

Mshka had opened the clavichord and was strumming on it with

one finger. The yard porter, his arms akimbo, stood smiling with

satisfaction before the large mirror.



Isnt it fine, eh, Uncle Ignt? said the boy, suddenly beginning to

strike the keyboard with both hands.



Only fancy! answered Ignt, surprised at the broadening grin on his

face in the mirror.



Impudence! Impudence! they heard behind them the voice of Mvra

Kuzmnichna who had entered silently. How hes grinning, the fat mug!

Is that what youre here for? Nothings cleared away down there and

Vaslich is worn out. Just you wait a bit!



Ignt left off smiling, adjusted his belt, and went out of the room with

meekly downcast eyes.



Aunt, I did it gently, said the boy.



Ill give you something gently, you monkey you! cried Mvra

Kuzmnichna, raising her arm threateningly. Go and get the samovar to

boil for your grandfather.



Mvra Kuzmnichna flicked the dust off the clavichord and closed it, and

with a deep sigh left the drawing room and locked its main door.



Going out into the yard she paused to consider where she should go

nextto drink tea in the servants wing with Vaslich, or into the

storeroom to put away what still lay about.



She heard the sound of quick footsteps in the quiet street. Someone

stopped at the gate, and the latch rattled as someone tried to open it.

Mvra Kuzmnichna went to the gate.



Who do you want?



The countCount Ily Andrevich Rostv.



And who are you?



An officer, I have to see him, came the reply in a pleasant, well-bred

Russian voice.



Mvra Kuzmnichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, with the

round face of a Rostv, entered the yard.



They have gone away, sir. Went away yesterday at vespertime, said

Mvra Kuzmnichna cordially.



The young officer standing in the gateway, as if hesitating whether to

enter or not, clicked his tongue.



Ah, how annoying! he muttered. I should have come yesterday.... Ah,

what a pity.



Meanwhile, Mvra Kuzmnichna was attentively and sympathetically

examining the familiar Rostv features of the young mans face, his

tattered coat and trodden-down boots.



What did you want to see the count for? she asked.



Oh well... it cant be helped! said he in a tone of vexation and

placed his hand on the gate as if to leave.



He again paused in indecision.



You see, he suddenly said, I am a kinsman of the counts and he has

been very kind to me. As you see (he glanced with an amused air and

good-natured smile at his coat and boots) my things are worn out and I

have no money, so I was going to ask the count...



Mvra Kuzmnichna did not let him finish.



Just wait a minute, sir. One little moment, said she.



And as soon as the officer let go of the gate handle she turned and,

hurrying away on her old legs, went through the back yard to the

servants quarters.



While Mvra Kuzmnichna was running to her room the officer walked about

the yard gazing at his worn-out boots with lowered head and a faint

smile on his lips. What a pity Ive missed Uncle! What a nice old

woman! Where has she run off to? And how am I to find the nearest way

to overtake my regiment, which must by now be getting near the Rogzhski

gate? thought he. Just then Mvra Kuzmnichna appeared from behind

the corner of the house with a frightened yet resolute look, carrying a

rolled-up check kerchief in her hand. While still a few steps from

the officer she unfolded the kerchief and took out of it a white

twenty-five-ruble assignat and hastily handed it to him.



If his excellency had been at home, as a kinsman he would of course...

but as it is...



Mvra Kuzmnichna grew abashed and confused. The officer did not

decline, but took the note quietly and thanked her.



If the count had been at home... Mvra Kuzmnichna went on

apologetically. Christ be with you, sir! May God preserve you! said

she, bowing as she saw him out.



Swaying his head and smiling as if amused at himself, the officer ran

almost at a trot through the deserted streets toward the Yaza bridge to

overtake his regiment.



But Mvra Kuzmnichna stood at the closed gate for some time with moist

eyes, pensively swaying her head and feeling an unexpected flow of

motherly tenderness and pity for the unknown young officer.











CHAPTER XXIII



From an unfinished house on the Varvrka, the ground floor of which was

a dramshop, came drunken shouts and songs. On benches round the tables

in a dirty little room sat some ten factory hands. Tipsy and perspiring,

with dim eyes and wide-open mouths, they were all laboriously singing

some song or other. They were singing discordantly, arduously, and with

great effort, evidently not because they wished to sing, but because

they wanted to show they were drunk and on a spree. One, a tall,

fair-haired lad in a clean blue coat, was standing over the others. His

face with its fine straight nose would have been handsome had it not

been for his thin, compressed, twitching lips and dull, gloomy, fixed

eyes. Evidently possessed by some idea, he stood over those who were

singing, and solemnly and jerkily flourished above their heads his white

arm with the sleeve turned up to the elbow, trying unnaturally to spread

out his dirty fingers. The sleeve of his coat kept slipping down and he

always carefully rolled it up again with his left hand, as if it were

most important that the sinewy white arm he was flourishing should be

bare. In the midst of the song cries were heard, and fighting and blows

in the passage and porch. The tall lad waved his arm.



Stop it! he exclaimed peremptorily. Theres a fight, lads! And,

still rolling up his sleeve, he went out to the porch.



The factory hands followed him. These men, who under the leadership of

the tall lad were drinking in the dramshop that morning, had brought the

publican some skins from the factory and for this had had drink served

them. The blacksmiths from a neighboring smithy, hearing the sounds of

revelry in the tavern and supposing it to have been broken into, wished

to force their way in too and a fight in the porch had resulted.



The publican was fighting one of the smiths at the door, and when the

workmen came out the smith, wrenching himself free from the tavern

keeper, fell face downward on the pavement.



Another smith tried to enter the doorway, pressing against the publican

with his chest.



The lad with the turned-up sleeve gave the smith a blow in the face and

cried wildly Theyre fighting us, lads!



At that moment the first smith got up and, scratching his bruised

face to make it bleed, shouted in a tearful voice Police! Murder!...

Theyve killed a man, lads!



Oh, gracious me, a man beaten to deathkilled!... screamed a woman

coming out of a gate close by.



A crowd gathered round the bloodstained smith.



Havent you robbed people enoughtaking their last shirts? said a

voice addressing the publican. What have you killed a man for, you

thief?



The tall lad, standing in the porch, turned his bleared eyes from the

publican to the smith and back again as if considering whom he ought to

fight now.



Murderer! he shouted suddenly to the publican. Bind him, lads!



I daresay you would like to bind me! shouted the publican, pushing

away the men advancing on him, and snatching his cap from his head he

flung it on the ground.



As if this action had some mysterious and menacing significance, the

workmen surrounding the publican paused in indecision.



I know the law very well, mates! Ill take the matter to the captain

of police. You think I wont get to him? Robbery is not permitted to

anybody nowadays! shouted the publican, picking up his cap.



Come along then! Come along then! the publican and the tall young

fellow repeated one after the other, and they moved up the street

together.



The bloodstained smith went beside them. The factory hands and others

followed behind, talking and shouting.



At the corner of the Morosyka, opposite a large house with closed

shutters and bearing a bootmakers signboard, stood a score of thin,

worn-out, gloomy-faced bootmakers, wearing overalls and long tattered

coats.



He should pay folks off properly, a thin workingman, with frowning

brows and a straggly beard, was saying.



But hes sucked our blood and now he thinks hes quit of us. Hes been

misleading us all the week and now that hes brought us to this pass

hes made off.



On seeing the crowd and the bloodstained man the workman ceased

speaking, and with eager curiosity all the bootmakers joined the moving

crowd.



Where are all the folks going?



Why, to the police, of course!



I say, is it true that we have been beaten? And what did you think?

Look what folks are saying.



Questions and answers were heard. The publican, taking advantage of the

increased crowd, dropped behind and returned to his tavern.



The tall youth, not noticing the disappearance of his foe, waved his

bare arm and went on talking incessantly, attracting general attention

to himself. It was around him that the people chiefly crowded, expecting

answers from him to the questions that occupied all their minds.



He must keep order, keep the law, thats what the government is there

for. Am I not right, good Christians? said the tall youth, with a

scarcely perceptible smile. He thinks theres no government! How can

one do without government? Or else there would be plenty whod rob us.



Why talk nonsense? rejoined voices in the crowd. Will they give

up Moscow like this? They told you that for fun, and you believed it!

Arent there plenty of troops on the march? Let him in, indeed! Thats

what the government is for. Youd better listen to what people are

saying, said some of the mob pointing to the tall youth.



By the wall of China-Town a smaller group of people were gathered round

a man in a frieze coat who held a paper in his hand.



An ukse, they are reading an ukse! Reading an ukse! cried voices in

the crowd, and the people rushed toward the reader.



The man in the frieze coat was reading the broadsheet of August 31. When

the crowd collected round him he seemed confused, but at the demand

of the tall lad who had pushed his way up to him, he began in a rather

tremulous voice to read the sheet from the beginning.



Early tomorrow I shall go to his Serene Highness, he read (Sirin

Highness, said the tall fellow with a triumphant smile on his lips and

a frown on his brow), to consult with him to act, and to aid the army

to exterminate these scoundrels. We too will take part... the reader

went on, and then paused (Do you see, shouted the youth victoriously,

hes going to clear up the whole affair for you....), in destroying

them, and will send these visitors to the devil. I will come back to

dinner, and well set to work. We will do, completely do, and undo these

scoundrels.



The last words were read out in the midst of complete silence. The tall

lad hung his head gloomily. It was evident that no one had understood

the last part. In particular, the words I will come back to dinner,

evidently displeased both reader and audience. The peoples minds

were tuned to a high pitch and this was too simple and needlessly

comprehensibleit was what any one of them might have said and therefore

was what an ukse emanating from the highest authority should not say.



They all stood despondent and silent. The tall youth moved his lips and

swayed from side to side.



We should ask him... thats he himself?... Yes, ask him indeed!...

Why not? Hell explain... voices in the rear of the crowd were

suddenly heard saying, and the general attention turned to the police

superintendents trap which drove into the square attended by two

mounted dragoons.



The superintendent of police, who had gone that morning by Count

Rostopchns orders to burn the barges and had in connection with that

matter acquired a large sum of money which was at that moment in his

pocket, on seeing a crowd bearing down upon him told his coachman to

stop.



What people are these? he shouted to the men, who were moving singly

and timidly in the direction of his trap.



What people are these? he shouted again, receiving no answer.



Your honor... replied the shopman in the frieze coat, your honor, in

accord with the proclamation of his highest excellency the count, they

desire to serve, not sparing their lives, and it is not any kind of

riot, but as his highest excellence said...



The count has not left, he is here, and an order will be issued

concerning you, said the superintendent of police. Go on! he ordered

his coachman.



The crowd halted, pressing around those who had heard what the

superintendent had said, and looking at the departing trap.



The superintendent of police turned round at that moment with a scared

look, said something to his coachman, and his horses increased their

speed.



Its a fraud, lads! Lead the way to him, himself! shouted the tall

youth. Dont let him go, lads! Let him answer us! Keep him! shouted

different people and the people dashed in pursuit of the trap.



Following the superintendent of police and talking loudly the crowd went

in the direction of the Lubynka Street.



There now, the gentry and merchants have gone away and left us to

perish. Do they think were dogs? voices in the crowd were heard saying

more and more frequently.











CHAPTER XXIV



On the evening of the first of September, after his interview with

Kutzov, Count Rostopchn had returned to Moscow mortified and offended

because he had not been invited to attend the council of war, and

because Kutzov had paid no attention to his offer to take part in the

defense of the city amazed also at the novel outlook revealed to him

at the camp, which treated the tranquillity of the capital and its

patriotic fervor as not merely secondary but quite irrelevant and

unimportant matters. Distressed, offended, and surprised by all this,

Rostopchn had returned to Moscow. After supper he lay down on a sofa

without undressing, and was awakened soon after midnight by a courier

bringing him a letter from Kutzov. This letter requested the count to

send police officers to guide the troops through the town, as the army

was retreating to the Ryazn road beyond Moscow. This was not news to

Rostopchn. He had known that Moscow would be abandoned not merely since

his interview the previous day with Kutzov on the Poklnny Hill but

ever since the battle of Borodin, for all the generals who came to

Moscow after that battle had said unanimously that it was impossible to

fight another battle, and since then the government property had been

removed every night, and half the inhabitants had left the city

with Rostopchns own permission. Yet all the same this information

astonished and irritated the count, coming as it did in the form of a

simple note with an order from Kutzov, and received at night, breaking

in on his beauty sleep.



When later on in his memoirs Count Rostopchn explained his actions at

this time, he repeatedly says that he was then actuated by two important

considerations to maintain tranquillity in Moscow and expedite the

departure of the inhabitants. If one accepts this twofold aim all

Rostopchns actions appear irreproachable. Why were the holy relics,

the arms, ammunition, gunpowder, and stores of corn not removed? Why

were thousands of inhabitants deceived into believing that Moscow would

not be given upand thereby ruined? To preserve the tranquillity

of the city, explains Count Rostopchn. Why were bundles of useless

papers from the government offices, and Leppichs balloon and other

articles removed? To leave the town empty, explains Count Rostopchn.

One need only admit that public tranquillity is in danger and any action

finds a justification.



All the horrors of the reign of terror were based only on solicitude for

public tranquillity.



On what, then, was Count Rostopchns fear for the tranquillity of

Moscow based in 1812? What reason was there for assuming any probability

of an uprising in the city? The inhabitants were leaving it and the

retreating troops were filling it. Why should that cause the masses to

riot?



Neither in Moscow nor anywhere in Russia did anything resembling an

insurrection ever occur when the enemy entered a town. More than

ten thousand people were still in Moscow on the first and second of

September, and except for a mob in the governors courtyard, assembled

there at his bidding, nothing happened. It is obvious that there would

have been even less reason to expect a disturbance among the people

if after the battle of Borodin, when the surrender of Moscow became

certain or at least probable, Rostopchn instead of exciting the people

by distributing arms and broadsheets had taken steps to remove all

the holy relics, the gunpowder, munitions, and money, and had told the

population plainly that the town would be abandoned.



Rostopchn, though he had patriotic sentiments, was a sanguine and

impulsive man who had always moved in the highest administrative circles

and had no understanding at all of the people he supposed himself to

be guiding. Ever since the enemys entry into Smolnsk he had in

imagination been playing the role of director of the popular feeling

of the heart of Russia. Not only did it seem to him (as to all

administrators) that he controlled the external actions of Moscows

inhabitants, but he also thought he controlled their mental attitude by

means of his broadsheets and posters, written in a coarse tone which the

people despise in their own class and do not understand from those in

authority. Rostopchn was so pleased with the fine role of leader of

popular feeling, and had grown so used to it, that the necessity of

relinquishing that role and abandoning Moscow without any heroic display

took him unawares and he suddenly felt the ground slip away from under

his feet, so that he positively did not know what to do. Though he knew

it was coming, he did not till the last moment wholeheartedly believe

that Moscow would be abandoned, and did not prepare for it. The

inhabitants left against his wishes. If the government offices were

removed, this was only done on the demand of officials to whom the count

yielded reluctantly. He was absorbed in the role he had created

for himself. As is often the case with those gifted with an ardent

imagination, though he had long known that Moscow would be abandoned he

knew it only with his intellect, he did not believe it in his heart and

did not adapt himself mentally to this new position of affairs.



All his painstaking and energetic activity (in how far it was useful

and had any effect on the people is another question) had been simply

directed toward arousing in the masses his own feeling of patriotic

hatred of the French.



But when events assumed their true historical character, when expressing

hatred for the French in words proved insufficient, when it was not

even possible to express that hatred by fighting a battle, when

self-confidence was of no avail in relation to the one question before

Moscow, when the whole population streamed out of Moscow as one man,

abandoning their belongings and proving by that negative action all

the depth of their national feeling, then the role chosen by Rostopchn

suddenly appeared senseless. He unexpectedly felt himself ridiculous,

weak, and alone, with no ground to stand on.



When, awakened from his sleep, he received that cold, peremptory note

from Kutzov, he felt the more irritated the more he felt himself

to blame. All that he had been specially put in charge of, the state

property which he should have removed, was still in Moscow and it was no

longer possible to take the whole of it away.



Who is to blame for it? Who has let things come to such a pass? he

ruminated. Not I, of course. I had everything ready. I had Moscow

firmly in hand. And this is what they have let it come to! Villains!

Traitors! he thought, without clearly defining who the villains and

traitors were, but feeling it necessary to hate those traitors whoever

they might be who were to blame for the false and ridiculous position in

which he found himself.



All that night Count Rostopchn issued orders, for which people came to

him from all parts of Moscow. Those about him had never seen the count

so morose and irritable.



Your excellency, the Director of the Registrars Department has sent

for instructions.... From the Consistory, from the Senate, from the

University, from the Foundling Hospital, the Suffragan has sent...

asking for information.... What are your orders about the Fire Brigade?

From the governor of the prison... from the superintendent of the

lunatic asylum... All night long such announcements were continually

being received by the count.



To all these inquiries he gave brief and angry replies indicating that

orders from him were not now needed, that the whole affair, carefully

prepared by him, had now been ruined by somebody, and that that somebody

would have to bear the whole responsibility for all that might happen.



Oh, tell that blockhead, he said in reply to the question from the

Registrars Department, that he should remain to guard his documents.

Now why are you asking silly questions about the Fire Brigade? They have

horses, let them be off to Vladmir, and not leave them to the French.



Your excellency, the superintendent of the lunatic asylum has come

what are your commands?



My commands? Let them go away, thats all.... And let the lunatics

out into the town. When lunatics command our armies God evidently means

these other madmen to be free.



In reply to an inquiry about the convicts in the prison, Count

Rostopchn shouted angrily at the governor



Do you expect me to give you two battalionswhich we have not gotfor a

convoy? Release them, thats all about it!



Your excellency, there are some political prisoners, Meshkv,

Vereshchgin...



Vereshchgin! Hasnt he been hanged yet? shouted Rostopchn. Bring

him to me!











CHAPTER XXV



Toward nine oclock in the morning, when the troops were already moving

through Moscow, nobody came to the count any more for instructions.

Those who were able to get away were going of their own accord, those

who remained behind decided for themselves what they must do.



The count ordered his carriage that he might drive to Soklniki, and sat

in his study with folded hands, morose, sallow, and taciturn.



In quiet and untroubled times it seems to every administrator that it

is only by his efforts that the whole population under his rule is

kept going, and in this consciousness of being indispensable every

administrator finds the chief reward of his labor and efforts. While the

sea of history remains calm the ruler-administrator in his frail bark,

holding on with a boat hook to the ship of the people and himself

moving, naturally imagines that his efforts move the ship he is holding

on to. But as soon as a storm arises and the sea begins to heave and

the ship to move, such a delusion is no longer possible. The ship moves

independently with its own enormous motion, the boat hook no longer

reaches the moving vessel, and suddenly the administrator, instead

of appearing a ruler and a source of power, becomes an insignificant,

useless, feeble man.



Rostopchn felt this, and it was this which exasperated him.



The superintendent of police, whom the crowd had stopped, went in to

see him at the same time as an adjutant who informed the count that the

horses were harnessed. They were both pale, and the superintendent of

police, after reporting that he had executed the instructions he had

received, informed the count that an immense crowd had collected in the

courtyard and wished to see him.



Without saying a word Rostopchn rose and walked hastily to his light,

luxurious drawing room, went to the balcony door, took hold of the

handle, let it go again, and went to the window from which he had a

better view of the whole crowd. The tall lad was standing in front,

flourishing his arm and saying something with a stern look. The

blood-stained smith stood beside him with a gloomy face. A drone of

voices was audible through the closed window.



Is my carriage ready? asked Rostopchn, stepping back from the window.



It is, your excellency, replied the adjutant.



Rostopchn went again to the balcony door.



But what do they want? he asked the superintendent of police.



Your excellency, they say they have got ready, according to your

orders, to go against the French, and they shouted something about

treachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your excellencyI hardly managed

to get away from it. Your excellency, I venture to suggest...



You may go. I dont need you to tell me what to do! exclaimed

Rostopchn angrily.



He stood by the balcony door looking at the crowd.



This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they have done

with me! thought he, full of an irrepressible fury that welled up

within him against the someone to whom what was happening might be

attributed. As often happens with passionate people, he was mastered by

anger but was still seeking an object on which to vent it. Here is

that mob, the dregs of the people, he thought as he gazed at the crowd

this rabble they have roused by their folly! They want a victim,

he thought as he looked at the tall lad flourishing his arm. And this

thought occurred to him just because he himself desired a victim,

something on which to vent his rage.



Is the carriage ready? he asked again.



Yes, your excellency. What are your orders about Vereshchgin? He is

waiting at the porch, said the adjutant.



Ah! exclaimed Rostopchn, as if struck by an unexpected recollection.



And rapidly opening the door he went resolutely out onto the balcony.

The talking instantly ceased, hats and caps were doffed, and all eyes

were raised to the count.



Good morning, lads! said the count briskly and loudly. Thank you for

coming. Ill come out to you in a moment, but we must first settle

with the villain. We must punish the villain who has caused the ruin of

Moscow. Wait for me!



And the count stepped as briskly back into the room and slammed the door

behind him.



A murmur of approbation and satisfaction ran through the crowd. Hell

settle with all the villains, youll see! And you said the French...

Hell show you what law is! the mob were saying as if reproving one

another for their lack of confidence.



A few minutes later an officer came hurriedly out of the front door,

gave an order, and the dragoons formed up in line. The crowd moved

eagerly from the balcony toward the porch. Rostopchn, coming out there

with quick angry steps, looked hastily around as if seeking someone.



Where is he? he inquired. And as he spoke he saw a young man coming

round the corner of the house between two dragoons. He had a long thin

neck, and his head, that had been half shaved, was again covered by

short hair. This young man was dressed in a threadbare blue cloth coat

lined with fox fur, that had once been smart, and dirty hempen convict

trousers, over which were pulled his thin, dirty, trodden-down boots.

On his thin, weak legs were heavy chains which hampered his irresolute

movements.



Ah! said Rostopchn, hurriedly turning away his eyes from the young

man in the fur-lined coat and pointing to the bottom step of the porch.

Put him there.



The young man in his clattering chains stepped clumsily to the spot

indicated, holding away with one finger the coat collar which chafed

his neck, turned his long neck twice this way and that, sighed, and

submissively folded before him his thin hands, unused to work.



For several seconds while the young man was taking his place on the step

the silence continued. Only among the back rows of the people, who were

all pressing toward the one spot, could sighs, groans, and the shuffling

of feet be heard.



While waiting for the young man to take his place on the step Rostopchn

stood frowning and rubbing his face with his hand.



Lads! said he, with a metallic ring in his voice. This man,

Vereshchgin, is the scoundrel by whose doing Moscow is perishing.



The young man in the fur-lined coat, stooping a little, stood in a

submissive attitude, his fingers clasped before him. His emaciated young

face, disfigured by the half-shaven head, hung down hopelessly. At

the counts first words he raised it slowly and looked up at him as if

wishing to say something or at least to meet his eye. But Rostopchn did

not look at him. A vein in the young mans long thin neck swelled like a

cord and went blue behind the ear, and suddenly his face flushed.



All eyes were fixed on him. He looked at the crowd, and rendered more

hopeful by the expression he read on the faces there, he smiled sadly

and timidly, and lowering his head shifted his feet on the step.



He has betrayed his Tsar and his country, he has gone over to

Bonaparte. He alone of all the Russians has disgraced the Russian name,

he has caused Moscow to perish, said Rostopchn in a sharp, even voice,

but suddenly he glanced down at Vereshchgin who continued to stand in

the same submissive attitude. As if inflamed by the sight, he raised his

arm and addressed the people, almost shouting



Deal with him as you think fit! I hand him over to you.



The crowd remained silent and only pressed closer and closer to

one another. To keep one another back, to breathe in that stifling

atmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to await something unknown,

uncomprehended, and terrible, was becoming unbearable. Those standing

in front, who had seen and heard what had taken place before them, all

stood with wide-open eyes and mouths, straining with all their strength,

and held back the crowd that was pushing behind them.



Beat him!... Let the traitor perish and not disgrace the Russian name!

shouted Rostopchn. Cut him down. I command it.



Hearing not so much the words as the angry tone of Rostopchns voice,

the crowd moaned and heaved forward, but again paused.



Count! exclaimed the timid yet theatrical voice of Vereshchgin in the

midst of the momentary silence that ensued, Count! One God is above us

both.... He lifted his head and again the thick vein in his thin neck

filled with blood and the color rapidly came and went in his face.



He did not finish what he wished to say.



Cut him down! I command it... shouted Rostopchn, suddenly growing

pale like Vereshchgin.



Draw sabers! cried the dragoon officer, drawing his own.



Another still stronger wave flowed through the crowd and reaching the

front ranks carried it swaying to the very steps of the porch. The tall

youth, with a stony look on his face, and rigid and uplifted arm, stood

beside Vereshchgin.



Saber him! the dragoon officer almost whispered.



And one of the soldiers, his face all at once distorted with fury,

struck Vereshchgin on the head with the blunt side of his saber.



Ah! cried Vereshchgin in meek surprise, looking round with a

frightened glance as if not understanding why this was done to him. A

similar moan of surprise and horror ran through the crowd. O Lord!

exclaimed a sorrowful voice.



But after the exclamation of surprise that had escaped from Vereshchgin

he uttered a plaintive cry of pain, and that cry was fatal. The barrier

of human feeling, strained to the utmost, that had held the crowd in

check suddenly broke. The crime had begun and must now be completed. The

plaintive moan of reproach was drowned by the threatening and angry roar

of the crowd. Like the seventh and last wave that shatters a ship, that

last irresistible wave burst from the rear and reached the front ranks,

carrying them off their feet and engulfing them all. The dragoon was

about to repeat his blow. Vereshchgin with a cry of horror, covering

his head with his hands, rushed toward the crowd. The tall youth,

against whom he stumbled, seized his thin neck with his hands and,

yelling wildly, fell with him under the feet of the pressing, struggling

crowd.



Some beat and tore at Vereshchgin, others at the tall youth. And the

screams of those that were being trampled on and of those who tried to

rescue the tall lad only increased the fury of the crowd. It was a long

time before the dragoons could extricate the bleeding youth, beaten

almost to death. And for a long time, despite the feverish haste with

which the mob tried to end the work that had been begun, those who were

hitting, throttling, and tearing at Vereshchgin were unable to kill

him, for the crowd pressed from all sides, swaying as one mass with them

in the center and rendering it impossible for them either to kill him or

let him go.



Hit him with an ax, eh!... Crushed?... Traitor, he sold Christ....

Still alive... tenacious... serves him right! Torture serves a thief

right. Use the hatchet!... Whatstill alive?



Only when the victim ceased to struggle and his cries changed to a

long-drawn, measured death rattle did the crowd around his prostrate,

bleeding corpse begin rapidly to change places. Each one came

up, glanced at what had been done, and with horror, reproach, and

astonishment pushed back again.



O Lord! The people are like wild beasts! How could he be alive? voices

in the crowd could be heard saying. Quite a young fellow too... must

have been a merchants son. What men!... and they say hes not the right

one.... How not the right one?... O Lord! And theres another has been

beaten toothey say hes nearly done for.... Oh, the people... Arent

they afraid of sinning?... said the same mob now, looking with pained

distress at the dead body with its long, thin, half-severed neck and its

livid face stained with blood and dust.



A painstaking police officer, considering the presence of a corpse in

his excellencys courtyard unseemly, told the dragoons to take it away.

Two dragoons took it by its distorted legs and dragged it along the

ground. The gory, dust-stained, half-shaven head with its long neck

trailed twisting along the ground. The crowd shrank back from it.



At the moment when Vereshchgin fell and the crowd closed in with savage

yells and swayed about him, Rostopchn suddenly turned pale and, instead

of going to the back entrance where his carriage awaited him, went

with hurried steps and bent head, not knowing where and why, along the

passage leading to the rooms on the ground floor. The counts face was

white and he could not control the feverish twitching of his lower jaw.



This way, your excellency... Where are you going?... This way,

please... said a trembling, frightened voice behind him.



Count Rostopchn was unable to reply and, turning obediently, went in

the direction indicated. At the back entrance stood his calche. The

distant roar of the yelling crowd was audible even there. He hastily

took his seat and told the coachman to drive him to his country house in

Soklniki.



When they reached the Myasntski Street and could no longer hear

the shouts of the mob, the count began to repent. He remembered with

dissatisfaction the agitation and fear he had betrayed before his

subordinates. The mob is terribledisgusting, he said to himself

in French. They are like wolves whom nothing but flesh can appease.

Count! One God is above us both!Vereshchgins words suddenly

recurred to him, and a disagreeable shiver ran down his back. But this

was only a momentary feeling and Count Rostopchn smiled disdainfully

at himself. I had other duties, thought he. The people had to be

appeased. Many other victims have perished and are perishing for the

public goodand he began thinking of his social duties to his family

and to the city entrusted to him, and of himselfnot himself as Theodore

Vaslyevich Rostopchn (he fancied that Theodore Vaslyevich Rostopchn

was sacrificing himself for the public good) but himself as governor,

the representative of authority and of the Tsar. Had I been simply

Theodore Vaslyevich my course of action would have been quite

different, but it was my duty to safeguard my life and dignity as

commander in chief.



Lightly swaying on the flexible springs of his carriage and no longer

hearing the terrible sounds of the crowd, Rostopchn grew physically

calm and, as always happens, as soon as he became physically tranquil

his mind devised reasons why he should be mentally tranquil too. The

thought which tranquillized Rostopchn was not a new one. Since the

world began and men have killed one another no one has ever committed

such a crime against his fellow man without comforting himself with

this same idea. This idea is le bien public, the hypothetical welfare of

other people.



To a man not swayed by passion that welfare is never certain, but he

who commits such a crime always knows just where that welfare lies. And

Rostopchn now knew it.



Not only did his reason not reproach him for what he had done, but

he even found cause for self-satisfaction in having so successfully

contrived to avail himself of a convenient opportunity to punish a

criminal and at the same time pacify the mob.



Vereshchgin was tried and condemned to death, thought Rostopchn

(though the Senate had only condemned Vereshchgin to hard labor), he

was a traitor and a spy. I could not let him go unpunished and so I have

killed two birds with one stone to appease the mob I gave them a victim

and at the same time punished a miscreant.



Having reached his country house and begun to give orders about domestic

arrangements, the count grew quite tranquil.



Half an hour later he was driving with his fast horses across the

Soklniki field, no longer thinking of what had occurred but considering

what was to come. He was driving to the Yaza bridge where he had heard

that Kutzov was. Count Rostopchn was mentally preparing the angry and

stinging reproaches he meant to address to Kutzov for his deception. He

would make that foxy old courtier feel that the responsibility for all

the calamities that would follow the abandonment of the city and the

ruin of Russia (as Rostopchn regarded it) would fall upon his doting

old head. Planning beforehand what he would say to Kutzov, Rostopchn

turned angrily in his calche and gazed sternly from side to side.



The Soklniki field was deserted. Only at the end of it, in front of the

almshouse and the lunatic asylum, could be seen some people in white

and others like them walking singly across the field shouting and

gesticulating.



One of these was running to cross the path of Count Rostopchns

carriage, and the count himself, his coachman, and his dragoons

looked with vague horror and curiosity at these released lunatics and

especially at the one running toward them.



Swaying from side to side on his long, thin legs in his fluttering

dressing gown, this lunatic was running impetuously, his gaze fixed on

Rostopchn, shouting something in a hoarse voice and making signs to him

to stop. The lunatics solemn, gloomy face was thin and yellow, with

its beard growing in uneven tufts. His black, agate pupils with

saffron-yellow whites moved restlessly near the lower eyelids.



Stop! Pull up, I tell you! he cried in a piercing voice, and again

shouted something breathlessly with emphatic intonations and gestures.



Coming abreast of the calche he ran beside it.



Thrice have they slain me, thrice have I risen from the dead. They

stoned me, crucified me... I shall rise... shall rise... shall rise.

They have torn my body. The kingdom of God will be overthrown... Thrice

will I overthrow it and thrice re-establish it! he cried, raising his

voice higher and higher.



Count Rostopchn suddenly grew pale as he had done when the crowd closed

in on Vereshchgin. He turned away. Go fas... faster! he cried in a

trembling voice to his coachman. The calche flew over the ground as

fast as the horses could draw it, but for a long time Count Rostopchn

still heard the insane despairing screams growing fainter in the

distance, while his eyes saw nothing but the astonished, frightened,

bloodstained face of the traitor in the fur-lined coat.



Recent as that mental picture was, Rostopchn already felt that it had

cut deep into his heart and drawn blood. Even now he felt clearly that

the gory trace of that recollection would not pass with time, but that

the terrible memory would, on the contrary, dwell in his heart ever more

cruelly and painfully to the end of his life. He seemed still to hear

the sound of his own words Cut him down! I command it....



Why did I utter those words? It was by some accident I said them....

I need not have said them, he thought. And then nothing would have

happened. He saw the frightened and then infuriated face of the dragoon

who dealt the blow, the look of silent, timid reproach that boy in the

fur-lined coat had turned upon him. But I did not do it for my own

sake. I was bound to act that way.... The mob, the traitor... the public

welfare, thought he.



Troops were still crowding at the Yaza bridge. It was hot. Kutzov,

dejected and frowning, sat on a bench by the bridge toying with his

whip in the sand when a calche dashed up noisily. A man in a generals

uniform with plumes in his hat went up to Kutzov and said something

in French. It was Count Rostopchn. He told Kutzov that he had come

because Moscow, the capital, was no more and only the army remained.



Things would have been different if your Serene Highness had not told

me that you would not abandon Moscow without another battle all this

would not have happened, he said.



Kutzov looked at Rostopchn as if, not grasping what was said to him,

he was trying to read something peculiar written at that moment on the

face of the man addressing him. Rostopchn grew confused and became

silent. Kutzov slightly shook his head and not taking his penetrating

gaze from Rostopchns face muttered softly



No! I shall not give up Moscow without a battle!



Whether Kutzov was thinking of something entirely different when

he spoke those words, or uttered them purposely, knowing them to be

meaningless, at any rate Rostopchn made no reply and hastily left him.

And strange to say, the Governor of Moscow, the proud Count Rostopchn,

took up a Cossack whip and went to the bridge where he began with shouts

to drive on the carts that blocked the way.











CHAPTER XXVI



Toward four oclock in the afternoon Murats troops were entering

Moscow. In front rode a detachment of Wrttemberg hussars and behind

them rode the King of Naples himself accompanied by a numerous suite.



About the middle of the Arbt Street, near the Church of the Miraculous

Icon of St. Nicholas, Murat halted to await news from the advanced

detachment as to the condition in which they had found the citadel, le

Kremlin.



Around Murat gathered a group of those who had remained in Moscow. They

all stared in timid bewilderment at the strange, long-haired commander

dressed up in feathers and gold.



Is that their Tsar himself? Hes not bad! low voices could be heard

saying.



An interpreter rode up to the group.



Take off your cap... your caps! These words went from one to another

in the crowd. The interpreter addressed an old porter and asked if

it was far to the Krmlin. The porter, listening in perplexity to the

unfamiliar Polish accent and not realizing that the interpreter was

speaking Russian, did not understand what was being said to him and

slipped behind the others.



Murat approached the interpreter and told him to ask where the Russian

army was. One of the Russians understood what was asked and several

voices at once began answering the interpreter. A French officer,

returning from the advanced detachment, rode up to Murat and reported

that the gates of the citadel had been barricaded and that there was

probably an ambuscade there.



Good! said Murat and, turning to one of the gentlemen in his suite,

ordered four light guns to be moved forward to fire at the gates.



The guns emerged at a trot from the column following Murat and advanced

up the Arbt. When they reached the end of the Vozdvzhenka Street they

halted and drew in the Square. Several French officers superintended the

placing of the guns and looked at the Krmlin through field glasses.



The bells in the Krmlin were ringing for vespers, and this sound

troubled the French. They imagined it to be a call to arms. A few

infantrymen ran to the Kutfyev Gate. Beams and wooden screens had been

put there, and two musket shots rang out from under the gate as soon as

an officer and men began to run toward it. A general who was standing

by the guns shouted some words of command to the officer, and the latter

ran back again with his men.



The sound of three more shots came from the gate.



One shot struck a French soldiers foot, and from behind the screens

came the strange sound of a few voices shouting. Instantly as at a

word of command the expression of cheerful serenity on the faces of

the French general, officers, and men changed to one of determined

concentrated readiness for strife and suffering. To all of them from

the marshal to the least soldier, that place was not the Vozdvzhenka,

Mokhavya, or Kutfyev Street, nor the Tritsa Gate (places familiar in

Moscow), but a new battlefield which would probably prove sanguinary.

And all made ready for that battle. The cries from the gates ceased. The

guns were advanced, the artillerymen blew the ash off their linstocks,

and an officer gave the word Fire! This was followed by two whistling

sounds of canister shot, one after another. The shot rattled against

the stone of the gate and upon the wooden beams and screens, and two

wavering clouds of smoke rose over the Square.



A few instants after the echo of the reports resounding over the

stone-built Krmlin had died away the French heard a strange sound above

their head. Thousands of crows rose above the walls and circled in the

air, cawing and noisily flapping their wings. Together with that sound

came a solitary human cry from the gateway and amid the smoke appeared

the figure of a bareheaded man in a peasants coat. He grasped a musket

and took aim at the French. Fire! repeated the officer once more,

and the reports of a musket and of two cannon shots were heard

simultaneously. The gate was again hidden by smoke.



Nothing more stirred behind the screens and the French infantry soldiers

and officers advanced to the gate. In the gateway lay three wounded and

four dead. Two men in peasant coats ran away at the foot of the wall,

toward the Znmenka.



Clear that away! said the officer, pointing to the beams and the

corpses, and the French soldiers, after dispatching the wounded, threw

the corpses over the parapet.



Who these men were nobody knew. Clear that away! was all that was said

of them, and they were thrown over the parapet and removed later on that

they might not stink. Thiers alone dedicates a few eloquent lines to

their memory These wretches had occupied the sacred citadel, having

supplied themselves with guns from the arsenal, and fired (the

wretches) at the French. Some of them were sabered and the Krmlin was

purged of their presence.



Murat was informed that the way had been cleared. The French entered

the gates and began pitching their camp in the Senate Square. Out of the

windows of the Senate House the soldiers threw chairs into the Square

for fuel and kindled fires there.



Other detachments passed through the Krmlin and encamped along

the Morosyka, the Lubynka, and Pokrvka Streets. Others quartered

themselves along the Vozdvzhenka, the Niklski, and the Tversky

Streets. No masters of the houses being found anywhere, the French were

not billeted on the inhabitants as is usual in towns but lived in it as

in a camp.



Though tattered, hungry, worn out, and reduced to a third of their

original number, the French entered Moscow in good marching order. It

was a weary and famished, but still a fighting and menacing army. But

it remained an army only until its soldiers had dispersed into their

different lodgings. As soon as the men of the various regiments began

to disperse among the wealthy and deserted houses, the army was lost

forever and there came into being something nondescript, neither

citizens nor soldiers but what are known as marauders. When five weeks

later these same men left Moscow, they no longer formed an army. They

were a mob of marauders, each carrying a quantity of articles which

seemed to him valuable or useful. The aim of each man when he left

Moscow was no longer, as it had been, to conquer, but merely to keep

what he had acquired. Like a monkey which puts its paw into the narrow

neck of a jug, and having seized a handful of nuts will not open its

fist for fear of losing what it holds, and therefore perishes, the

French when they left Moscow had inevitably to perish because they

carried their loot with them, yet to abandon what they had stolen was as

impossible for them as it is for the monkey to open its paw and let

go of its nuts. Ten minutes after each regiment had entered a Moscow

district, not a soldier or officer was left. Men in military uniforms

and Hessian boots could be seen through the windows, laughing and

walking through the rooms. In cellars and storerooms similar men were

busy among the provisions, and in the yards unlocking or breaking open

coach house and stable doors, lighting fires in kitchens and kneading

and baking bread with rolled-up sleeves, and cooking or frightening,

amusing, or caressing women and children. There were many such men both

in the shops and housesbut there was no army.



Order after order was issued by the French commanders that day

forbidding the men to disperse about the town, sternly forbidding any

violence to the inhabitants or any looting, and announcing a roll call

for that very evening. But despite all these measures the men, who had

till then constituted an army, flowed all over the wealthy, deserted

city with its comforts and plentiful supplies. As a hungry herd of

cattle keeps well together when crossing a barren field, but gets out

of hand and at once disperses uncontrollably as soon as it reaches rich

pastures, so did the army disperse all over the wealthy city.



No residents were left in Moscow, and the soldierslike water

percolating through sandspread irresistibly through the city in all

directions from the Krmlin into which they had first marched. The

cavalry, on entering a merchants house that had been abandoned and

finding there stabling more than sufficient for their horses, went on,

all the same, to the next house which seemed to them better. Many of

them appropriated several houses, chalked their names on them, and

quarreled and even fought with other companies for them. Before they had

had time to secure quarters the soldiers ran out into the streets to

see the city and, hearing that everything had been abandoned, rushed

to places where valuables were to be had for the taking. The officers

followed to check the soldiers and were involuntarily drawn into doing

the same. In Carriage Row carriages had been left in the shops, and

generals flocked there to select calches and coaches for themselves.

The few inhabitants who had remained invited commanding officers to

their houses, hoping thereby to secure themselves from being plundered.

There were masses of wealth and there seemed no end to it. All around

the quarters occupied by the French were other regions still unexplored

and unoccupied where, they thought, yet greater riches might be found.

And Moscow engulfed the army ever deeper and deeper. When water is

spilled on dry ground both the dry ground and the water disappear and

mud results and in the same way the entry of the famished army into the

rich and deserted city resulted in fires and looting and the destruction

of both the army and the wealthy city.





The French attributed the Fire of Moscow au patriotisme froce de

Rostopchne, * the Russians to the barbarity of the French. In reality,

however, it was not, and could not be, possible to explain the burning

of Moscow by making any individual, or any group of people, responsible

for it. Moscow was burned because it found itself in a position in which

any town built of wood was bound to burn, quite apart from whether it

had, or had not, a hundred and thirty inferior fire engines. Deserted

Moscow had to burn as inevitably as a heap of shavings has to burn on

which sparks continually fall for several days. A town built of wood,

where scarcely a day passes without conflagrations when the house owners

are in residence and a police force is present, cannot help burning when

its inhabitants have left it and it is occupied by soldiers who smoke

pipes, make campfires of the Senate chairs in the Senate Square, and

cook themselves meals twice a day. In peacetime it is only necessary to

billet troops in the villages of any district and the number of fires in

that district immediately increases. How much then must the probability

of fire be increased in an abandoned, wooden town where foreign troops

are quartered. Le patriotisme froce de Rostopchne and the barbarity

of the French were not to blame in the matter. Moscow was set on fire by

the soldiers pipes, kitchens, and campfires, and by the carelessness of

enemy soldiers occupying houses they did not own. Even if there was any

arson (which is very doubtful, for no one had any reason to burn the

housesin any case a troublesome and dangerous thing to do), arson

cannot be regarded as the cause, for the same thing would have happened

without any incendiarism.



    * To Rostopchns ferocious patriotism.



However tempting it might be for the French to blame Rostopchns

ferocity and for Russians to blame the scoundrel Bonaparte, or later

on to place an heroic torch in the hands of their own people, it is

impossible not to see that there could be no such direct cause of the

fire, for Moscow had to burn as every village, factory, or house must

burn which is left by its owners and in which strangers are allowed to

live and cook their porridge. Moscow was burned by its inhabitants, it

is true, but by those who had abandoned it and not by those who remained

in it. Moscow when occupied by the enemy did not remain intact like

Berlin, Vienna, and other towns, simply because its inhabitants

abandoned it and did not welcome the French with bread and salt, nor

bring them the keys of the city.











CHAPTER XXVII



The absorption of the French by Moscow, radiating starwise as it did,

only reached the quarter where Pierre was staying by the evening of the

second of September.



After the last two days spent in solitude and unusual circumstances,

Pierre was in a state bordering on insanity. He was completely obsessed

by one persistent thought. He did not know how or when this thought had

taken such possession of him, but he remembered nothing of the past,

understood nothing of the present, and all he saw and heard appeared to

him like a dream.



He had left home only to escape the intricate tangle of lifes demands

that enmeshed him, and which in his present condition he was unable

to unravel. He had gone to Joseph Alexevichs house, on the plea of

sorting the deceaseds books and papers, only in search of rest from

lifes turmoil, for in his mind the memory of Joseph Alexevich was

connected with a world of eternal, solemn, and calm thoughts, quite

contrary to the restless confusion into which he felt himself being

drawn. He sought a quiet refuge, and in Joseph Alexevichs study he

really found it. When he sat with his elbows on the dusty writing table

in the deathlike stillness of the study, calm and significant memories

of the last few days rose one after another in his imagination,

particularly of the battle of Borodin and of that vague sense of his

own insignificance and insincerity compared with the truth, simplicity,

and strength of the class of men he mentally classed as they. When

Gersim roused him from his reverie the idea occurred to him of taking

part in the popular defense of Moscow which he knew was projected. And

with that object he had asked Gersim to get him a peasants coat and

a pistol, confiding to him his intentions of remaining in Joseph

Alexevichs house and keeping his name secret. Then during the first

day spent in inaction and solitude (he tried several times to fix his

attention on the Masonic manuscripts, but was unable to do so) the idea

that had previously occurred to him of the cabalistic significance of

his name in connection with Bonapartes more than once vaguely presented

itself. But the idea that he, Lrusse Besuhof, was destined to set a

limit to the power of the Beast was as yet only one of the fancies that

often passed through his mind and left no trace behind.



When, having bought the coat merely with the object of taking part among

the people in the defense of Moscow, Pierre had met the Rostvs and

Natsha had said to him Are you remaining in Moscow?... How splendid!

the thought flashed into his mind that it really would be a good thing,

even if Moscow were taken, for him to remain there and do what he was

predestined to do.



Next day, with the sole idea of not sparing himself and not lagging in

any way behind them, Pierre went to the Three Hills gate. But when he

returned to the house convinced that Moscow would not be defended, he

suddenly felt that what before had seemed to him merely a possibility

had now become absolutely necessary and inevitable. He must remain in

Moscow, concealing his name, and must meet Napoleon and kill him, and

either perish or put an end to the misery of all Europewhich it seemed

to him was solely due to Napoleon.



Pierre knew all the details of the attempt on Bonapartes life in 1809

by a German student in Vienna, and knew that the student had been shot.

And the risk to which he would expose his life by carrying out his

design excited him still more.



Two equally strong feelings drew Pierre irresistibly to this purpose.

The first was a feeling of the necessity of sacrifice and suffering in

view of the common calamity, the same feeling that had caused him to go

to Mozhysk on the twenty-fifth and to make his way to the very thick

of the battle and had now caused him to run away from his home and, in

place of the luxury and comfort to which he was accustomed, to sleep

on a hard sofa without undressing and eat the same food as Gersim.

The other was that vague and quite Russian feeling of contempt for

everything conventional, artificial, and humanfor everything the

majority of men regard as the greatest good in the world. Pierre had

first experienced this strange and fascinating feeling at the Slobda

Palace, when he had suddenly felt that wealth, power, and lifeall that

men so painstakingly acquire and guardif it has any worth has so only

by reason of the joy with which it can all be renounced.



It was the feeling that induces a volunteer recruit to spend his last

penny on drink, and a drunken man to smash mirrors or glasses for no

apparent reason and knowing that it will cost him all the money he

possesses the feeling which causes a man to perform actions which from

an ordinary point of view are insane, to test, as it were, his personal

power and strength, affirming the existence of a higher, nonhuman

criterion of life.



From the very day Pierre had experienced this feeling for the first time

at the Slobda Palace he had been continuously under its influence, but

only now found full satisfaction for it. Moreover, at this moment Pierre

was supported in his design and prevented from renouncing it by what he

had already done in that direction. If he were now to leave Moscow like

everyone else, his flight from home, the peasant coat, the pistol, and

his announcement to the Rostvs that he would remain in Moscow would all

become not merely meaningless but contemptible and ridiculous, and to

this Pierre was very sensitive.



Pierres physical condition, as is always the case, corresponded to his

mental state. The unaccustomed coarse food, the vodka he drank during

those days, the absence of wine and cigars, his dirty unchanged linen,

two almost sleepless nights passed on a short sofa without beddingall

this kept him in a state of excitement bordering on insanity.



It was two oclock in the afternoon. The French had already entered

Moscow. Pierre knew this, but instead of acting he only thought about

his undertaking, going over its minutest details in his mind. In his

fancy he did not clearly picture to himself either the striking of the

blow or the death of Napoleon, but with extraordinary vividness and

melancholy enjoyment imagined his own destruction and heroic endurance.



Yes, alone, for the sake of all, I must do it or perish! he thought.

Yes, I will approach... and then suddenly... with pistol or dagger?

But that is all the same! It is not I but the hand of Providence that

punishes thee, I shall say, thought he, imagining what he would say

when killing Napoleon. Well then, take me and execute me! he went on,

speaking to himself and bowing his head with a sad but firm expression.



While Pierre, standing in the middle of the room, was talking to himself

in this way, the study door opened and on the threshold appeared

the figure of Makr Alexevich, always so timid before but now quite

transformed.



His dressing gown was unfastened, his face red and distorted. He

was obviously drunk. On seeing Pierre he grew confused at first, but

noticing embarrassment on Pierres face immediately grew bold and,

staggering on his thin legs, advanced into the middle of the room.



Theyre frightened, he said confidentially in a hoarse voice. I say I

wont surrender, I say... Am I not right, sir?



He paused and then suddenly seeing the pistol on the table seized it

with unexpected rapidity and ran out into the corridor.



Gersim and the porter, who had followed Makr Alexevich, stopped him

in the vestibule and tried to take the pistol from him. Pierre, coming

out into the corridor, looked with pity and repulsion at the half-crazy

old man. Makr Alexevich, frowning with exertion, held on to the pistol

and screamed hoarsely, evidently with some heroic fancy in his head.



To arms! Board them! No, you shant get it, he yelled.



That will do, please, that will do. Have the goodnessplease, sir, to

let go! Please, sir... pleaded Gersim, trying carefully to steer Makr

Alexevich by the elbows back to the door.



Who are you? Bonaparte!... shouted Makr Alexevich.



Thats not right, sir. Come to your room, please, and rest. Allow me to

have the pistol.



Be off, thou base slave! Touch me not! See this? shouted Makr

Alexevich, brandishing the pistol. Board them!



Catch hold! whispered Gersim to the porter.



They seized Makr Alexevich by the arms and dragged him to the door.



The vestibule was filled with the discordant sounds of a struggle and of

a tipsy, hoarse voice.



Suddenly a fresh sound, a piercing feminine scream, reverberated from

the porch and the cook came running into the vestibule.



Its them! Gracious heavens! O Lord, four of them, horsemen! she

cried.



Gersim and the porter let Makr Alexevich go, and in the now silent

corridor the sound of several hands knocking at the front door could be

heard.











CHAPTER XXVIII



Pierre, having decided that until he had carried out his design he would

disclose neither his identity nor his knowledge of French, stood at the

half-open door of the corridor, intending to conceal himself as soon

as the French entered. But the French entered and still Pierre did not

retirean irresistible curiosity kept him there.



There were two of them. One was an officera tall, soldierly, handsome

manthe other evidently a private or an orderly, sunburned, short, and

thin, with sunken cheeks and a dull expression. The officer walked in

front, leaning on a stick and slightly limping. When he had advanced

a few steps he stopped, having apparently decided that these were good

quarters, turned round to the soldiers standing at the entrance, and in

a loud voice of command ordered them to put up the horses. Having done

that, the officer, lifting his elbow with a smart gesture, stroked his

mustache and lightly touched his hat.



Bonjour, la compagnie! * said he gaily, smiling and looking about him.



    * Good day, everybody!





No one gave any reply.



Vous tes le bourgeois? * the officer asked Gersim.



    * Are you the master here?





Gersim gazed at the officer with an alarmed and inquiring look.



Quartier, quartier, logement! said the officer, looking down at the

little man with a condescending and good-natured smile. Les franais

sont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! Ne nous fchons pas, mon

vieux! * added he, clapping the scared and silent Gersim on the

shoulder. Well, does no one speak French in this establishment? he

asked again in French, looking around and meeting Pierres eyes. Pierre

moved away from the door.



     * Quarters, quarters, lodgings! The French are good

     fellows. What the devil! There, dont let us be cross, old

     fellow!





Again the officer turned to Gersim and asked him to show him the rooms

in the house.



Master, not heredont understand... me, you... said Gersim, trying

to render his words more comprehensible by contorting them.



Still smiling, the French officer spread out his hands before Gersims

nose, intimating that he did not understand him either, and moved,

limping, to the door at which Pierre was standing. Pierre wished to go

away and conceal himself, but at that moment he saw Makr Alexevich

appearing at the open kitchen door with the pistol in his hand. With

a madmans cunning, Makr Alexevich eyed the Frenchman, raised his

pistol, and took aim.



Board them! yelled the tipsy man, trying to press the trigger. Hearing

the yell the officer turned round, and at the same moment Pierre threw

himself on the drunkard. Just when Pierre snatched at and struck up the

pistol Makr Alexevich at last got his fingers on the trigger, there

was a deafening report, and all were enveloped in a cloud of smoke. The

Frenchman turned pale and rushed to the door.



Forgetting his intention of concealing his knowledge of French, Pierre,

snatching away the pistol and throwing it down, ran up to the officer

and addressed him in French.



You are not wounded? he asked.



I think not, answered the Frenchman, feeling himself over. But I have

had a lucky escape this time, he added, pointing to the damaged plaster

of the wall. Who is that man? said he, looking sternly at Pierre.



Oh, I am really in despair at what has occurred, said Pierre rapidly,

quite forgetting the part he had intended to play. He is an unfortunate

madman who did not know what he was doing.



The officer went up to Makr Alexevich and took him by the collar.



Makr Alexevich was standing with parted lips, swaying, as if about to

fall asleep, as he leaned against the wall.



Brigand! You shall pay for this, said the Frenchman, letting go

of him. We French are merciful after victory, but we do not pardon

traitors, he added, with a look of gloomy dignity and a fine energetic

gesture.



Pierre continued, in French, to persuade the officer not to hold that

drunken imbecile to account. The Frenchman listened in silence with the

same gloomy expression, but suddenly turned to Pierre with a smile. For

a few seconds he looked at him in silence. His handsome face assumed a

melodramatically gentle expression and he held out his hand.



You have saved my life. You are French, said he.



For a Frenchman that deduction was indubitable. Only a Frenchman could

perform a great deed, and to save his lifethe life of M. Ramballe,

captain of the 13th Light Regimentwas undoubtedly a very great deed.



But however indubitable that conclusion and the officers conviction

based upon it, Pierre felt it necessary to disillusion him.



I am Russian, he said quickly.



Tut, tut, tut! Tell that to others, said the officer, waving his

finger before his nose and smiling. You shall tell me all about that

presently. I am delighted to meet a compatriot. Well, and what are we

to do with this man? he added, addressing himself to Pierre as to a

brother.



Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, having once received that loftiest

of human appellations he could not renounce it, said the officers look

and tone. In reply to his last question Pierre again explained who Makr

Alexevich was and how just before their arrival that drunken imbecile

had seized the loaded pistol which they had not had time to recover from

him, and begged the officer to let the deed go unpunished.



The Frenchman expanded his chest and made a majestic gesture with his

arm.



You have saved my life! You are French. You ask his pardon? I grant it

you. Lead that man away! said he quickly and energetically, and taking

the arm of Pierre whom he had promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his

life, he went with him into the room.



The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passage asking

what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punish the culprits,

but the officer sternly checked them.



You will be called in when you are wanted, he said.



The soldiers went out again, and the orderly, who had meanwhile had time

to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer.



Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen, said he.

Shall I serve them up?



Yes, and some wine, answered the captain.











CHAPTER XXIX



When the French officer went into the room with Pierre the latter again

thought it his duty to assure him that he was not French and wished to

go away, but the officer would not hear of it. He was so very polite,

amiable, good-natured, and genuinely grateful to Pierre for saving his

life that Pierre had not the heart to refuse, and sat down with him in

the parlorthe first room they entered. To Pierres assurances that he

was not a Frenchman, the captain, evidently not understanding how anyone

could decline so flattering an appellation, shrugged his shoulders and

said that if Pierre absolutely insisted on passing for a Russian let it

be so, but for all that he would be forever bound to Pierre by gratitude

for saving his life.



Had this man been endowed with the slightest capacity for perceiving the

feelings of others, and had he at all understood what Pierres feelings

were, the latter would probably have left him, but the mans animated

obtuseness to everything other than himself disarmed Pierre.



A Frenchman or a Russian prince incognito, said the officer, looking

at Pierres fine though dirty linen and at the ring on his finger.

I owe my life to you and offer you my friendship. A Frenchman never

forgets either an insult or a service. I offer you my friendship. That

is all I can say.



There was so much good nature and nobility (in the French sense of the

word) in the officers voice, in the expression of his face and in

his gestures, that Pierre, unconsciously smiling in response to the

Frenchmans smile, pressed the hand held out to him.



Captain Ramballe, of the 13th Light Regiment, Chevalier of the Legion

of Honor for the affair on the seventh of September, he introduced

himself, a self-satisfied irrepressible smile puckering his lips under

his mustache. Will you now be so good as to tell me with whom I have

the honor of conversing so pleasantly, instead of being in the ambulance

with that maniacs bullet in my body?



Pierre replied that he could not tell him his name and, blushing,

began to try to invent a name and to say something about his reason for

concealing it, but the Frenchman hastily interrupted him.



Oh, please! said he. I understand your reasons. You are an officer...

a superior officer perhaps. You have borne arms against us. Thats not

my business. I owe you my life. That is enough for me. I am quite at

your service. You belong to the gentry? he concluded with a shade of

inquiry in his tone. Pierre bent his head. Your baptismal name, if you

please. That is all I ask. Monsieur Pierre, you say.... Thats all I

want to know.



When the mutton and an omelet had been served and a samovar and vodka

brought, with some wine which the French had taken from a Russian cellar

and brought with them, Ramballe invited Pierre to share his dinner, and

himself began to eat greedily and quickly like a healthy and hungry man,

munching his food rapidly with his strong teeth, continually smacking

his lips, and repeatingExcellent! Delicious! His face grew red and

was covered with perspiration. Pierre was hungry and shared the dinner

with pleasure. Morel, the orderly, brought some hot water in a saucepan

and placed a bottle of claret in it. He also brought a bottle of kvass,

taken from the kitchen for them to try. That beverage was already known

to the French and had been given a special name. They called it limonade

de cochon (pigs lemonade), and Morel spoke well of the limonade de

cochon he had found in the kitchen. But as the captain had the wine they

had taken while passing through Moscow, he left the kvass to Morel and

applied himself to the bottle of Bordeaux. He wrapped the bottle up

to its neck in a table napkin and poured out wine for himself and for

Pierre. The satisfaction of his hunger and the wine rendered the captain

still more lively and he chatted incessantly all through dinner.



Yes, my dear Monsieur Pierre, I owe you a fine votive candle for

saving me from that maniac.... You see, I have bullets enough in my

body already. Here is one I got at Wagram (he touched his side) and a

second at Smolnskhe showed a scar on his cheekand this leg which as

you see does not want to march, I got that on the seventh at the great

battle of la Moskowa. Sacr Dieu! It was splendid! That deluge of fire

was worth seeing. It was a tough job you set us there, my word! You may

be proud of it! And on my honor, in spite of the cough I caught there, I

should be ready to begin again. I pity those who did not see it.



I was there, said Pierre.



Bah, really? So much the better! You are certainly brave foes. The

great redoubt held out well, by my pipe! continued the Frenchman. And

you made us pay dear for it. I was at it three timessure as I sit here.

Three times we reached the guns and three times we were thrown back

like cardboard figures. Oh, it was beautiful, Monsieur Pierre! Your

grenadiers were splendid, by heaven! I saw them close up their ranks six

times in succession and march as if on parade. Fine fellows! Our King of

Naples, who knows whats what, cried Bravo! Ha, ha! So you are one of

us soldiers! he added, smiling, after a momentary pause. So much

the better, so much the better, Monsieur Pierre! Terrible in battle...

gallant... with the fair (he winked and smiled), thats what the

French are, Monsieur Pierre, arent they?



The captain was so navely and good-humoredly gay, so real, and so

pleased with himself that Pierre almost winked back as he looked merrily

at him. Probably the word gallant turned the captains thoughts to the

state of Moscow.



Apropos, tell me please, is it true that the women have all left

Moscow? What a queer idea! What had they to be afraid of?



Would not the French ladies leave Paris if the Russians entered it?

asked Pierre.



Ha, ha, ha! The Frenchman emitted a merry, sanguine chuckle, patting

Pierre on the shoulder. What a thing to say! he exclaimed. Paris?...

But Paris, Paris...



Paristhe capital of the world, Pierre finished his remark for him.



The captain looked at Pierre. He had a habit of stopping short in the

middle of his talk and gazing intently with his laughing, kindly eyes.



Well, if you hadnt told me you were Russian, I should have wagered

that you were Parisian! You have that... I dont 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 doesnt know Paris

is a savage. You can tell a Parisian two leagues off. Paris is Talma, la

Duchnois, Potier, the Sorbonne, the boulevards, and noticing that

his conclusion was weaker than what had gone before, he added quickly

There is only one Paris in the world. You have been to Paris and have

remained Russian. Well, I dont esteem you the less for it.



Under the influence of the wine he had drunk, and after the days he had

spent alone with his depressing thoughts, Pierre involuntarily enjoyed

talking with this cheerful and good-natured man.



To return to your ladiesI hear they are lovely. What a wretched idea

to go and bury themselves in the steppes when the French army is in

Moscow. What a chance those girls have missed! Your peasants, nowthats

another thing but you civilized people, you ought to know us better

than that. We took Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, Warsaw, all

the worlds capitals.... We are feared, but we are loved. We are nice to

know. And then the Emperor... he began, but Pierre interrupted him.



The Emperor, Pierre repeated, and his face suddenly became sad and

embarrassed, is the Emperor...?



The Emperor? He is generosity, mercy, justice, order, geniusthats

what the Emperor is! It is I, Ramballe, who tell you so.... I assure you

I was his enemy eight years ago. My father was an emigrant count.... But

that man has vanquished me. He has taken hold of me. I could not resist

the sight of the grandeur and glory with which he has covered France.

When I understood what he wantedwhen I saw that he was preparing a bed

of laurels for us, you know, I said to myself That is a monarch, and

I devoted myself to him! So there! Oh yes, mon cher, he is the greatest

man of the ages past or future.



Is he in Moscow? Pierre stammered with a guilty look.



The Frenchman looked at his guilty face and smiled.



No, he will make his entry tomorrow, he replied, and continued his

talk.



Their conversation was interrupted by the cries of several voices at

the gate and by Morel, who came to say that some Wrttemberg hussars had

come and wanted to put up their horses in the yard where the captains

horses were. This difficulty had arisen chiefly because the hussars did

not understand what was said to them in French.



The captain had their senior sergeant called in, and in a stern voice

asked him to what regiment he belonged, who was his commanding officer,

and by what right he allowed himself to claim quarters that were already

occupied. The German who knew little French, answered the two first

questions by giving the names of his regiment and of his commanding

officer, but in reply to the third question which he did not understand

said, introducing broken French into his own German, that he was the

quartermaster of the regiment and his commander had ordered him to

occupy all the houses one after another. Pierre, who knew German,

translated what the German said to the captain and gave the captains

reply to the Wrttemberg hussar in German. When he had understood what

was said to him, the German submitted and took his men elsewhere. The

captain went out into the porch and gave some orders in a loud voice.



When he returned to the room Pierre was sitting in the same place as

before, with his head in his hands. His face expressed suffering. He

really was suffering at that moment. When the captain went out and he

was left alone, suddenly he came to himself and realized the position

he was in. It was not that Moscow had been taken or that the happy

conquerors were masters in it and were patronizing him. Painful as

that was it was not that which tormented Pierre at the moment. He was

tormented by the consciousness of his own weakness. The few glasses of

wine he had drunk and the conversation with this good-natured man had

destroyed the mood of concentrated gloom in which he had spent the last

few days and which was essential for the execution of his design. The

pistol, dagger, and peasant coat were ready. Napoleon was to enter the

town next day. Pierre still considered that it would be a useful and

worthy action to slay the evildoer, but now he felt that he would not

do it. He did not know why, but he felt a foreboding that he would not

carry out his intention. He struggled against the confession of his

weakness but dimly felt that he could not overcome it and that his

former gloomy frame of mind, concerning vengeance, killing, and

self-sacrifice, had been dispersed like dust by contact with the first

man he met.



The captain returned to the room, limping slightly and whistling a tune.



The Frenchmans chatter which had previously amused Pierre now repelled

him. The tune he was whistling, his gait, and the gesture with which

he twirled his mustache, all now seemed offensive. I will go away

immediately. I wont say another word to him, thought Pierre. He

thought this, but still sat in the same place. A strange feeling of

weakness tied him to the spot he wished to get up and go away, but

could not do so.



The captain, on the other hand, seemed very cheerful. He paced up and

down the room twice. His eyes shone and his mustache twitched as if he

were smiling to himself at some amusing thought.



The colonel of those Wrttembergers is delightful, he suddenly said.

Hes a German, but a nice fellow all the same.... But hes a German.

He sat down facing Pierre. By the way, you know German, then?



Pierre looked at him in silence.



What is the German for shelter?



Shelter? Pierre repeated. The German for shelter is Unterkunft.



How do you say it? the captain asked quickly and doubtfully.



Unterkunft, Pierre repeated.



Onterkoff, said the captain and looked at Pierre for some seconds with

laughing eyes. These Germans are first-rate fools, dont you think so,

Monsieur Pierre? he concluded.



Well, lets have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shall we?

Morel will warm us up another little bottle. Morel! he called out

gaily.



Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. The captain looked at Pierre

by the candlelight and was evidently struck by the troubled expression

on his companions face. Ramballe, with genuine distress and sympathy in

his face, went up to Pierre and bent over him.



There now, were sad, said he, touching Pierres hand. Have I

upset you? No, really, have you anything against me? he asked Pierre.

Perhaps its the state of affairs?



Pierre did not answer, but looked cordially into the Frenchmans eyes

whose expression of sympathy was pleasing to him.



Honestly, without speaking of what I owe you, I feel friendship for

you. Can I do anything for you? Dispose of me. It is for life and death.

I say it with my hand on my heart! said he, striking his chest.



Thank you, said Pierre.



The captain gazed intently at him as he had done when he learned that

shelter was Unterkunft in German, and his face suddenly brightened.



Well, in that case, I drink to our friendship! he cried gaily, filling

two glasses with wine.



Pierre took one of the glasses and emptied it. Ramballe emptied his too,

again pressed Pierres hand, and leaned his elbows on the table in a

pensive attitude.



Yes, my dear friend, he began, such is fortunes caprice. Who would

have said that I should be a soldier and a captain of dragoons in the

service of Bonaparte, as we used to call him? Yet here I am in Moscow

with him. I must tell you, mon cher, he continued in the sad and

measured tones of a man who intends to tell a long story, that our name

is one of the most ancient in France.



And with a Frenchmans easy and nave frankness the captain told Pierre

the story of his ancestors, his childhood, youth, and manhood, and all

about his relations and his financial and family affairs, ma pauvre

mre playing of course an important part in the story.



But all that is only lifes setting, the real thing is lovelove! Am I

not right, Monsieur Pierre? said he, growing animated. Another glass?



Pierre again emptied his glass and poured himself out a third.



Oh, women, women! and the captain, looking with glistening eyes at

Pierre, began talking of love and of his love affairs.



There were very many of these, as one could easily believe, looking

at the officers handsome, self-satisfied face, and noting the eager

enthusiasm with which he spoke of women. Though all Ramballes love

stories had the sensual character which Frenchmen regard as the special

charm and poetry of love, yet he told his story with such sincere

conviction that he alone had experienced and known all the charm of love

and he described women so alluringly that Pierre listened to him with

curiosity.



It was plain that lamour which the Frenchman was so fond of was not

that low and simple kind that Pierre had once felt for his wife, nor

was it the romantic love stimulated by himself that he experienced for

Natsha. (Ramballe despised both these kinds of love equally the one

he considered the love of clodhoppers and the other the love

of simpletons.) Lamour which the Frenchman worshiped consisted

principally in the unnaturalness of his relation to the woman and in a

combination of incongruities giving the chief charm to the feeling.



Thus the captain touchingly recounted the story of his love for a

fascinating marquise of thirty-five and at the same time for a charming,

innocent child of seventeen, daughter of the bewitching marquise. The

conflict of magnanimity between the mother and the daughter, ending in

the mothers sacrificing herself and offering her daughter in marriage

to her lover, even now agitated the captain, though it was the memory of

a distant past. Then he recounted an episode in which the husband played

the part of the lover, and hethe loverassumed the role of the husband,

as well as several droll incidents from his recollections of Germany,

where shelter is called Unterkunft and where the husbands eat

sauerkraut and the young girls are too blonde.



Finally, the latest episode in Poland still fresh in the captains

memory, and which he narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face, was

of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in general, the saving of

life continually occurred in the captains stories) and the Pole had

entrusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne de cur) while himself

entering the French service. The captain was happy, the enchanting

Polish lady wished to elope with him, but, prompted by magnanimity, the

captain restored the wife to the husband, saying as he did so I have

saved your life, and I save your honor! Having repeated these words the

captain wiped his eyes and gave himself a shake, as if driving away the

weakness which assailed him at this touching recollection.



Listening to the captains tales, Pierreas often happens late in the

evening and under the influence of winefollowed all that was told him,

understood it all, and at the same time followed a train of personal

memories which, he knew not why, suddenly arose in his mind. While

listening to these love stories his own love for Natsha unexpectedly

rose to his mind, and going over the pictures of that love in his

imagination he mentally compared them with Ramballes tales. Listening

to the story of the struggle between love and duty, Pierre saw before

his eyes every minutest detail of his last meeting with the object of

his love at the Skharev water tower. At the time of that meeting it had

not produced an effect upon himhe had not even once recalled it. But

now it seemed to him that that meeting had had in it something very

important and poetic.



Peter Kirlovich, come here! We have recognized you, he now seemed

to hear the words she had uttered and to see before him her eyes, her

smile, her traveling hood, and a stray lock of her hair... and there

seemed to him something pathetic and touching in all this.



Having finished his tale about the enchanting Polish lady, the captain

asked Pierre if he had ever experienced a similar impulse to sacrifice

himself for love and a feeling of envy of the legitimate husband.



Challenged by this question Pierre raised his head and felt a need to

express the thoughts that filled his mind. He began to explain that he

understood love for a woman somewhat differently. He said that in all

his life he had loved and still loved only one woman, and that she could

never be his.



Tiens! said the captain.



Pierre then explained that he had loved this woman from his earliest

years, but that he had not dared to think of her because she was too

young, and because he had been an illegitimate son without a name.

Afterwards when he had received a name and wealth he dared not think of

her because he loved her too well, placing her far above everything in

the world, and especially therefore above himself.



When he had reached this point, Pierre asked the captain whether he

understood that.



The captain made a gesture signifying that even if he did not understand

it he begged Pierre to continue.



Platnic love, clouds... he muttered.



Whether it was the wine he had drunk, or an impulse of frankness, or the

thought that this man did not, and never would, know any of those who

played a part in his story, or whether it was all these things together,

something loosened Pierres tongue. Speaking thickly and with a faraway

look in his shining eyes, he told the whole story of his life his

marriage, Natshas love for his best friend, her betrayal of him, and

all his own simple relations with her. Urged on by Ramballes questions

he also told what he had at first concealedhis own position and even

his name.



More than anything else in Pierres story the captain was impressed by

the fact that Pierre was very rich, had two mansions in Moscow, and that

he had abandoned everything and not left the city, but remained there

concealing his name and station.



When it was late at night they went out together into the street. The

night was warm and light. To the left of the house on the Pokrvka a

fire glowedthe first of those that were beginning in Moscow. To the

right and high up in the sky was the sickle of the waning moon and

opposite to it hung that bright comet which was connected in Pierres

heart with his love. At the gate stood Gersim, the cook, and two

Frenchmen. Their laughter and their mutually incomprehensible remarks in

two languages could be heard. They were looking at the glow seen in the

town.



There was nothing terrible in the one small, distant fire in the immense

city.



Gazing at the high starry sky, at the moon, at the comet, and at the

glow from the fire, Pierre experienced a joyful emotion. There now,

how good it is, what more does one need? thought he. And suddenly

remembering his intention he grew dizzy and felt so faint that he leaned

against the fence to save himself from falling.



Without taking leave of his new friend, Pierre left the gate with

unsteady steps and returning to his room lay down on the sofa and

immediately fell asleep.











CHAPTER XXX



The glow of the first fire that began on the second of September was

watched from the various roads by the fugitive Muscovites and by the

retreating troops, with many different feelings.



The Rostv party spent the night at Mytshchi, fourteen miles from

Moscow. They had started so late on the first of September, the road

had been so blocked by vehicles and troops, so many things had been

forgotten for which servants were sent back, that they had decided to

spend that night at a place three miles out of Moscow. The next morning

they woke late and were again delayed so often that they only got as far

as Great Mytshchi. At ten oclock that evening the Rostv family and

the wounded traveling with them were all distributed in the yards and

huts of that large village. The Rostvs servants and coachmen and the

orderlies of the wounded officers, after attending to their masters, had

supper, fed the horses, and came out into the porches.



In a neighboring hut lay Ravskis adjutant with a fractured wrist. The

awful pain he suffered made him moan incessantly and piteously, and his

moaning sounded terrible in the darkness of the autumn night. He had

spent the first night in the same yard as the Rostvs. The countess said

she had been unable to close her eyes on account of his moaning, and at

Mytshchi she moved into a worse hut simply to be farther away from the

wounded man.



In the darkness of the night one of the servants noticed, above the high

body of a coach standing before the porch, the small glow of another

fire. One glow had long been visible and everybody knew that it was

Little Mytshchi burningset on fire by Mamnovs Cossacks.



But look here, brothers, theres another fire! remarked an orderly.



All turned their attention to the glow.



But they told us Little Mytshchi had been set on fire by Mamnovs

Cossacks.



But thats not Mytshchi, its farther away.



Look, it must be in Moscow!



Two of the gazers went round to the other side of the coach and sat down

on its steps.



Its more to the left, why, Little Mytshchi is over there, and this is

right on the other side.



Several men joined the first two.



See how its flaring, said one. Thats a fire in Moscow either in

the Sushchvski or the Rogzhski quarter.



No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazed silently

at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance.



Old Daniel Terntich, the counts valet (as he was called), came up to

the group and shouted at Mshka.



What are you staring at, you good-for-nothing?... The count will be

calling and theres nobody there go and gather the clothes together.



I only ran out to get some water, said Mshka.



But what do you think, Daniel Terntich? Doesnt it look as if that

glow were in Moscow? remarked one of the footmen.



Daniel Terntich made no reply, and again for a long time they were all

silent. The glow spread, rising and falling, farther and farther still.



God have mercy.... Its windy and dry... said another voice.



Just look! See what its doing now. O Lord! You can even see the crows

flying. Lord have mercy on us sinners!



Theyll put it out, no fear!



Whos to put it out? Daniel Terntich, who had hitherto been silent,

was heard to say. His voice was calm and deliberate. Moscow it is,

brothers, said he. Mother Moscow, the white... his voice faltered,

and he gave way to an old mans sob.



And it was as if they had all only waited for this to realize the

significance for them of the glow they were watching. Sighs were heard,

words of prayer, and the sobbing of the counts old valet.











CHAPTER XXXI



The valet, returning to the cottage, informed the count that Moscow was

burning. The count donned his dressing gown and went out to look. Snya

and Madame Schoss, who had not yet undressed, went out with him. Only

Natsha and the countess remained in the room. Ptya was no longer

with the family, he had gone on with his regiment which was making for

Tritsa.



The countess, on hearing that Moscow was on fire, began to cry. Natsha,

pale, with a fixed look, was sitting on the bench under the icons just

where she had sat down on arriving and paid no attention to her fathers

words. She was listening to the ceaseless moaning of the adjutant, three

houses off.



Oh, how terrible, said Snya returning from the yard chilled and

frightened. I believe the whole of Moscow will burn, theres an awful

glow! Natsha, do look! You can see it from the window, she said to her

cousin, evidently wishing to distract her mind.



But Natsha looked at her as if not understanding what was said to her

and again fixed her eyes on the corner of the stove. She had been in

this condition of stupor since the morning, when Snya, to the surprise

and annoyance of the countess, had for some unaccountable reason found

it necessary to tell Natsha of Prince Andrews wound and of his being

with their party. The countess had seldom been so angry with anyone as

she was with Snya. Snya had cried and begged to be forgiven and now,

as if trying to atone for her fault, paid unceasing attention to her

cousin.



Look, Natsha, how dreadfully it is burning! said she.



Whats burning? asked Natsha. Oh, yes, Moscow.



And as if in order not to offend Snya and to get rid of her, she turned

her face to the window, looked out in such a way that it was evident

that she could not see anything, and again settled down in her former

attitude.



But you didnt see it!



Yes, really I did, Natsha replied in a voice that pleaded to be left

in peace.



Both the countess and Snya understood that, naturally, neither Moscow

nor the burning of Moscow nor anything else could seem of importance to

Natsha.



The count returned and lay down behind the partition. The countess went

up to her daughter and touched her head with the back of her hand as she

was wont to do when Natsha was ill, then touched her forehead with her

lips as if to feel whether she was feverish, and finally kissed her.



You are cold. You are trembling all over. Youd better lie down, said

the countess.



Lie down? All right, I will. Ill lie down at once, said Natsha.



When Natsha had been told that morning that Prince Andrew was seriously

wounded and was traveling with their party, she had at first asked many

questions Where was he going? How was he wounded? Was it serious? And

could she see him? But after she had been told that she could not see

him, that he was seriously wounded but that his life was not in danger,

she ceased to ask questions or to speak at all, evidently disbelieving

what they told her, and convinced that say what she might she would

still be told the same. All the way she had sat motionless in a corner

of the coach with wide open eyes, and the expression in them which the

countess knew so well and feared so much, and now she sat in the same

way on the bench where she had seated herself on arriving. She was

planning something and either deciding or had already decided something

in her mind. The countess knew this, but what it might be she did not

know, and this alarmed and tormented her.



Natsha, undress, darling lie down on my bed.



A bed had been made on a bedstead for the countess only. Madame Schoss

and the two girls were to sleep on some hay on the floor.



No, Mamma, I will lie down here on the floor, Natsha replied

irritably and she went to the window and opened it. Through the open

window the moans of the adjutant could be heard more distinctly. She put

her head out into the damp night air, and the countess saw her slim neck

shaking with sobs and throbbing against the window frame. Natsha knew

it was not Prince Andrew who was moaning. She knew Prince Andrew was in

the same yard as themselves and in a part of the hut across the passage

but this dreadful incessant moaning made her sob. The countess exchanged

a look with Snya.



Lie down, darling lie down, my pet, said the countess, softly

touching Natshas shoulders. Come, lie down.



Oh, yes... Ill lie down at once, said Natsha, and began hurriedly

undressing, tugging at the tapes of her petticoat.



When she had thrown off her dress and put on a dressing jacket, she sat

down with her foot under her on the bed that had been made up on the

floor, jerked her thin and rather short plait of hair to the front,

and began replaiting it. Her long, thin, practiced fingers rapidly

unplaited, replaited, and tied up her plait. Her head moved from side

to side from habit, but her eyes, feverishly wide, looked fixedly before

her. When her toilet for the night was finished she sank gently onto the

sheet spread over the hay on the side nearest the door.



Natsha, youd better lie in the middle, said Snya.



Ill stay here, muttered Natsha. Do lie down, she added crossly,

and buried her face in the pillow.



The countess, Madame Schoss, and Snya undressed hastily and lay down.

The small lamp in front of the icons was the only light left in

the room. But in the yard there was a light from the fire at Little

Mytshchi a mile and a half away, and through the night came the noise

of people shouting at a tavern Mamnovs Cossacks had set up across the

street, and the adjutants unceasing moans could still be heard.



For a long time Natsha listened attentively to the sounds that reached

her from inside and outside the room and did not move. First she heard

her mother praying and sighing and the creaking of her bed under

her, then Madame Schoss familiar whistling snore and Snyas gentle

breathing. Then the countess called to Natsha. Natsha did not answer.



I think shes asleep, Mamma, said Snya softly.



After a short silence the countess spoke again but this time no one

replied.



Soon after that Natsha heard her mothers even breathing. Natsha did

not move, though her little bare foot, thrust out from under the quilt,

was growing cold on the bare floor.



As if to celebrate a victory over everybody, a cricket chirped in a

crack in the wall. A cock crowed far off and another replied near

by. The shouting in the tavern had died down only the moaning of the

adjutant was heard. Natsha sat up.



Snya, are you asleep? Mamma? she whispered.



No one replied. Natsha rose slowly and carefully, crossed herself, and

stepped cautiously on the cold and dirty floor with her slim, supple,

bare feet. The boards of the floor creaked. Stepping cautiously from one

foot to the other she ran like a kitten the few steps to the door and

grasped the cold door handle.



It seemed to her that something heavy was beating rhythmically against

all the walls of the room it was her own heart, sinking with alarm and

terror and overflowing with love.



She opened the door and stepped across the threshold and onto the cold,

damp earthen floor of the passage. The cold she felt refreshed her. With

her bare feet she touched a sleeping man, stepped over him, and opened

the door into the part of the hut where Prince Andrew lay. It was dark

in there. In the farthest corner, on a bench beside a bed on which

something was lying, stood a tallow candle with a long, thick, and

smoldering wick.



From the moment she had been told that morning of Prince Andrews wound

and his presence there, Natsha had resolved to see him. She did not

know why she had to, she knew the meeting would be painful, but felt the

more convinced that it was necessary.



All day she had lived only in hope of seeing him that night. But now

that the moment had come she was filled with dread of what she might

see. How was he maimed? What was left of him? Was he like that incessant

moaning of the adjutants? Yes, he was altogether like that. In her

imagination he was that terrible moaning personified. When she saw an

indistinct shape in the corner, and mistook his knees raised under the

quilt for his shoulders, she imagined a horrible body there, and stood

still in terror. But an irresistible impulse drew her forward. She

cautiously took one step and then another, and found herself in the

middle of a small room containing baggage. Another manTimkhinwas

lying in a corner on the benches beneath the icons, and two othersthe

doctor and a valetlay on the floor.



The valet sat up and whispered something. Timkhin, kept awake by the

pain in his wounded leg, gazed with wide-open eyes at this strange

apparition of a girl in a white chemise, dressing jacket, and nightcap.

The valets sleepy, frightened exclamation, What do you want? Whats

the matter? made Natsha approach more swiftly to what was lying in the

corner. Horribly unlike a man as that body looked, she must see him.

She passed the valet, the snuff fell from the candle wick, and she saw

Prince Andrew clearly with his arms outside the quilt, and such as she

had always seen him.



He was the same as ever, but the feverish color of his face, his

glittering eyes rapturously turned toward her, and especially his neck,

delicate as a childs, revealed by the turn-down collar of his shirt,

gave him a peculiarly innocent, childlike look, such as she had never

seen on him before. She went up to him and with a swift, flexible,

youthful movement dropped on her knees.



He smiled and held out his hand to her.











CHAPTER XXXII



Seven days had passed since Prince Andrew found himself in the

ambulance station on the field of Borodin. His feverish state and the

inflammation of his bowels, which were injured, were in the doctors

opinion sure to carry him off. But on the seventh day he ate with

pleasure a piece of bread with some tea, and the doctor noticed that his

temperature was lower. He had regained consciousness that morning.

The first night after they left Moscow had been fairly warm and he had

remained in the calche, but at Mytshchi the wounded man himself asked

to be taken out and given some tea. The pain caused by his removal into

the hut had made him groan aloud and again lose consciousness. When he

had been placed on his camp bed he lay for a long time motionless with

closed eyes. Then he opened them and whispered softly And the tea?

His remembering such a small detail of everyday life astonished

the doctor. He felt Prince Andrews pulse, and to his surprise and

dissatisfaction found it had improved. He was dissatisfied because he

knew by experience that if his patient did not die now, he would do so

a little later with greater suffering. Timkhin, the red-nosed major of

Prince Andrews regiment, had joined him in Moscow and was being

taken along with him, having been wounded in the leg at the battle of

Borodin. They were accompanied by a doctor, Prince Andrews valet, his

coachman, and two orderlies.



They gave Prince Andrew some tea. He drank it eagerly, looking with

feverish eyes at the door in front of him as if trying to understand and

remember something.



I dont want any more. Is Timkhin here? he asked.



Timkhin crept along the bench to him.



I am here, your excellency.



Hows your wound?



Mine, sir? All right. But how about you?



Prince Andrew again pondered as if trying to remember something.



Couldnt one get a book? he asked.



What book?



The Gospels. I havent one.



The doctor promised to procure it for him and began to ask how he

was feeling. Prince Andrew answered all his questions reluctantly but

reasonably, and then said he wanted a bolster placed under him as he was

uncomfortable and in great pain. The doctor and valet lifted the cloak

with which he was covered and, making wry faces at the noisome smell of

mortifying flesh that came from the wound, began examining that dreadful

place. The doctor was very much displeased about something and made a

change in the dressings, turning the wounded man over so that he groaned

again and grew unconscious and delirious from the agony. He kept asking

them to get him the book and put it under him.



What trouble would it be to you? he said. I have not got one. Please

get it for me and put it under for a moment, he pleaded in a piteous

voice.



The doctor went into the passage to wash his hands.



You fellows have no conscience, said he to the valet who was pouring

water over his hands. For just one moment I didnt look after you...

Its such pain, you know, that I wonder how he can bear it.



By the Lord Jesus Christ, I thought we had put something under him!

said the valet.



The first time Prince Andrew understood where he was and what was the

matter with him and remembered being wounded and how was when he asked

to be carried into the hut after his calche had stopped at Mytshchi.

After growing confused from pain while being carried into the hut he

again regained consciousness, and while drinking tea once more recalled

all that had happened to him, and above all vividly remembered the

moment at the ambulance station when, at the sight of the sufferings of

a man he disliked, those new thoughts had come to him which promised him

happiness. And those thoughts, though now vague and indefinite, again

possessed his soul. He remembered that he had now a new source of

happiness and that this happiness had something to do with the Gospels.

That was why he asked for a copy of them. The uncomfortable position in

which they had put him and turned him over again confused his thoughts,

and when he came to himself a third time it was in the complete

stillness of the night. Everybody near him was sleeping. A cricket

chirped from across the passage someone was shouting and singing in

the street cockroaches rustled on the table, on the icons, and on

the walls, and a big fly flopped at the head of the bed and around the

candle beside him, the wick of which was charred and had shaped itself

like a mushroom.



His mind was not in a normal state. A healthy man usually thinks of,

feels, and remembers innumerable things simultaneously, but has the

power and will to select one sequence of thoughts or events on which to

fix his whole attention. A healthy man can tear himself away from the

deepest reflections to say a civil word to someone who comes in and can

then return again to his own thoughts. But Prince Andrews mind was not

in a normal state in that respect. All the powers of his mind were more

active and clearer than ever, but they acted apart from his will. Most

diverse thoughts and images occupied him simultaneously. At times his

brain suddenly began to work with a vigor, clearness, and depth it had

never reached when he was in health, but suddenly in the midst of its

work it would turn to some unexpected idea and he had not the strength

to turn it back again.



Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me of which man cannot be

deprived, he thought as he lay in the semidarkness of the quiet hut,

gazing fixedly before him with feverish wide open eyes. A happiness

lying beyond material forces, outside the material influences that act

on mana happiness of the soul alone, the happiness of loving. Every man

can understand it, but to conceive it and enjoin it was possible only

for God. But how did God enjoin that law? And why was the Son...?



And suddenly the sequence of these thoughts broke off, and Prince Andrew

heard (without knowing whether it was a delusion or reality) a

soft whispering voice incessantly and rhythmically repeating

piti-piti-piti, and then titi, and then again piti-piti-piti, and

ti-ti once more. At the same time he felt that above his face, above

the very middle of it, some strange airy structure was being erected out

of slender needles or splinters, to the sound of this whispered music.

He felt that he had to balance carefully (though it was difficult) so

that this airy structure should not collapse but nevertheless it kept

collapsing and again slowly rising to the sound of whispered rhythmic

musicit stretches, stretches, spreading out and stretching, said

Prince Andrew to himself. While listening to this whispering and feeling

the sensation of this drawing out and the construction of this edifice

of needles, he also saw by glimpses a red halo round the candle, and

heard the rustle of the cockroaches and the buzzing of the fly that

flopped against his pillow and his face. Each time the fly touched his

face it gave him a burning sensation and yet to his surprise it did not

destroy the structure, though it knocked against the very region of his

face where it was rising. But besides this there was something else of

importance. It was something white by the doorthe statue of a sphinx,

which also oppressed him.



But perhaps thats my shirt on the table, he thought, and thats my

legs, and that is the door, but why is it always stretching and drawing

itself out, and piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti...?

Thats enough, please leave off! Prince Andrew painfully entreated

someone. And suddenly thoughts and feelings again swam to the surface of

his mind with peculiar clearness and force.



Yeslove, he thought again quite clearly. But not love which loves

for something, for some quality, for some purpose, or for some reason,

but the love which Iwhile dyingfirst experienced when I saw my enemy

and yet loved him. I experienced that feeling of love which is the very

essence of the soul and does not require an object. Now again I feel

that bliss. To love ones neighbors, to love ones enemies, to love

everything, to love God in all His manifestations. It is possible to

love someone dear to you with human love, but an enemy can only be loved

by divine love. That is why I experienced such joy when I felt that I

loved that man. What has become of him? Is he alive?...



When loving with human love one may pass from love to hatred, but

divine love cannot change. No, neither death nor anything else can

destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul. Yet how many people have

I hated in my life? And of them all, I loved and hated none as I did

her. And he vividly pictured to himself Natsha, not as he had done in

the past with nothing but her charms which gave him delight, but for

the first time picturing to himself her soul. And he understood her

feelings, her sufferings, shame, and remorse. He now understood for the

first time all the cruelty of his rejection of her, the cruelty of his

rupture with her. If only it were possible for me to see her once more!

Just once, looking into those eyes to say...



Piti-piti-piti and ti-ti and piti-piti-piti boom! flopped the fly....

And his attention was suddenly carried into another world, a world of

reality and delirium in which something particular was happening. In

that world some structure was still being erected and did not fall,

something was still stretching out, and the candle with its red halo

was still burning, and the same shirtlike sphinx lay near the door but

besides all this something creaked, there was a whiff of fresh air, and

a new white sphinx appeared, standing at the door. And that sphinx had

the pale face and shining eyes of the very Natsha of whom he had just

been thinking.



Oh, how oppressive this continual delirium is, thought Prince Andrew,

trying to drive that face from his imagination. But the face remained

before him with the force of reality and drew nearer. Prince Andrew

wished to return to that former world of pure thought, but he could not,

and delirium drew him back into its domain. The soft whispering voice

continued its rhythmic murmur, something oppressed him and stretched

out, and the strange face was before him. Prince Andrew collected all

his strength in an effort to recover his senses, he moved a little, and

suddenly there was a ringing in his ears, a dimness in his eyes, and

like a man plunged into water he lost consciousness. When he came to

himself, Natsha, that same living Natsha whom of all people he most

longed to love with this new pure divine love that had been revealed to

him, was kneeling before him. He realized that it was the real living

Natsha, and he was not surprised but quietly happy. Natsha, motionless

on her knees (she was unable to stir), with frightened eyes riveted on

him, was restraining her sobs. Her face was pale and rigid. Only in the

lower part of it something quivered.



Prince Andrew sighed with relief, smiled, and held out his hand.



You? he said. How fortunate!



With a rapid but careful movement Natsha drew nearer to him on her

knees and, taking his hand carefully, bent her face over it and began

kissing it, just touching it lightly with her lips.



Forgive me! she whispered, raising her head and glancing at him.

Forgive me!



I love you, said Prince Andrew.



Forgive...!



Forgive what? he asked.



Forgive me for what I ha-ve do-ne! faltered Natsha in a scarcely

audible, broken whisper, and began kissing his hand more rapidly, just

touching it with her lips.



I love you more, better than before, said Prince Andrew, lifting her

face with his hand so as to look into her eyes.



Those eyes, filled with happy tears, gazed at him timidly,

compassionately, and with joyous love. Natshas thin pale face, with

its swollen lips, was more than plainit was dreadful. But Prince Andrew

did not see that, he saw her shining eyes which were beautiful. They

heard the sound of voices behind them.



Peter the valet, who was now wide awake, had roused the doctor.

Timkhin, who had not slept at all because of the pain in his leg, had

long been watching all that was going on, carefully covering his bare

body with the sheet as he huddled up on his bench.



Whats this? said the doctor, rising from his bed. Please go away,

madam!



At that moment a maid sent by the countess, who had noticed her

daughters absence, knocked at the door.



Like a somnambulist aroused from her sleep Natsha went out of the room

and, returning to her hut, fell sobbing on her bed.



From that time, during all the rest of the Rostvs journey, at every

halting place and wherever they spent a night, Natsha never left the

wounded Bolknski, and the doctor had to admit that he had not expected

from a young girl either such firmness or such skill in nursing a

wounded man.



Dreadful as the countess imagined it would be should Prince Andrew die

in her daughters arms during the journeyas, judging by what the doctor

said, it seemed might easily happenshe could not oppose Natsha. Though

with the intimacy now established between the wounded man and Natsha

the thought occurred that should he recover their former engagement

would be renewed, no oneleast of all Natsha and Prince Andrewspoke of

this the unsettled question of life and death, which hung not only over

Bolknski but over all Russia, shut out all other considerations.











CHAPTER XXXIII



On the third of September Pierre awoke late. His head was aching, the

clothes in which he had slept without undressing felt uncomfortable on

his body, and his mind had a dim consciousness of something shameful

he had done the day before. That something shameful was his yesterdays

conversation with Captain Ramballe.



It was eleven by the clock, but it seemed peculiarly dark out of doors.

Pierre rose, rubbed his eyes, and seeing the pistol with an engraved

stock which Gersim had replaced on the writing table, he remembered

where he was and what lay before him that very day.



Am I not too late? he thought. No, probably he wont make his entry

into Moscow before noon.



Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him, but

hastened to act.



After arranging his clothes, he took the pistol and was about to go out.

But it then occurred to him for the first time that he certainly could

not carry the weapon in his hand through the streets. It was difficult

to hide such a big pistol even under his wide coat. He could not

carry it unnoticed in his belt or under his arm. Besides, it had been

discharged, and he had not had time to reload it. No matter, the dagger

will do, he said to himself, though when planning his design he had

more than once come to the conclusion that the chief mistake made by the

student in 1809 had been to try to kill Napoleon with a dagger. But as

his chief aim consisted not in carrying out his design, but in proving

to himself that he would not abandon his intention and was doing all he

could to achieve it, Pierre hastily took the blunt jagged dagger in a

green sheath which he had bought at the Skharev market with the pistol,

and hid it under his waistcoat.



Having tied a girdle over his coat and pulled his cap low on his head,

Pierre went down the corridor, trying to avoid making a noise or meeting

the captain, and passed out into the street.



The conflagration, at which he had looked with so much indifference the

evening before, had greatly increased during the night. Moscow was on

fire in several places. The buildings in Carriage Row, across the river,

in the Bazaar and the Povarsky, as well as the barges on the Moskv

River and the timber yards by the Dorogomlov Bridge, were all ablaze.



Pierres way led through side streets to the Povarsky and from there

to the church of St. Nicholas on the Arbt, where he had long before

decided that the deed should be done. The gates of most of the houses

were locked and the shutters up. The streets and lanes were deserted.

The air was full of smoke and the smell of burning. Now and then he met

Russians with anxious and timid faces, and Frenchmen with an air not of

the city but of the camp, walking in the middle of the streets. Both

the Russians and the French looked at Pierre with surprise. Besides his

height and stoutness, and the strange morose look of suffering in his

face and whole figure, the Russians stared at Pierre because they could

not make out to what class he could belong. The French followed him with

astonishment in their eyes chiefly because Pierre, unlike all the

other Russians who gazed at the French with fear and curiosity, paid no

attention to them. At the gate of one house three Frenchmen, who were

explaining something to some Russians who did not understand them,

stopped Pierre asking if he did not know French.



Pierre shook his head and went on. In another side street a sentinel

standing beside a green caisson shouted at him, but only when the shout

was threateningly repeated and he heard the click of the mans musket as

he raised it did Pierre understand that he had to pass on the other side

of the street. He heard nothing and saw nothing of what went on around

him. He carried his resolution within himself in terror and haste, like

something dreadful and alien to him, for, after the previous nights

experience, he was afraid of losing it. But he was not destined to bring

his mood safely to his destination. And even had he not been hindered by

anything on the way, his intention could not now have been carried out,

for Napoleon had passed the Arbt more than four hours previously on his

way from the Dorogomlov suburb to the Krmlin, and was now sitting in

a very gloomy frame of mind in a royal study in the Krmlin, giving

detailed and exact orders as to measures to be taken immediately

to extinguish the fire, to prevent looting, and to reassure the

inhabitants. But Pierre did not know this he was entirely absorbed

in what lay before him, and was torturedas those are who obstinately

undertake a task that is impossible for them not because of its

difficulty but because of its incompatibility with their naturesby the

fear of weakening at the decisive moment and so losing his self-esteem.



Though he heard and saw nothing around him he found his way by instinct

and did not go wrong in the side streets that led to the Povarsky.



As Pierre approached that street the smoke became denser and denserhe

even felt the heat of the fire. Occasionally curly tongues of flame rose

from under the roofs of the houses. He met more people in the streets

and they were more excited. But Pierre, though he felt that something

unusual was happening around him, did not realize that he was

approaching the fire. As he was going along a footpath across a

wide-open space adjoining the Povarsky on one side and the gardens

of Prince Gruznskis house on the other, Pierre suddenly heard the

desperate weeping of a woman close to him. He stopped as if awakening

from a dream and lifted his head.



By the side of the path, on the dusty dry grass, all sorts of household

goods lay in a heap featherbeds, a samovar, icons, and trunks. On the

ground, beside the trunks, sat a thin woman no longer young, with long,

prominent upper teeth, and wearing a black cloak and cap. This woman,

swaying to and fro and muttering something, was choking with sobs. Two

girls of about ten and twelve, dressed in dirty short frocks and cloaks,

were staring at their mother with a look of stupefaction on their pale

frightened faces. The youngest child, a boy of about seven, who wore an

overcoat and an immense cap evidently not his own, was crying in his

old nurses arms. A dirty, barefooted maid was sitting on a trunk,

and, having undone her pale-colored plait, was pulling it straight

and sniffing at her singed hair. The womans husband, a short,

round-shouldered man in the undress uniform of a civilian official, with

sausage-shaped whiskers and showing under his square-set cap the hair

smoothly brushed forward over his temples, with expressionless face was

moving the trunks, which were placed one on another, and was dragging

some garments from under them.



As soon as she saw Pierre, the woman almost threw herself at his feet.



Dear people, good Christians, save me, help me, dear friends... help

us, somebody, she muttered between her sobs. My girl... My daughter!

My youngest daughter is left behind. Shes burned! Ooh! Was it for this

I nursed you.... Ooh!



Dont, Mary Nikolevna! said her husband to her in a low voice,

evidently only to justify himself before the stranger. Sister must have

taken her, or else where can she be? he added.



Monster! Villain! shouted the woman angrily, suddenly ceasing to weep.

You have no heart, you dont feel for your own child! Another man would

have rescued her from the fire. But this is a monster and neither a

man nor a father! You, honored sir, are a noble man, she went on,

addressing Pierre rapidly between her sobs. The fire broke out

alongside, and blew our way, the maid called out Fire! and we rushed

to collect our things. We ran out just as we were.... This is what we

have brought away.... The icons, and my dowry bed, all the rest is lost.

We seized the children. But not Katie! Ooh! O Lord!... and again she

began to sob. My child, my dear one! Burned, burned!



But where was she left? asked Pierre.



From the expression of his animated face the woman saw that this man

might help her.



Oh, dear sir! she cried, seizing him by the legs. My benefactor, set

my heart at ease.... Anska, go, you horrid girl, show him the way! she

cried to the maid, angrily opening her mouth and still farther exposing

her long teeth.



Show me the way, show me, I... Ill do it, gasped Pierre rapidly.



The dirty maidservant stepped from behind the trunk, put up her plait,

sighed, and went on her short, bare feet along the path. Pierre felt

as if he had come back to life after a heavy swoon. He held his head

higher, his eyes shone with the light of life, and with swift steps

he followed the maid, overtook her, and came out on the Povarsky. The

whole street was full of clouds of black smoke. Tongues of flame here

and there broke through that cloud. A great number of people crowded in

front of the conflagration. In the middle of the street stood a French

general saying something to those around him. Pierre, accompanied by the

maid, was advancing to the spot where the general stood, but the French

soldiers stopped him.



On ne passe pas! * cried a voice.



    * You cant pass!





This way, uncle, cried the girl. Well pass through the side street,

by the Niklins!



Pierre turned back, giving a spring now and then to keep up with her.

She ran across the street, turned down a side street to the left, and,

passing three houses, turned into a yard on the right.



Its here, close by, said she and, running across the yard, opened a

gate in a wooden fence and, stopping, pointed out to him a small wooden

wing of the house, which was burning brightly and fiercely. One of its

sides had fallen in, another was on fire, and bright flames issued from

the openings of the windows and from under the roof.



As Pierre passed through the fence gate, he was enveloped by hot air and

involuntarily stopped.



Which is it? Which is your house? he asked.



Ooh! wailed the girl, pointing to the wing. Thats it, that was our

lodging. Youve burned to death, our treasure, Katie, my precious little

missy! Ooh! lamented Anska, who at the sight of the fire felt that she

too must give expression to her feelings.



Pierre rushed to the wing, but the heat was so great that he

involuntarily passed round in a curve and came upon the large house

that was as yet burning only at one end, just below the roof, and around

which swarmed a crowd of Frenchmen. At first Pierre did not realize

what these men, who were dragging something out, were about but seeing

before him a Frenchman hitting a peasant with a blunt saber and trying

to take from him a fox-fur coat, he vaguely understood that looting was

going on there, but he had no time to dwell on that idea.



The sounds of crackling and the din of falling walls and ceilings, the

whistle and hiss of the flames, the excited shouts of the people, and

the sight of the swaying smoke, now gathering into thick black clouds

and now soaring up with glittering sparks, with here and there dense

sheaves of flame (now red and now like golden fish scales creeping along

the walls), and the heat and smoke and rapidity of motion, produced

on Pierre the usual animating effects of a conflagration. It had a

peculiarly strong effect on him because at the sight of the fire he felt

himself suddenly freed from the ideas that had weighed him down. He felt

young, bright, adroit, and resolute. He ran round to the other side of

the lodge and was about to dash into that part of it which was still

standing, when just above his head he heard several voices shouting

and then a cracking sound and the ring of something heavy falling close

beside him.



Pierre looked up and saw at a window of the large house some Frenchmen

who had just thrown out the drawer of a chest, filled with metal

articles. Other French soldiers standing below went up to the drawer.



What does this fellow want? shouted one of them referring to Pierre.



Theres a child in that house. Havent you seen a child? cried Pierre.



Whats he talking about? Get along! said several voices, and one of

the soldiers, evidently afraid that Pierre might want to take from

them some of the plate and bronzes that were in the drawer, moved

threateningly toward him.



A child? shouted a Frenchman from above. I did hear something

squealing in the garden. Perhaps its his brat that the fellow is

looking for. After all, one must be human, you know....



Where is it? Where? said Pierre.



There! There! shouted the Frenchman at the window, pointing to the

garden at the back of the house. Wait a bitIm coming down.



And a minute or two later the Frenchman, a black-eyed fellow with a spot

on his cheek, in shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a window on the

ground floor, and clapping Pierre on the shoulder ran with him into the

garden.



Hurry up, you others! he called out to his comrades. Its getting

hot.



When they reached a gravel path behind the house the Frenchman pulled

Pierre by the arm and pointed to a round, graveled space where a

three-year-old girl in a pink dress was lying under a seat.



There is your child! Oh, a girl, so much the better! said the

Frenchman. Good-by, Fatty. We must be human, we are all mortal you

know! and the Frenchman with the spot on his cheek ran back to his

comrades.



Breathless with joy, Pierre ran to the little girl and was going to take

her in his arms. But seeing a stranger the sickly, scrofulous-looking

child, unattractively like her mother, began to yell and run away.

Pierre, however, seized her and lifted her in his arms. She screamed

desperately and angrily and tried with her little hands to pull Pierres

hands away and to bite them with her slobbering mouth. Pierre was seized

by a sense of horror and repulsion such as he had experienced when

touching some nasty little animal. But he made an effort not to throw

the child down and ran with her to the large house. It was now, however,

impossible to get back the way he had come the maid, Anska, was no

longer there, and Pierre with a feeling of pity and disgust pressed the

wet, painfully sobbing child to himself as tenderly as he could and ran

with her through the garden seeking another way out.











CHAPTER XXXIV



Having run through different yards and side streets, Pierre got back

with his little burden to the Gruznski garden at the corner of the

Povarsky. He did not at first recognize the place from which he had set

out to look for the child, so crowded was it now with people and goods

that had been dragged out of the houses. Besides Russian families who

had taken refuge here from the fire with their belongings, there were

several French soldiers in a variety of clothing. Pierre took no notice

of them. He hurried to find the family of that civil servant in order to

restore the daughter to her mother and go to save someone else. Pierre

felt that he had still much to do and to do quickly. Glowing with the

heat and from running, he felt at that moment more strongly than ever

the sense of youth, animation, and determination that had come on him

when he ran to save the child. She had now become quiet and, clinging

with her little hands to Pierres coat, sat on his arm gazing about

her like some little wild animal. He glanced at her occasionally with a

slight smile. He fancied he saw something pathetically innocent in that

frightened, sickly little face.



He did not find the civil servant or his wife where he had left them. He

walked among the crowd with rapid steps, scanning the various faces he

met. Involuntarily he noticed a Georgian or Armenian family

consisting of a very handsome old man of Oriental type, wearing a new,

cloth-covered, sheepskin coat and new boots, an old woman of similar

type, and a young woman. That very young woman seemed to Pierre the

perfection of Oriental beauty, with her sharply outlined, arched,

black eyebrows and the extraordinarily soft, bright color of her long,

beautiful, expressionless face. Amid the scattered property and the

crowd on the open space, she, in her rich satin cloak with a bright

lilac shawl on her head, suggested a delicate exotic plant thrown out

onto the snow. She was sitting on some bundles a little behind the old

woman, and looked from under her long lashes with motionless, large,

almond-shaped eyes at the ground before her. Evidently she was aware

of her beauty and fearful because of it. Her face struck Pierre and,

hurrying along by the fence, he turned several times to look at her.

When he had reached the fence, still without finding those he sought, he

stopped and looked about him.



With the child in his arms his figure was now more conspicuous than

before, and a group of Russians, both men and women, gathered about him.



Have you lost anyone, my dear fellow? Youre of the gentry yourself,

arent you? Whose child is it? they asked him.



Pierre replied that the child belonged to a woman in a black coat who

had been sitting there with her other children, and he asked whether

anyone knew where she had gone.



Why, that must be the Anfrovs, said an old deacon, addressing a

pockmarked peasant woman. Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy! he added

in his customary bass.



The Anfrovs? No, said the woman. They left in the morning. That must

be either Mary Nikolevnas or the Ivnovs!



He says a woman, and Mary Nikolevna is a lady, remarked a house

serf.



Do you know her? Shes thin, with long teeth, said Pierre.



Thats Mary Nikolevna! They went inside the garden when these wolves

swooped down, said the woman, pointing to the French soldiers.



O Lord, have mercy! added the deacon.



Go over that way, theyre there. Its she! She kept on lamenting and

crying, continued the woman. Its she. Here, this way!



But Pierre was not listening to the woman. He had for some seconds been

intently watching what was going on a few steps away. He was looking at

the Armenian family and at two French soldiers who had gone up to them.

One of these, a nimble little man, was wearing a blue coat tied round

the waist with a rope. He had a nightcap on his head and his feet were

bare. The other, whose appearance particularly struck Pierre, was a

long, lank, round-shouldered, fair-haired man, slow in his movements

and with an idiotic expression of face. He wore a womans loose gown

of frieze, blue trousers, and large torn Hessian boots. The little

barefooted Frenchman in the blue coat went up to the Armenians and,

saying something, immediately seized the old man by his legs and the old

man at once began pulling off his boots. The other in the frieze gown

stopped in front of the beautiful Armenian girl and with his hands in

his pockets stood staring at her, motionless and silent.



Here, take the child! said Pierre peremptorily and hurriedly to the

woman, handing the little girl to her. Give her back to them, give her

back! he almost shouted, putting the child, who began screaming, on the

ground, and again looking at the Frenchman and the Armenian family.



The old man was already sitting barefoot. The little Frenchman had

secured his second boot and was slapping one boot against the other.

The old man was saying something in a voice broken by sobs, but Pierre

caught but a glimpse of this, his whole attention was directed to the

Frenchman in the frieze gown who meanwhile, swaying slowly from side to

side, had drawn nearer to the young woman and taking his hands from his

pockets had seized her by the neck.



The beautiful Armenian still sat motionless and in the same attitude,

with her long lashes drooping as if she did not see or feel what the

soldier was doing to her.



While Pierre was running the few steps that separated him from the

Frenchman, the tall marauder in the frieze gown was already tearing

from her neck the necklace the young Armenian was wearing, and the young

woman, clutching at her neck, screamed piercingly.



Let that woman alone! exclaimed Pierre hoarsely in a furious voice,

seizing the soldier by his round shoulders and throwing him aside.



The soldier fell, got up, and ran away. But his comrade, throwing down

the boots and drawing his sword, moved threateningly toward Pierre.



Voyons, pas de btises! * he cried.



    * Look here, no nonsense!





Pierre was in such a transport of rage that he remembered nothing and

his strength increased tenfold. He rushed at the barefooted Frenchman

and, before the latter had time to draw his sword, knocked him off his

feet and hammered him with his fists. Shouts of approval were heard

from the crowd around, and at the same moment a mounted patrol of French

Uhlans appeared from round the corner. The Uhlans came up at a trot to

Pierre and the Frenchman and surrounded them. Pierre remembered nothing

of what happened after that. He only remembered beating someone and

being beaten and finally feeling that his hands were bound and that a

crowd of French soldiers stood around him and were searching him.



Lieutenant, he has a dagger, were the first words Pierre understood.



Ah, a weapon? said the officer and turned to the barefooted soldier

who had been arrested with Pierre. All right, you can tell all about it

at the court-martial. Then he turned to Pierre. Do you speak French?



Pierre looked around him with bloodshot eyes and did not reply. His

face probably looked very terrible, for the officer said something in

a whisper and four more Uhlans left the ranks and placed themselves on

both sides of Pierre.



Do you speak French? the officer asked again, keeping at a distance

from Pierre. Call the interpreter.



A little man in Russian civilian clothes rode out from the ranks, and

by his clothes and manner of speaking Pierre at once knew him to be a

French salesman from one of the Moscow shops.



He does not look like a common man, said the interpreter, after a

searching look at Pierre.



Ah, he looks very much like an incendiary, remarked the officer. And

ask him who he is, he added.



Who are you? asked the interpreter in poor Russian. You must answer

the chief.



I will not tell you who I am. I am your prisonertake me! Pierre

suddenly replied in French.



Ah, ah! muttered the officer with a frown. Well then, march!



A crowd had collected round the Uhlans. Nearest to Pierre stood the

pockmarked peasant woman with the little girl, and when the patrol

started she moved forward.



Where are they taking you to, you poor dear? said she. And the little

girl, the little girl, what am I to do with her if shes not theirs?

said the woman.



What does that woman want? asked the officer.



Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sight of the

little girl he had saved.



What does she want? he murmured. She is bringing me my daughter whom

I have just saved from the flames, said he. Good-by! And without

knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went along with

resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers.



The French patrol was one of those sent out through the various

streets of Moscow by Durosnels order to put a stop to the pillage,

and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the general

opinion which had that day originated among the higher French officers,

were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching through a number

of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects a small

shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a house serf, besides

several looters. But of all these various suspected characters, Pierre

was considered to be the most suspicious of all. When they had all been

brought for the night to a large house on the Zbov Rampart that was

being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placed apart under strict guard.











BOOK TWELVE 1812











CHAPTER I



In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was being carried on

with greater heat than ever in the highest circles, between the parties

of Rumyntsev, the French, Mrya Fdorovna, the Tsarvich, and others,

drowned as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. But the calm,

luxurious life of Petersburg, concerned only about phantoms and

reflections of real life, went on in its old way and made it hard,

except by a great effort, to realize the danger and the difficult

position of the Russian people. There were the same receptions and

balls, the same French theater, the same court interests and service

interests and intrigues as usual. Only in the very highest circles were

attempts made to keep in mind the difficulties of the actual position.

Stories were whispered of how differently the two Empresses behaved

in these difficult circumstances. The Empress Mrya, concerned for

the welfare of the charitable and educational institutions under her

patronage, had given directions that they should all be removed to

Kazn, and the things belonging to these institutions had already been

packed up. The Empress Elisabeth, however, when asked what instructions

she would be pleased to givewith her characteristic Russian patriotism

had replied that she could give no directions about state institutions

for that was the affair of the sovereign, but as far as she personally

was concerned she would be the last to quit Petersburg.



At Anna Pvlovnas on the twenty-sixth of August, the very day of the

battle of Borodin, there was a soiree, the chief feature of which was

to be the reading of a letter from His Lordship the Bishop when sending

the Emperor an icon of the Venerable Sergius. It was regarded as a model

of ecclesiastical, patriotic eloquence. Prince Vasli himself, famed for

his elocution, was to read it. (He used to read at the Empress.) The

art of his reading was supposed to lie in rolling out the words, quite

independently of their meaning, in a loud and singsong voice alternating

between a despairing wail and a tender murmur, so that the wail fell

quite at random on one word and the murmur on another. This reading,

as was always the case at Anna Pvlovnas soirees, had a political

significance. That evening she expected several important personages who

had to be made ashamed of their visits to the French theater and aroused

to a patriotic temper. A good many people had already arrived, but Anna

Pvlovna, not yet seeing all those whom she wanted in her drawing room,

did not let the reading begin but wound up the springs of a general

conversation.



The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of Countess Bezkhova.

She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously, had missed

several gatherings of which she was usually the ornament, and was said

to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebrated Petersburg doctors

who usually attended her had entrusted herself to some Italian doctor

who was treating her in some new and unusual way.



They all knew very well that the enchanting countess illness arose from

an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands at the same time,

and that the Italians cure consisted in removing such inconvenience

but in Anna Pvlovnas presence no one dared to think of this or even

appear to know it.



They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it is angina

pectoris.



Angina? Oh, thats a terrible illness!



They say that the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the angina... and

the word angina was repeated with great satisfaction.



The count is pathetic, they say. He cried like a child when the doctor

told him the case was dangerous.



Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an enchanting woman.



You are speaking of the poor countess? said Anna Pvlovna, coming

up just then. I sent to ask for news, and hear that she is a little

better. Oh, she is certainly the most charming woman in the world, she

went on, with a smile at her own enthusiasm. We belong to different

camps, but that does not prevent my esteeming her as she deserves. She

is very unfortunate! added Anna Pvlovna.



Supposing that by these words Anna Pvlovna was somewhat lifting the

veil from the secret of the countess malady, an unwary young man

ventured to express surprise that well-known doctors had not been called

in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatan who might

employ dangerous remedies.



Your information may be better than mine, Anna Pvlovna suddenly and

venomously retorted on the inexperienced young man, but I know on good

authority that this doctor is a very learned and able man. He is private

physician to the Queen of Spain.



And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pvlovna turned to

another group where Bilbin was talking about the Austrians having

wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth it out again

and utter one of his mots.



I think it is delightful, he said, referring to a diplomatic note that

had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian banners captured from the

French by Wittgenstein, the hero of Petropol as he was then called in

Petersburg.



What? Whats that? asked Anna Pvlovna, securing silence for the mot,

which she had heard before.



And Bilbin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch, which

he had himself composed.



The Emperor returns these Austrian banners, said Bilbin, friendly

banners gone astray and found on a wrong path, and his brow became

smooth again.



Charming, charming! observed Prince Vasli.



The path to Warsaw, perhaps, Prince Hippolyte remarked loudly and

unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding what he meant.

Prince Hippolyte himself glanced around with amused surprise. He knew no

more than the others what his words meant. During his diplomatic career

he had more than once noticed that such utterances were received as very

witty, and at every opportunity he uttered in that way the first words

that entered his head. It may turn out very well, he thought, but

if not, theyll know how to arrange matters. And really, during the

awkward silence that ensued, that insufficiently patriotic person

entered whom Anna Pvlovna had been waiting for and wished to convert,

and she, smiling and shaking a finger at Hippolyte, invited Prince

Vasli to the table and bringing him two candles and the manuscript

begged him to begin. Everyone became silent.



Most Gracious Sovereign and Emperor! Prince Vasli sternly declaimed,

looking round at his audience as if to inquire whether anyone had

anything to say to the contrary. But no one said anything. Moscow, our

ancient capital, the New Jerusalem, receives her Christhe placed a

sudden emphasis on the word heras a mother receives her zealous sons

into her arms, and through the gathering mists, foreseeing the brilliant

glory of thy rule, sings in exultation, Hosanna, blessed is he that

cometh!



Prince Vasli pronounced these last words in a tearful voice.



Bilbin attentively examined his nails, and many of those present

appeared intimidated, as if asking in what they were to blame. Anna

Pvlovna whispered the next words in advance, like an old woman

muttering the prayer at Communion Let the bold and insolent

Goliath... she whispered.



Prince Vasli continued.



Let the bold and insolent Goliath from the borders of France encompass

the realms of Russia with death-bearing terrors humble Faith, the sling

of the Russian David, shall suddenly smite his head in his bloodthirsty

pride. This icon of the Venerable Sergius, the servant of God and

zealous champion of old of our countrys weal, is offered to Your

Imperial Majesty. I grieve that my waning strength prevents rejoicing

in the sight of your most gracious presence. I raise fervent prayers to

Heaven that the Almighty may exalt the race of the just, and mercifully

fulfill the desires of Your Majesty.



What force! What a style! was uttered in approval both of reader and

of author.



Animated by that address Anna Pvlovnas guests talked for a long time

of the state of the fatherland and offered various conjectures as to the

result of the battle to be fought in a few days.



You will see, said Anna Pvlovna, that tomorrow, on the Emperors

birthday, we shall receive news. I have a favorable presentiment!











CHAPTER II



Anna Pvlovnas presentiment was in fact fulfilled. Next day during the

service at the palace church in honor of the Emperors birthday, Prince

Volknski was called out of the church and received a dispatch from

Prince Kutzov. It was Kutzovs report, written from Tatrinova on the

day of the battle. Kutzov wrote that the Russians had not retreated a

step, that the French losses were much heavier than ours, and that he

was writing in haste from the field of battle before collecting full

information. It followed that there must have been a victory. And at

once, without leaving the church, thanks were rendered to the Creator

for His help and for the victory.



Anna Pvlovnas presentiment was justified, and all that morning a

joyously festive mood reigned in the city. Everyone believed the victory

to have been complete, and some even spoke of Napoleons having been

captured, of his deposition, and of the choice of a new ruler for

France.



It is very difficult for events to be reflected in their real strength

and completeness amid the conditions of court life and far from the

scene of action. General events involuntarily group themselves around

some particular incident. So now the courtiers pleasure was based as

much on the fact that the news had arrived on the Emperors birthday as

on the fact of the victory itself. It was like a successfully arranged

surprise. Mention was made in Kutzovs report of the Russian losses,

among which figured the names of Tchkov, Bagratin, and Kutysov. In

the Petersburg world this sad side of the affair again involuntarily

centered round a single incident Kutysovs death. Everybody knew

him, the Emperor liked him, and he was young and interesting. That day

everyone met with the words



What a wonderful coincidence! Just during the service. But what a loss

Kutysov is! How sorry I am!



What did I tell about Kutzov? Prince Vasli now said with a

prophets pride. I always said he was the only man capable of defeating

Napoleon.



But next day no news arrived from the army and the public mood grew

anxious. The courtiers suffered because of the suffering the suspense

occasioned the Emperor.



Fancy the Emperors position! said they, and instead of extolling

Kutzov as they had done the day before, they condemned him as the cause

of the Emperors anxiety. That day Prince Vasli no longer boasted of

his protg Kutzov, but remained silent when the commander in chief was

mentioned. Moreover, toward evening, as if everything conspired to make

Petersburg society anxious and uneasy, a terrible piece of news was

added. Countess Hlne Bezkhova had suddenly died of that terrible

malady it had been so agreeable to mention. Officially, at large

gatherings, everyone said that Countess Bezkhova had died of a

terrible attack of angina pectoris, but in intimate circles details

were mentioned of how the private physician of the Queen of Spain had

prescribed small doses of a certain drug to produce a certain effect

but Hlne, tortured by the fact that the old count suspected her and

that her husband to whom she had written (that wretched, profligate

Pierre) had not replied, had suddenly taken a very large dose of the

drug, and had died in agony before assistance could be rendered her.

It was said that Prince Vasli and the old count had turned upon the

Italian, but the latter had produced such letters from the unfortunate

deceased that they had immediately let the matter drop.



Talk in general centered round three melancholy facts the Emperors

lack of news, the loss of Kutysov, and the death of Hlne.



On the third day after Kutzovs report a country gentleman arrived from

Moscow, and news of the surrender of Moscow to the French spread through

the whole town. This was terrible! What a position for the Emperor to

be in! Kutzov was a traitor, and Prince Vasli during the visits of

condolence paid to him on the occasion of his daughters death said of

Kutzov, whom he had formerly praised (it was excusable for him in his

grief to forget what he had said), that it was impossible to expect

anything else from a blind and depraved old man.



I only wonder that the fate of Russia could have been entrusted to such

a man.



As long as this news remained unofficial it was possible to doubt it,

but the next day the following communication was received from Count

Rostopchn



Prince Kutzovs adjutant has brought me a letter in which he demands

police officers to guide the army to the Ryazn road. He writes that

he is regretfully abandoning Moscow. Sire! Kutzovs action decides the

fate of the capital and of your empire! Russia will shudder to learn of

the abandonment of the city in which her greatness is centered and in

which lie the ashes of your ancestors! I shall follow the army. I have

had everything removed, and it only remains for me to weep over the fate

of my fatherland.



On receiving this dispatch the Emperor sent Prince Volknski to Kutzov

with the following rescript



Prince Michael Ilarinovich! Since the twenty-ninth of August I have

received no communication from you, yet on the first of September I

received from the commander in chief of Moscow, via Yaroslvl, the sad

news that you, with the army, have decided to abandon Moscow. You can

yourself imagine the effect this news has had on me, and your silence

increases my astonishment. I am sending this by Adjutant-General Prince

Volknski, to hear from you the situation of the army and the reasons

that have induced you to take this melancholy decision.











CHAPTER III



Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger from Kutzov

reached Petersburg with the official announcement of that event. This

messenger was Michaud, a Frenchman who did not know Russian, but who was

quoique tranger, russe de cur et dme, * as he said of himself.



    * Though a foreigner, Russian in heart and soul.



The Emperor at once received this messenger in his study at the palace

on Stone Island. Michaud, who had never seen Moscow before the campaign

and who did not know Russian, yet felt deeply moved (as he wrote) when

he appeared before notre trs gracieux souverain * with the news of the

burning of Moscow, dont les flammes clairaient sa route. *(2)



     * Our most gracious sovereign.



     * (2) Whose flames illumined his route.



Though the source of M. Michauds chagrin must have been different from

that which caused Russians to grieve, he had such a sad face when shown

into the Emperors study that the latter at once asked



Have you brought me sad news, Colonel?



Very sad, sire, replied Michaud, lowering his eyes with a sigh. The

abandonment of Moscow.



Have they surrendered my ancient capital without a battle? asked the

Emperor quickly, his face suddenly flushing.



Michaud respectfully delivered the message Kutzov had entrusted to him,

which was that it had been impossible to fight before Moscow, and that

as the only remaining choice was between losing the army as well as

Moscow, or losing Moscow alone, the field marshal had to choose the

latter.



The Emperor listened in silence, not looking at Michaud.



Has the enemy entered the city? he asked.



Yes, sire, and Moscow is now in ashes. I left it all in flames,

replied Michaud in a decided tone, but glancing at the Emperor he was

frightened by what he had done.



The Emperor began to breathe heavily and rapidly, his lower lip

trembled, and tears instantly appeared in his fine blue eyes.



But this lasted only a moment. He suddenly frowned, as if blaming

himself for his weakness, and raising his head addressed Michaud in a

firm voice



I see, Colonel, from all that is happening, that Providence requires

great sacrifices of us... I am ready to submit myself in all things to

His will but tell me, Michaud, how did you leave the army when it

saw my ancient capital abandoned without a battle? Did you not notice

discouragement?...



Seeing that his most gracious ruler was calm once more, Michaud also

grew calm, but was not immediately ready to reply to the Emperors

direct and relevant question which required a direct answer.



Sire, will you allow me to speak frankly as befits a loyal soldier? he

asked to gain time.



Colonel, I always require it, replied the Emperor. Conceal nothing

from me, I wish to know absolutely how things are.



Sire! said Michaud with a subtle, scarcely perceptible smile on his

lips, having now prepared a well-phrased reply, sire, I left the

whole army, from its chiefs to the lowest soldier, without exception in

desperate and agonized terror...



How is that? the Emperor interrupted him, frowning sternly. Would

misfortune make my Russians lose heart?... Never!



Michaud had only waited for this to bring out the phrase he had

prepared.



Sire, he said, with respectful playfulness, they are only afraid lest

Your Majesty, in the goodness of your heart, should allow yourself to be

persuaded to make peace. They are burning for the combat, declared this

representative of the Russian nation, and to prove to Your Majesty by

the sacrifice of their lives how devoted they are....



Ah! said the Emperor reassured, and with a kindly gleam in his eyes,

he patted Michaud on the shoulder. You set me at ease, Colonel.



He bent his head and was silent for some time.



Well, then, go back to the army, he said, drawing himself up to his

full height and addressing Michaud with a gracious and majestic gesture,

and tell our brave men and all my good subjects wherever you go that

when I have not a soldier left I shall put myself at the head of my

beloved nobility and my good peasants and so use the last resources of

my empire. It still offers me more than my enemies suppose, said the

Emperor growing more and more animated but should it ever be ordained

by Divine Providence, he continued, raising to heaven his fine eyes

shining with emotion, that my dynasty should cease to reign on the

throne of my ancestors, then after exhausting all the means at my

command, I shall let my beard grow to here (he pointed halfway down his

chest) and go and eat potatoes with the meanest of my peasants, rather

than sign the disgrace of my country and of my beloved people whose

sacrifices I know how to appreciate.



Having uttered these words in an agitated voice the Emperor suddenly

turned away as if to hide from Michaud the tears that rose to his eyes,

and went to the further end of his study. Having stood there a few

moments, he strode back to Michaud and pressed his arm below the elbow

with a vigorous movement. The Emperors mild and handsome face was

flushed and his eyes gleamed with resolution and anger.



Colonel Michaud, do not forget what I say to you here, perhaps we may

recall it with pleasure someday... Napoleon or I, said the Emperor,

touching his breast. We can no longer both reign together. I have

learned to know him, and he will not deceive me any more....



And the Emperor paused, with a frown.



When he heard these words and saw the expression of firm resolution in

the Emperors eyes, Michaudquoique tranger, russe de cur et dme,at

that solemn moment felt himself enraptured by all that he had heard (as

he used afterwards to say), and gave expression to his own feelings and

those of the Russian people whose representative he considered himself

to be, in the following words



Sire! said he, Your Majesty is at this moment signing the glory of

the nation and the salvation of Europe!



With an inclination of the head the Emperor dismissed him.











CHAPTER IV



It is natural for us who were not living in those days to imagine that

when half Russia had been conquered and the inhabitants were fleeing to

distant provinces, and one levy after another was being raised for the

defense of the fatherland, all Russians from the greatest to the least

were solely engaged in sacrificing themselves, saving their fatherland,

or weeping over its downfall. The tales and descriptions of that time

without exception speak only of the self-sacrifice, patriotic devotion,

despair, grief, and the heroism of the Russians. But it was not really

so. It appears so to us because we see only the general historic

interest of that time and do not see all the personal human interests

that people had. Yet in reality those personal interests of the moment

so much transcend the general interests that they always prevent the

public interest from being felt or even noticed. Most of the people at

that time paid no attention to the general progress of events but were

guided only by their private interests, and they were the very people

whose activities at that period were most useful.



Those who tried to understand the general course of events and to take

part in it by self-sacrifice and heroism were the most useless members

of society, they saw everything upside down, and all they did for the

common good turned out to be useless and foolishlike Pierres and

Mamnovs regiments which looted Russian villages, and the lint the

young ladies prepared and that never reached the wounded, and so on.

Even those, fond of intellectual talk and of expressing their feelings,

who discussed Russias position at the time involuntarily introduced

into their conversation either a shade of pretense and falsehood or

useless condemnation and anger directed against people accused of

actions no one could possibly be guilty of. In historic events the rule

forbidding us to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge is specially

applicable. Only unconscious action bears fruit, and he who plays a part

in an historic event never understands its significance. If he tries to

realize it his efforts are fruitless.



The more closely a man was engaged in the events then taking place in

Russia the less did he realize their significance. In Petersburg and

in the provinces at a distance from Moscow, ladies, and gentlemen in

militia uniforms, wept for Russia and its ancient capital and talked of

self-sacrifice and so on but in the army which retired beyond Moscow

there was little talk or thought of Moscow, and when they caught sight

of its burned ruins no one swore to be avenged on the French, but they

thought about their next pay, their next quarters, of Matrshka the

vivandire, and like matters.



As the war had caught him in the service, Nicholas Rostv took a close

and prolonged part in the defense of his country, but did so casually,

without any aim at self-sacrifice, and he therefore looked at what was

going on in Russia without despair and without dismally racking his

brains over it. Had he been asked what he thought of the state of

Russia, he would have said that it was not his business to think about

it, that Kutzov and others were there for that purpose, but that he had

heard that the regiments were to be made up to their full strength, that

fighting would probably go on for a long time yet, and that things being

so it was quite likely he might be in command of a regiment in a couple

of years time.



As he looked at the matter in this way, he learned that he was being

sent to Vornezh to buy remounts for his division, not only without

regret at being prevented from taking part in the coming battle, but

with the greatest pleasurewhich he did not conceal and which his

comrades fully understood.



A few days before the battle of Borodin, Nicholas received the

necessary money and warrants, and having sent some hussars on in

advance, he set out with post horses for Vornezh.



Only a man who has experienced itthat is, has passed some months

continuously in an atmosphere of campaigning and warcan understand the

delight Nicholas felt when he escaped from the region covered by the

armys foraging operations, provision trains, and hospitals. Whenfree

from soldiers, wagons, and the filthy traces of a camphe saw villages

with peasants and peasant women, gentlemens country houses, fields

where cattle were grazing, posthouses with stationmasters asleep in

them, he rejoiced as though seeing all this for the first time. What for

a long while specially surprised and delighted him were the women, young

and healthy, without a dozen officers making up to each of them women,

too, who were pleased and flattered that a passing officer should joke

with them.



In the highest spirits Nicholas arrived at night at a hotel in Vornezh,

ordered things he had long been deprived of in camp, and next day, very

clean-shaven and in a full-dress uniform he had not worn for a long

time, went to present himself to the authorities.



The commander of the militia was a civilian general, an old man who was

evidently pleased with his military designation and rank. He received

Nicholas brusquely (imagining this to be characteristically military)

and questioned him with an important air, as if considering the general

progress of affairs and approving and disapproving with full right to do

so. Nicholas was in such good spirits that this merely amused him.



From the commander of the militia he drove to the governor. The governor

was a brisk little man, very simple and affable. He indicated the stud

farms at which Nicholas might procure horses, recommended to him a horse

dealer in the town and a landowner fourteen miles out of town who had

the best horses, and promised to assist him in every way.



You are Count Ily Rostvs son? My wife was a great friend of your

mothers. We are at home on Thursdaystoday is Thursday, so please come

and see us quite informally, said the governor, taking leave of him.



Immediately on leaving the governors, Nicholas hired post horses and,

taking his squadron quartermaster with him, drove at a gallop to the

landowner, fourteen miles away, who had the stud. Everything seemed to

him pleasant and easy during that first part of his stay in Vornezh

and, as usually happens when a man is in a pleasant state of mind,

everything went well and easily.



The landowner to whom Nicholas went was a bachelor, an old cavalryman, a

horse fancier, a sportsman, the possessor of some century-old brandy

and some old Hungarian wine, who had a snuggery where he smoked, and who

owned some splendid horses.



In very few words Nicholas bought seventeen picked stallions for six

thousand rublesto serve, as he said, as samples of his remounts. After

dining and taking rather too much of the Hungarian wine, Nicholashaving

exchanged kisses with the landowner, with whom he was already on the

friendliest termsgalloped back over abominable roads, in the brightest

frame of mind, continually urging on the driver so as to be in time for

the governors party.



When he had changed, poured water over his head, and scented himself,

Nicholas arrived at the governors rather late, but with the phrase

better late than never on his lips.



It was not a ball, nor had dancing been announced, but everyone knew

that Catherine Petrvna would play valses and the cossaise on the

clavichord and that there would be dancing, and so everyone had come as

to a ball.



Provincial life in 1812 went on very much as usual, but with this

difference, that it was livelier in the towns in consequence of the

arrival of many wealthy families from Moscow, and as in everything that

went on in Russia at that time a special recklessness was noticeable, an

in for a penny, in for a poundwho cares? spirit, and the inevitable

small talk, instead of turning on the weather and mutual acquaintances,

now turned on Moscow, the army, and Napoleon.



The society gathered together at the governors was the best in

Vornezh.



There were a great many ladies and some of Nicholas Moscow

acquaintances, but there were no men who could at all vie with the

cavalier of St. George, the hussar remount officer, the good-natured

and well-bred Count Rostv. Among the men was an Italian prisoner, an

officer of the French army and Nicholas felt that the presence of that

prisoner enhanced his own importance as a Russian hero. The Italian

was, as it were, a war trophy. Nicholas felt this, it seemed to him

that everyone regarded the Italian in the same light, and he treated him

cordially though with dignity and restraint.



As soon as Nicholas entered in his hussar uniform, diffusing around him

a fragrance of perfume and wine, and had uttered the words better late

than never and heard them repeated several times by others, people

clustered around him all eyes turned on him, and he felt at once

that he had entered into his proper position in the provincethat of

a universal favorite a very pleasant position, and intoxicatingly so

after his long privations. At posting stations, at inns, and in the

landowners snuggery, maidservants had been flattered by his notice, and

here too at the governors party there were (as it seemed to Nicholas)

an inexhaustible number of pretty young women, married and unmarried,

impatiently awaiting his notice. The women and girls flirted with him

and, from the first day, the people concerned themselves to get this

fine young daredevil of an hussar married and settled down. Among these

was the governors wife herself, who welcomed Rostv as a near relative

and called him Nicholas.



Catherine Petrvna did actually play valses and the cossaise, and

dancing began in which Nicholas still further captivated the provincial

society by his agility. His particularly free manner of dancing even

surprised them all. Nicholas was himself rather surprised at the way he

danced that evening. He had never danced like that in Moscow and would

even have considered such a very free and easy manner improper and in

bad form, but here he felt it incumbent on him to astonish them all by

something unusual, something they would have to accept as the regular

thing in the capital though new to them in the provinces.



All the evening Nicholas paid attention to a blue-eyed, plump and

pleasing little blonde, the wife of one of the provincial officials.

With the nave conviction of young men in a merry mood that other mens

wives were created for them, Rostv did not leave the ladys side and

treated her husband in a friendly and conspiratorial style, as if,

without speaking of it, they knew how capitally Nicholas and the lady

would get on together. The husband, however, did not seem to share that

conviction and tried to behave morosely with Rostv. But the

latters good-natured navet was so boundless that sometimes even he

involuntarily yielded to Nicholas good humor. Toward the end of the

evening, however, as the wifes face grew more flushed and animated, the

husbands became more and more melancholy and solemn, as though there

were but a given amount of animation between them and as the wifes

share increased the husbands diminished.











CHAPTER V



Nicholas sat leaning slightly forward in an armchair, bending closely

over the blonde lady and paying her mythological compliments with a

smile that never left his face. Jauntily shifting the position of his

legs in their tight riding breeches, diffusing an odor of perfume, and

admiring his partner, himself, and the fine outlines of his legs in

their well-fitting Hessian boots, Nicholas told the blonde lady that he

wished to run away with a certain lady here in Vornezh.



Which lady?



A charming lady, a divine one. Her eyes (Nicholas looked at his

partner) are blue, her mouth coral and ivory her figure (he glanced

at her shoulders) like Dianas....



The husband came up and sullenly asked his wife what she was talking

about.



Ah, Nikta Ivnych! cried Nicholas, rising politely, and as if wishing

Nikta Ivnych to share his joke, he began to tell him of his intention

to elope with a blonde lady.



The husband smiled gloomily, the wife gaily. The governors good-natured

wife came up with a look of disapproval.



Anna Igntyevna wants to see you, Nicholas, said she, pronouncing the

name so that Nicholas at once understood that Anna Igntyevna was a very

important person. Come, Nicholas! You know you let me call you so?



Oh, yes, Aunt. Who is she?



Anna Igntyevna Malvntseva. She has heard from her niece how you

rescued her.... Can you guess?



I rescued such a lot of them! said Nicholas.



Her niece, Princess Bolknskaya. She is here in Vornezh with her aunt.

Oho! How you blush. Why, are...?



Not a bit! Please dont, Aunt!



Very well, very well!... Oh, what a fellow you are!



The governors wife led him up to a tall and very stout old lady with

a blue headdress, who had just finished her game of cards with the most

important personages of the town. This was Malvntseva, Princess Marys

aunt on her mothers side, a rich, childless widow who always lived in

Vornezh. When Rostv approached her she was standing settling up for

the game. She looked at him and, screwing up her eyes sternly, continued

to upbraid the general who had won from her.



Very pleased, mon cher, she then said, holding out her hand to

Nicholas. Pray come and see me.



After a few words about Princess Mary and her late father, whom

Malvntseva had evidently not liked, and having asked what Nicholas

knew of Prince Andrew, who also was evidently no favorite of hers, the

important old lady dismissed Nicholas after repeating her invitation to

come to see her.



Nicholas promised to come and blushed again as he bowed. At the mention

of Princess Mary he experienced a feeling of shyness and even of fear,

which he himself did not understand.



When he had parted from Malvntseva Nicholas wished to return to the

dancing, but the governors little wife placed her plump hand on his

sleeve and, saying that she wanted to have a talk with him, led him to

her sitting room, from which those who were there immediately withdrew

so as not to be in her way.



Do you know, dear boy, began the governors wife with a serious

expression on her kind little face, that really would be the match for

you would you like me to arrange it?



Whom do you mean, Aunt? asked Nicholas.



I will make a match for you with the princess. Catherine Petrvna

speaks of Lily, but I say, nothe princess! Do you want me to do it? I

am sure your mother will be grateful to me. What a charming girl she is,

really! And she is not at all so plain, either.



Not at all, replied Nicholas as if offended at the idea. As befits

a soldier, Aunt, I dont force myself on anyone or refuse anything, he

said before he had time to consider what he was saying.



Well then, remember, this is not a joke!



Of course not!



Yes, yes, the governors wife said as if talking to herself. But,

my dear boy, among other things you are too attentive to the other, the

blonde. One is sorry for the husband, really....



Oh no, we are good friends with him, said Nicholas in the simplicity

of his heart it did not enter his head that a pastime so pleasant to

himself might not be pleasant to someone else.



But what nonsense I have been saying to the governors wife! thought

Nicholas suddenly at supper. She will really begin to arrange a

match... and Snya...? And on taking leave of the governors wife,

when she again smilingly said to him, Well then, remember! he drew her

aside.



But see here, to tell the truth, Aunt...



What is it, my dear? Come, lets sit down here, said she.



Nicholas suddenly felt a desire and need to tell his most intimate

thoughts (which he would not have told to his mother, his sister, or

his friend) to this woman who was almost a stranger. When he afterwards

recalled that impulse to unsolicited and inexplicable frankness which

had very important results for him, it seemed to himas it seems to

everyone in such casesthat it was merely some silly whim that seized

him yet that burst of frankness, together with other trifling events,

had immense consequences for him and for all his family.



You see, Aunt, Mamma has long wanted me to marry an heiress, but the

very idea of marrying for money is repugnant to me.



Oh yes, I understand, said the governors wife.



But Princess Bolknskayathats another matter. I will tell you the

truth. In the first place I like her very much, I feel drawn to her and

then, after I met her under such circumstancesso strangely, the idea

often occurred to me This is fate. Especially if you remember that

Mamma had long been thinking of it but I had never happened to meet her

before, somehow it had always happened that we did not meet. And as long

as my sister Natsha was engaged to her brother it was of course out of

the question for me to think of marrying her. And it must needs happen

that I should meet her just when Natshas engagement had been broken

off... and then everything... So you see... I never told this to anyone

and never will, only to you.



The governors wife pressed his elbow gratefully.



You know Snya, my cousin? I love her, and promised to marry her, and

will do so.... So you see there can be no question about said Nicholas

incoherently and blushing.



My dear boy, what a way to look at it! You know Snya has nothing and

you yourself say your Papas affairs are in a very bad way. And what

about your mother? It would kill her, thats one thing. And what sort of

life would it be for Snyaif shes a girl with a heart? Your mother

in despair, and you all ruined.... No, my dear, you and Snya ought to

understand that.



Nicholas remained silent. It comforted him to hear these arguments.



All the same, Aunt, it is impossible, he rejoined with a sigh, after

a short pause. Besides, would the princess have me? And besides, she is

now in mourning. How can one think of it!



But you dont suppose Im going to get you married at once? There is

always a right way of doing things, replied the governors wife.



What a matchmaker you are, Aunt... said Nicholas, kissing her plump

little hand.











CHAPTER VI



On reaching Moscow after her meeting with Rostv, Princess Mary had

found her nephew there with his tutor, and a letter from Prince Andrew

giving her instructions how to get to her Aunt Malvntseva at Vornezh.

That feeling akin to temptation which had tormented her during her

fathers illness, since his death, and especially since her meeting with

Rostv was smothered by arrangements for the journey, anxiety about her

brother, settling in a new house, meeting new people, and attending to

her nephews education. She was sad. Now, after a month passed in quiet

surroundings, she felt more and more deeply the loss of her father which

was associated in her mind with the ruin of Russia. She was agitated and

incessantly tortured by the thought of the dangers to which her brother,

the only intimate person now remaining to her, was exposed. She was

worried too about her nephews education for which she had always felt

herself incompetent, but in the depths of her soul she felt at peacea

peace arising from consciousness of having stifled those personal dreams

and hopes that had been on the point of awakening within her and were

related to her meeting with Rostv.



The day after her party the governors wife came to see Malvntseva

and, after discussing her plan with the aunt, remarked that though

under present circumstances a formal betrothal was, of course, not to be

thought of, all the same the young people might be brought together and

could get to know one another. Malvntseva expressed approval, and the

governors wife began to speak of Rostv in Marys presence, praising

him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Marys name was

mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful

feelingher mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts,

self-reproach, and hopes reawoke.



During the two days that elapsed before Rostv called, Princess Mary

continually thought of how she ought to behave to him. First she decided

not to come to the drawing room when he called to see her auntthat it

would not be proper for her, in her deep mourning, to receive visitors

then she thought this would be rude after what he had done for her then

it occurred to her that her aunt and the governors wife had intentions

concerning herself and Rostvtheir looks and words at times seemed to

confirm this suppositionthen she told herself that only she, with her

sinful nature, could think this of them they could not forget that

situated as she was, while still wearing deep mourning, such matchmaking

would be an insult to her and to her fathers memory. Assuming that she

did go down to see him, Princess Mary imagined the words he would say

to her and what she would say to him, and these words sometimes seemed

undeservedly cold and then to mean too much. More than anything she

feared lest the confusion she felt might overwhelm her and betray her as

soon as she saw him.



But when on Sunday after church the footman announced in the drawing

room that Count Rostv had called, the princess showed no confusion,

only a slight blush suffused her cheeks and her eyes lit up with a new

and radiant light.



You have met him, Aunt? said she in a calm voice, unable herself to

understand that she could be outwardly so calm and natural.



When Rostv entered the room, the princess dropped her eyes for an

instant, as if to give the visitor time to greet her aunt, and then

just as Nicholas turned to her she raised her head and met his look with

shining eyes. With a movement full of dignity and grace she half rose

with a smile of pleasure, held out her slender, delicate hand to him,

and began to speak in a voice in which for the first time new deep

womanly notes vibrated. Mademoiselle Bourienne, who was in the drawing

room, looked at Princess Mary in bewildered surprise. Herself a

consummate coquette, she could not have maneuvered better on meeting a

man she wished to attract.



Either black is particularly becoming to her or she really has greatly

improved without my having noticed it. And above all, what tact and

grace! thought Mademoiselle Bourienne.



Had Princess Mary been capable of reflection at that moment, she would

have been more surprised than Mademoiselle Bourienne at the change that

had taken place in herself. From the moment she recognized that dear,

loved face, a new life force took possession of her and compelled her to

speak and act apart from her own will. From the time Rostv entered, her

face became suddenly transformed. It was as if a light had been kindled

in a carved and painted lantern and the intricate, skillful, artistic

work on its sides, that previously seemed dark, coarse, and meaningless,

was suddenly shown up in unexpected and striking beauty. For the first

time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail through which she had

lived appeared on the surface. All her inward labor, her dissatisfaction

with herself, her sufferings, her strivings after goodness, her

meekness, love, and self-sacrificeall this now shone in those radiant

eyes, in her delicate smile, and in every trait of her gentle face.



Rostv saw all this as clearly as if he had known her whole life. He

felt that the being before him was quite different from, and better

than, anyone he had met before, and above all better than himself.



Their conversation was very simple and unimportant. They spoke of the

war, and like everyone else unconsciously exaggerated their sorrow

about it they spoke of their last meetingNicholas trying to change the

subjectthey talked of the governors kind wife, of Nicholas relations,

and of Princess Marys.



She did not talk about her brother, diverting the conversation as soon

as her aunt mentioned Andrew. Evidently she could speak of Russias

misfortunes with a certain artificiality, but her brother was too near

her heart and she neither could nor would speak lightly of him. Nicholas

noticed this, as he noticed every shade of Princess Marys character

with an observation unusual to him, and everything confirmed his

conviction that she was a quite unusual and extraordinary being.

Nicholas blushed and was confused when people spoke to him about the

princess (as she did when he was mentioned) and even when he thought of

her, but in her presence he felt quite at ease, and said not at all what

he had prepared, but what, quite appropriately, occurred to him at the

moment.



When a pause occurred during his short visit, Nicholas, as is usual when

there are children, turned to Prince Andrews little son, caressing him

and asking whether he would like to be an hussar. He took the boy on

his knee, played with him, and looked round at Princess Mary. With a

softened, happy, timid look she watched the boy she loved in the arms

of the man she loved. Nicholas also noticed that look and, as if

understanding it, flushed with pleasure and began to kiss the boy with

good natured playfulness.



As she was in mourning Princess Mary did not go out into society, and

Nicholas did not think it the proper thing to visit her again but all

the same the governors wife went on with her matchmaking, passing on to

Nicholas the flattering things Princess Mary said of him and vice

versa, and insisting on his declaring himself to Princess Mary. For this

purpose she arranged a meeting between the young people at the bishops

house before Mass.



Though Rostv told the governors wife that he would not make any

declaration to Princess Mary, he promised to go.



As at Tilsit Rostv had not allowed himself to doubt that what everybody

considered right was right, so now, after a short but sincere struggle

between his effort to arrange his life by his own sense of justice, and

in obedient submission to circumstances, he chose the latter and yielded

to the power he felt irresistibly carrying him he knew not where. He

knew that after his promise to Snya it would be what he deemed base to

declare his feelings to Princess Mary. And he knew that he would never

act basely. But he also knew (or rather felt at the bottom of his heart)

that by resigning himself now to the force of circumstances and to those

who were guiding him, he was not only doing nothing wrong, but was doing

something very importantmore important than anything he had ever done

in his life.



After meeting Princess Mary, though the course of his life went on

externally as before, all his former amusements lost their charm for him

and he often thought about her. But he never thought about her as he

had thought of all the young ladies without exception whom he had met

in society, nor as he had for a long time, and at one time rapturously,

thought about Snya. He had pictured each of those young ladies as

almost all honest-hearted young men do, that is, as a possible wife,

adapting her in his imagination to all the conditions of married life

a white dressing gown, his wife at the tea table, his wifes carriage,

little ones, Mamma and Papa, their relations to her, and so onand these

pictures of the future had given him pleasure. But with Princess Mary,

to whom they were trying to get him engaged, he could never picture

anything of future married life. If he tried, his pictures seemed

incongruous and false. It made him afraid.











CHAPTER VII



The dreadful news of the battle of Borodin, of our losses in killed and

wounded, and the still more terrible news of the loss of Moscow reached

Vornezh in the middle of September. Princess Mary, having learned of

her brothers wound only from the Gazette and having no definite news of

him, prepared (so Nicholas heard, he had not seen her again himself) to

set off in search of Prince Andrew.



When he received the news of the battle of Borodin and the abandonment

of Moscow, Rostv was not seized with despair, anger, the desire for

vengeance, or any feeling of that kind, but everything in Vornezh

suddenly seemed to him dull and tiresome, and he experienced an

indefinite feeling of shame and awkwardness. The conversations he heard

seemed to him insincere he did not know how to judge all these affairs

and felt that only in the regiment would everything again become clear

to him. He made haste to finish buying the horses, and often became

unreasonably angry with his servant and squadron quartermaster.



A few days before his departure a special thanksgiving, at which

Nicholas was present, was held in the cathedral for the Russian victory.

He stood a little behind the governor and held himself with military

decorum through the service, meditating on a great variety of subjects.

When the service was over the governors wife beckoned him to her.



Have you seen the princess? she asked, indicating with a movement of

her head a lady standing on the opposite side, beyond the choir.



Nicholas immediately recognized Princess Mary not so much by the profile

he saw under her bonnet as by the feeling of solicitude, timidity, and

pity that immediately overcame him. Princess Mary, evidently engrossed

by her thoughts, was crossing herself for the last time before leaving

the church.



Nicholas looked at her face with surprise. It was the same face he had

seen before, there was the same general expression of refined, inner,

spiritual labor, but now it was quite differently lit up. There was a

pathetic expression of sorrow, prayer, and hope in it. As had occurred

before when she was present, Nicholas went up to her without waiting to

be prompted by the governors wife and not asking himself whether or not

it was right and proper to address her here in church, and told her he

had heard of her trouble and sympathized with his whole soul. As soon as

she heard his voice a vivid glow kindled in her face, lighting up both

her sorrow and her joy.



There is one thing I wanted to tell you, Princess, said Rostv. It

is that if your brother, Prince Andrew Nikolevich, were not living, it

would have been at once announced in the Gazette, as he is a colonel.



The princess looked at him, not grasping what he was saying, but cheered

by the expression of regretful sympathy on his face.



And I have known so many cases of a splinter wound (the Gazette said

it was a shell) either proving fatal at once or being very slight,

continued Nicholas. We must hope for the best, and I am sure...



Princess Mary interrupted him.



Oh, that would be so dread... she began and, prevented by agitation

from finishing, she bent her head with a movement as graceful as

everything she did in his presence and, looking up at him gratefully,

went out, following her aunt.



That evening Nicholas did not go out, but stayed at home to settle some

accounts with the horse dealers. When he had finished that business it

was already too late to go anywhere but still too early to go to bed,

and for a long time he paced up and down the room, reflecting on his

life, a thing he rarely did.



Princess Mary had made an agreeable impression on him when he had met

her in Smolnsk province. His having encountered her in such exceptional

circumstances, and his mother having at one time mentioned her to him as

a good match, had drawn his particular attention to her. When he met her

again in Vornezh the impression she made on him was not merely pleasing

but powerful. Nicholas had been struck by the peculiar moral beauty he

observed in her at this time. He was, however, preparing to go away and

it had not entered his head to regret that he was thus depriving himself

of chances of meeting her. But that days encounter in church had, he

felt, sunk deeper than was desirable for his peace of mind. That pale,

sad, refined face, that radiant look, those gentle graceful gestures,

and especially the deep and tender sorrow expressed in all her features

agitated him and evoked his sympathy. In men Rostv could not bear to

see the expression of a higher spiritual life (that was why he did not

like Prince Andrew) and he referred to it contemptuously as philosophy

and dreaminess, but in Princess Mary that very sorrow which revealed

the depth of a whole spiritual world foreign to him was an irresistible

attraction.



She must be a wonderful woman. A real angel! he said to himself.

Why am I not free? Why was I in such a hurry with Snya? And he

involuntarily compared the two the lack of spirituality in the one and

the abundance of it in the othera spirituality he himself lacked and

therefore valued most highly. He tried to picture what would happen were

he free. How he would propose to her and how she would become his wife.

But no, he could not imagine that. He felt awed, and no clear picture

presented itself to his mind. He had long ago pictured to himself a

future with Snya, and that was all clear and simple just because it

had all been thought out and he knew all there was in Snya, but it was

impossible to picture a future with Princess Mary, because he did not

understand her but simply loved her.



Reveries about Snya had had something merry and playful in them, but to

dream of Princess Mary was always difficult and a little frightening.



How she prayed! he thought. It was plain that her whole soul was in

her prayer. Yes, that was the prayer that moves mountains, and I am

sure her prayer will be answered. Why dont I pray for what I want? he

suddenly thought. What do I want? To be free, released from Snya...

She was right, he thought, remembering what the governors wife had

said Nothing but misfortune can come of marrying Snya. Muddles,

grief for Mamma... business difficulties... muddles, terrible muddles!

Besides, I dont love hernot as I should. O, God! release me from

this dreadful, inextricable position! he suddenly began to pray. Yes,

prayer can move mountains, but one must have faith and not pray as

Natsha and I used to as children, that the snow might turn into

sugarand then run out into the yard to see whether it had done so. No,

but I am not praying for trifles now, he thought as he put his pipe

down in a corner, and folding his hands placed himself before the icon.

Softened by memories of Princess Mary he began to pray as he had not

done for a long time. Tears were in his eyes and in his throat when the

door opened and Lavrshka came in with some papers.



Blockhead! Why do you come in without being called? cried Nicholas,

quickly changing his attitude.



From the governor, said Lavrshka in a sleepy voice. A courier has

arrived and theres a letter for you.



Well, all right, thanks. You can go!



Nicholas took the two letters, one of which was from his mother and

the other from Snya. He recognized them by the handwriting and opened

Snyas first. He had read only a few lines when he turned pale and his

eyes opened wide with fear and joy.



No, its not possible! he cried aloud.



Unable to sit still he paced up and down the room holding the letter and

reading it. He glanced through it, then read it again, and then again,

and standing still in the middle of the room he raised his shoulders,

stretching out his hands, with his mouth wide open and his eyes fixed.

What he had just been praying for with confidence that God would hear

him had come to pass but Nicholas was as much astonished as if it were

something extraordinary and unexpected, and as if the very fact that it

had happened so quickly proved that it had not come from God to whom he

had prayed, but by some ordinary coincidence.



This unexpected and, as it seemed to Nicholas, quite voluntary letter

from Snya freed him from the knot that fettered him and from which

there had seemed no escape. She wrote that the last unfortunate

eventsthe loss of almost the whole of the Rostvs Moscow propertyand

the countess repeatedly expressed wish that Nicholas should marry

Princess Bolknskaya, together with his silence and coldness of late,

had all combined to make her decide to release him from his promise and

set him completely free.



It would be too painful to me to think that I might be a cause of sorrow

or discord in the family that has been so good to me (she wrote), and my

love has no aim but the happiness of those I love so, Nicholas, I

beg you to consider yourself free, and to be assured that, in spite of

everything, no one can love you more than does



Your Snya



Both letters were written from Tritsa. The other, from the countess,

described their last days in Moscow, their departure, the fire, and

the destruction of all their property. In this letter the countess also

mentioned that Prince Andrew was among the wounded traveling with them

his state was very critical, but the doctor said there was now more

hope. Snya and Natsha were nursing him.



Next day Nicholas took his mothers letter and went to see Princess

Mary. Neither he nor she said a word about what Natsha nursing him

might mean, but thanks to this letter Nicholas suddenly became almost as

intimate with the princess as if they were relations.



The following day he saw Princess Mary off on her journey to Yaroslvl,

and a few days later left to rejoin his regiment.











CHAPTER VIII



Snyas letter written from Tritsa, which had come as an answer to

Nicholas prayer, was prompted by this the thought of getting Nicholas

married to an heiress occupied the old countess mind more and more. She

knew that Snya was the chief obstacle to this happening, and Snyas

life in the countess house had grown harder and harder, especially

after they had received a letter from Nicholas telling of his meeting

with Princess Mary in Boguchrovo. The countess let no occasion slip of

making humiliating or cruel allusions to Snya.



But a few days before they left Moscow, moved and excited by all that

was going on, she called Snya to her and, instead of reproaching and

making demands on her, tearfully implored her to sacrifice herself

and repay all that the family had done for her by breaking off her

engagement with Nicholas.



I shall not be at peace till you promise me this.



Snya burst into hysterical tears and replied through her sobs that

she would do anything and was prepared for anything, but gave no actual

promise and could not bring herself to decide to do what was demanded

of her. She must sacrifice herself for the family that had reared and

brought her up. To sacrifice herself for others was Snyas habit. Her

position in the house was such that only by sacrifice could she show her

worth, and she was accustomed to this and loved doing it. But in all her

former acts of self-sacrifice she had been happily conscious that they

raised her in her own esteem and in that of others, and so made her more

worthy of Nicholas whom she loved more than anything in the world. But

now they wanted her to sacrifice the very thing that constituted the

whole reward for her self-sacrifice and the whole meaning of her life.

And for the first time she felt bitterness against those who had been

her benefactors only to torture her the more painfully she felt jealous

of Natsha who had never experienced anything of this sort, had never

needed to sacrifice herself, but made others sacrifice themselves for

her and yet was beloved by everybody. And for the first time Snya felt

that out of her pure, quiet love for Nicholas a passionate feeling

was beginning to grow up which was stronger than principle, virtue,

or religion. Under the influence of this feeling Snya, whose life of

dependence had taught her involuntarily to be secretive, having answered

the countess in vague general terms, avoided talking with her and

resolved to wait till she should see Nicholas, not in order to set him

free but on the contrary at that meeting to bind him to her forever.



The bustle and terror of the Rostvs last days in Moscow stifled the

gloomy thoughts that oppressed Snya. She was glad to find escape

from them in practical activity. But when she heard of Prince Andrews

presence in their house, despite her sincere pity for him and for

Natsha, she was seized by a joyful and superstitious feeling that God

did not intend her to be separated from Nicholas. She knew that Natsha

loved no one but Prince Andrew and had never ceased to love him. She

knew that being thrown together again under such terrible circumstances

they would again fall in love with one another, and that Nicholas would

then not be able to marry Princess Mary as they would be within the

prohibited degrees of affinity. Despite all the terror of what had

happened during those last days and during the first days of their

journey, this feeling that Providence was intervening in her personal

affairs cheered Snya.



At the Tritsa monastery the Rostvs first broke their journey for a

whole day.



Three large rooms were assigned to them in the monastery hostelry, one

of which was occupied by Prince Andrew. The wounded man was much better

that day and Natsha was sitting with him. In the next room sat the

count and countess respectfully conversing with the prior, who was

calling on them as old acquaintances and benefactors of the monastery.

Snya was there too, tormented by curiosity as to what Prince Andrew and

Natsha were talking about. She heard the sound of their voices through

the door. That door opened and Natsha came out, looking excited. Not

noticing the monk, who had risen to greet her and was drawing back the

wide sleeve on his right arm, she went up to Snya and took her hand.



Natsha, what are you about? Come here! said the countess.



Natsha went up to the monk for his blessing, and he advised her to pray

for aid to God and His saint.



As soon as the prior withdrew, Natsha took her friend by the hand and

went with her into the unoccupied room.



Snya, will he live? she asked. Snya, how happy I am, and how

unhappy!... Snya, dovey, everything is as it used to be. If only he

lives! He cannot... because... because... of... and Natsha burst into

tears.



Yes! I knew it! Thank God! murmured Snya. He will live.



Snya was not less agitated than her friend by the latters fear and

grief and by her own personal feelings which she shared with no one.

Sobbing, she kissed and comforted Natsha. If only he lives! she

thought. Having wept, talked, and wiped away their tears, the two

friends went together to Prince Andrews door. Natsha opened it

cautiously and glanced into the room, Snya standing beside her at the

half-open door.



Prince Andrew was lying raised high on three pillows. His pale face was

calm, his eyes closed, and they could see his regular breathing.



O, Natsha! Snya suddenly almost screamed, catching her companions

arm and stepping back from the door.



What? What is it? asked Natsha.



Its that, that... said Snya, with a white face and trembling lips.



Natsha softly closed the door and went with Snya to the window, not

yet understanding what the latter was telling her.



You remember, said Snya with a solemn and frightened expression.

You remember when I looked in the mirror for you... at Otrdnoe at

Christmas? Do you remember what I saw?



Yes, yes! cried Natsha opening her eyes wide, and vaguely recalling

that Snya had told her something about Prince Andrew whom she had seen

lying down.



You remember? Snya went on. I saw it then and told everybody, you

and Dunysha. I saw him lying on a bed, said she, making a gesture with

her hand and a lifted finger at each detail, and that he had his eyes

closed and was covered just with a pink quilt, and that his hands were

folded, she concluded, convincing herself that the details she had just

seen were exactly what she had seen in the mirror.



She had in fact seen nothing then but had mentioned the first thing that

came into her head, but what she had invented then seemed to her now

as real as any other recollection. She not only remembered what she had

then saidthat he turned to look at her and smiled and was covered with

something redbut was firmly convinced that she had then seen and said

that he was covered with a pink quilt and that his eyes were closed.



Yes, yes, it really was pink! cried Natsha, who now thought she

too remembered the word pink being used, and saw in this the most

extraordinary and mysterious part of the prediction.



But what does it mean? she added meditatively.



Oh, I dont know, it is all so strange, replied Snya, clutching at

her head.



A few minutes later Prince Andrew rang and Natsha went to him, but

Snya, feeling unusually excited and touched, remained at the window

thinking about the strangeness of what had occurred.





They had an opportunity that day to send letters to the army, and the

countess was writing to her son.



Snya! said the countess, raising her eyes from her letter as her

niece passed, Snya, wont you write to Nicholas? She spoke in a soft,

tremulous voice, and in the weary eyes that looked over her spectacles

Snya read all that the countess meant to convey with these words. Those

eyes expressed entreaty, shame at having to ask, fear of a refusal, and

readiness for relentless hatred in case of such refusal.



Snya went up to the countess and, kneeling down, kissed her hand.



Yes, Mamma, I will write, said she.



Snya was softened, excited, and touched by all that had occurred that

day, especially by the mysterious fulfillment she had just seen of her

vision. Now that she knew that the renewal of Natshas relations with

Prince Andrew would prevent Nicholas from marrying Princess Mary, she

was joyfully conscious of a return of that self-sacrificing spirit in

which she was accustomed to live and loved to live. So with a joyful

consciousness of performing a magnanimous deedinterrupted several times

by the tears that dimmed her velvety black eyesshe wrote that touching

letter the arrival of which had so amazed Nicholas.











CHAPTER IX



The officer and soldiers who had arrested Pierre treated him with

hostility but yet with respect, in the guardhouse to which he was taken.

In their attitude toward him could still be felt both uncertainty as

to who he might beperhaps a very important personand hostility as a

result of their recent personal conflict with him.



But when the guard was relieved next morning, Pierre felt that for the

new guardboth officers and menhe was not as interesting as he had

been to his captors and in fact the guard of the second day did not

recognize in this big, stout man in a peasant coat the vigorous person

who had fought so desperately with the marauder and the convoy and had

uttered those solemn words about saving a child they saw in him only

No. 17 of the captured Russians, arrested and detained for some reason

by order of the Higher Command. If they noticed anything remarkable

about Pierre, it was only his unabashed, meditative concentration

and thoughtfulness, and the way he spoke French, which struck them as

surprisingly good. In spite of this he was placed that day with the

other arrested suspects, as the separate room he had occupied was

required by an officer.



All the Russians confined with Pierre were men of the lowest class and,

recognizing him as a gentleman, they all avoided him, more especially as

he spoke French. Pierre felt sad at hearing them making fun of him.



That evening he learned that all these prisoners (he, probably, among

them) were to be tried for incendiarism. On the third day he was taken

with the others to a house where a French general with a white mustache

sat with two colonels and other Frenchmen with scarves on their arms.

With the precision and definiteness customary in addressing prisoners,

and which is supposed to preclude human frailty, Pierre like the others

was questioned as to who he was, where he had been, with what object,

and so on.



These questions, like questions put at trials generally, left the

essence of the matter aside, shut out the possibility of that essences

being revealed, and were designed only to form a channel through which

the judges wished the answers of the accused to flow so as to lead to

the desired result, namely a conviction. As soon as Pierre began to say

anything that did not fit in with that aim, the channel was removed and

the water could flow to waste. Pierre felt, moreover, what the accused

always feel at their trial, perplexity as to why these questions were

put to him. He had a feeling that it was only out of condescension or a

kind of civility that this device of placing a channel was employed. He

knew he was in these mens power, that only by force had they brought

him there, that force alone gave them the right to demand answers

to their questions, and that the sole object of that assembly was to

inculpate him. And so, as they had the power and wish to inculpate

him, this expedient of an inquiry and trial seemed unnecessary. It was

evident that any answer would lead to conviction. When asked what he

was doing when he was arrested, Pierre replied in a rather tragic manner

that he was restoring to its parents a child he had saved from the

flames. Why had he fought the marauder? Pierre answered that he was

protecting a woman, and that to protect a woman who was being insulted

was the duty of every man that... They interrupted him, for this

was not to the point. Why was he in the yard of a burning house where

witnesses had seen him? He replied that he had gone out to see what

was happening in Moscow. Again they interrupted him they had not asked

where he was going, but why he was found near the fire? Who was he? they

asked, repeating their first question, which he had declined to answer.

Again he replied that he could not answer it.



Put that down, thats bad... very bad, sternly remarked the general

with the white mustache and red flushed face.





On the fourth day fires broke out on the Zbovski rampart.



Pierre and thirteen others were moved to the coach house of a merchants

house near the Crimean bridge. On his way through the streets Pierre

felt stifled by the smoke which seemed to hang over the whole

city. Fires were visible on all sides. He did not then realize the

significance of the burning of Moscow, and looked at the fires with

horror.



He passed four days in the coach house near the Crimean bridge and

during that time learned, from the talk of the French soldiers, that all

those confined there were awaiting a decision which might come any day

from the marshal. What marshal this was, Pierre could not learn from the

soldiers. Evidently for them the marshal represented a very high and

rather mysterious power.



These first days, before the eighth of September when the prisoners were

had up for a second examination, were the hardest of all for Pierre.











CHAPTER X



On the eighth of September an officera very important one judging by

the respect the guards showed himentered the coach house where the

prisoners were. This officer, probably someone on the staff, was holding

a paper in his hand, and called over all the Russians there, naming

Pierre as the man who does not give his name. Glancing indolently and

indifferently at all the prisoners, he ordered the officer in charge

to have them decently dressed and tidied up before taking them to the

marshal. An hour later a squad of soldiers arrived and Pierre with

thirteen others was led to the Virgins Field. It was a fine day, sunny

after rain, and the air was unusually pure. The smoke did not hang low

as on the day when Pierre had been taken from the guardhouse on the

Zbovski rampart, but rose through the pure air in columns. No flames

were seen, but columns of smoke rose on all sides, and all Moscow as far

as Pierre could see was one vast charred ruin. On all sides there were

waste spaces with only stoves and chimney stacks still standing, and

here and there the blackened walls of some brick houses. Pierre gazed

at the ruins and did not recognize districts he had known well. Here and

there he could see churches that had not been burned. The Krmlin, which

was not destroyed, gleamed white in the distance with its towers and

the belfry of Ivn the Great. The domes of the New Convent of the Virgin

glittered brightly and its bells were ringing particularly clearly.

These bells reminded Pierre that it was Sunday and the feast of the

Nativity of the Virgin. But there seemed to be no one to celebrate this

holiday everywhere were blackened ruins, and the few Russians to be

seen were tattered and frightened people who tried to hide when they saw

the French.



It was plain that the Russian nest was ruined and destroyed, but in

place of the Russian order of life that had been destroyed, Pierre

unconsciously felt that a quite different, firm, French order had been

established over this ruined nest. He felt this in the looks of

the soldiers who, marching in regular ranks briskly and gaily, were

escorting him and the other criminals he felt it in the looks of an

important French official in a carriage and pair driven by a soldier,

whom they met on the way. He felt it in the merry sounds of regimental

music he heard from the left side of the field, and felt and realized

it especially from the list of prisoners the French officer had read out

when he came that morning. Pierre had been taken by one set of soldiers

and led first to one and then to another place with dozens of other men,

and it seemed that they might have forgotten him, or confused him with

the others. But no the answers he had given when questioned had come

back to him in his designation as the man who does not give his name,

and under that appellation, which to Pierre seemed terrible, they were

now leading him somewhere with unhesitating assurance on their faces

that he and all the other prisoners were exactly the ones they wanted

and that they were being taken to the proper place. Pierre felt himself

to be an insignificant chip fallen among the wheels of a machine whose

action he did not understand but which was working well.



He and the other prisoners were taken to the right side of the Virgins

Field, to a large white house with an immense garden not far from the

convent. This was Prince Shcherbtovs house, where Pierre had often

been in other days, and which, as he learned from the talk of the

soldiers, was now occupied by the marshal, the Duke of Eckmhl (Davout).



They were taken to the entrance and led into the house one by one.

Pierre was the sixth to enter. He was conducted through a glass gallery,

an anteroom, and a hall, which were familiar to him, into a long low

study at the door of which stood an adjutant.



Davout, spectacles on nose, sat bent over a table at the further end of

the room. Pierre went close up to him, but Davout, evidently consulting

a paper that lay before him, did not look up. Without raising his eyes,

he said in a low voice



Who are you?



Pierre was silent because he was incapable of uttering a word. To him

Davout was not merely a French general, but a man notorious for his

cruelty. Looking at his cold face, as he sat like a stern schoolmaster

who was prepared to wait awhile for an answer, Pierre felt that every

instant of delay might cost him his life but he did not know what

to say. He did not venture to repeat what he had said at his first

examination, yet to disclose his rank and position was dangerous and

embarrassing. So he was silent. But before he had decided what to do,

Davout raised his head, pushed his spectacles back on his forehead,

screwed up his eyes, and looked intently at him.



I know that man, he said in a cold, measured tone, evidently

calculated to frighten Pierre.



The chill that had been running down Pierres back now seized his head

as in a vise.



You cannot know me, General, I have never seen you...



He is a Russian spy, Davout interrupted, addressing another general

who was present, but whom Pierre had not noticed.



Davout turned away. With an unexpected reverberation in his voice Pierre

rapidly began



No, monseigneur, he said, suddenly remembering that Davout was a duke.

No, monseigneur, you cannot have known me. I am a militia officer and

have not quitted Moscow.



Your name? asked Davout.



Bezkhov.



What proof have I that you are not lying?



Monseigneur! exclaimed Pierre, not in an offended but in a pleading

voice.



Davout looked up and gazed intently at him. For some seconds they looked

at one another, and that look saved Pierre. Apart from conditions of war

and law, that look established human relations between the two men. At

that moment an immense number of things passed dimly through both their

minds, and they realized that they were both children of humanity and

were brothers.



At the first glance, when Davout had only raised his head from the

papers where human affairs and lives were indicated by numbers, Pierre

was merely a circumstance, and Davout could have shot him without

burdening his conscience with an evil deed, but now he saw in him a

human being. He reflected for a moment.



How can you show me that you are telling the truth? said Davout

coldly.



Pierre remembered Ramballe, and named him and his regiment and the

street where the house was.



You are not what you say, returned Davout.



In a trembling, faltering voice Pierre began adducing proofs of the

truth of his statements.



But at that moment an adjutant entered and reported something to Davout.



Davout brightened up at the news the adjutant brought, and began

buttoning up his uniform. It seemed that he had quite forgotten Pierre.



When the adjutant reminded him of the prisoner, he jerked his head in

Pierres direction with a frown and ordered him to be led away. But

where they were to take him Pierre did not know back to the coach house

or to the place of execution his companions had pointed out to him as

they crossed the Virgins Field.



He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was putting another

question to Davout.



Yes, of course! replied Davout, but what this yes meant, Pierre did

not know.



Pierre could not afterwards remember how he went, whether it was far, or

in which direction. His faculties were quite numbed, he was stupefied,

and noticing nothing around him went on moving his legs as the others

did till they all stopped and he stopped too. The only thought in his

mind at that time was who was it that had really sentenced him to

death? Not the men on the commission that had first examined himnot one

of them wished to or, evidently, could have done it. It was not Davout,

who had looked at him in so human a way. In another moment Davout would

have realized that he was doing wrong, but just then the adjutant had

come in and interrupted him. The adjutant, also, had evidently had no

evil intent though he might have refrained from coming in. Then who was

executing him, killing him, depriving him of lifehim, Pierre, with all

his memories, aspirations, hopes, and thoughts? Who was doing this? And

Pierre felt that it was no one.



It was a systema concurrence of circumstances.



A system of some sort was killing himPierredepriving him of life, of

everything, annihilating him.











CHAPTER XI



From Prince Shcherbtovs house the prisoners were led straight down the

Virgins Field, to the left of the nunnery, as far as a kitchen garden

in which a post had been set up. Beyond that post a fresh pit had been

dug in the ground, and near the post and the pit a large crowd stood

in a semicircle. The crowd consisted of a few Russians and many

of Napoleons soldiers who were not on dutyGermans, Italians, and

Frenchmen, in a variety of uniforms. To the right and left of the post

stood rows of French troops in blue uniforms with red epaulets and high

boots and shakos.



The prisoners were placed in a certain order, according to the list

(Pierre was sixth), and were led to the post. Several drums suddenly

began to beat on both sides of them, and at that sound Pierre felt as

if part of his soul had been torn away. He lost the power of thinking or

understanding. He could only hear and see. And he had only one wishthat

the frightful thing that had to happen should happen quickly. Pierre

looked round at his fellow prisoners and scrutinized them.



The two first were convicts with shaven heads. One was tall and thin,

the other dark, shaggy, and sinewy, with a flat nose. The third was

a domestic serf, about forty-five years old, with grizzled hair and a

plump, well-nourished body. The fourth was a peasant, a very handsome

man with a broad, light-brown beard and black eyes. The fifth was a

factory hand, a thin, sallow-faced lad of eighteen in a loose coat.



Pierre heard the French consulting whether to shoot them separately or

two at a time. In couples, replied the officer in command in a calm

voice. There was a stir in the ranks of the soldiers and it was evident

that they were all hurryingnot as men hurry to do something they

understand, but as people hurry to finish a necessary but unpleasant and

incomprehensible task.



A French official wearing a scarf came up to the right of the row of

prisoners and read out the sentence in Russian and in French.



Then two pairs of Frenchmen approached the criminals and at the

officers command took the two convicts who stood first in the row. The

convicts stopped when they reached the post and, while sacks were being

brought, looked dumbly around as a wounded beast looks at an approaching

huntsman. One crossed himself continually, the other scratched his back

and made a movement of the lips resembling a smile. With hurried hands

the soldiers blindfolded them, drawing the sacks over their heads, and

bound them to the post.



Twelve sharpshooters with muskets stepped out of the ranks with a firm

regular tread and halted eight paces from the post. Pierre turned away

to avoid seeing what was going to happen. Suddenly a crackling, rolling

noise was heard which seemed to him louder than the most terrific

thunder, and he looked round. There was some smoke, and the Frenchmen

were doing something near the pit, with pale faces and trembling hands.

Two more prisoners were led up. In the same way and with similar looks,

these two glanced vainly at the onlookers with only a silent appeal for

protection in their eyes, evidently unable to understand or believe

what was going to happen to them. They could not believe it because they

alone knew what their life meant to them, and so they neither understood

nor believed that it could be taken from them.



Again Pierre did not wish to look and again turned away but again the

sound as of a frightful explosion struck his ear, and at the same moment

he saw smoke, blood, and the pale, scared faces of the Frenchmen who

were again doing something by the post, their trembling hands impeding

one another. Pierre, breathing heavily, looked around as if asking what

it meant. The same question was expressed in all the looks that met his.



On the faces of all the Russians and of the French soldiers and officers

without exception, he read the same dismay, horror, and conflict that

were in his own heart. But who, after all, is doing this? They are all

suffering as I am. Who then is it? Who? flashed for an instant through

his mind.



Sharpshooters of the 86th, forward! shouted someone. The fifth

prisoner, the one next to Pierre, was led awayalone. Pierre did not

understand that he was saved, that he and the rest had been brought

there only to witness the execution. With ever-growing horror, and no

sense of joy or relief, he gazed at what was taking place. The fifth man

was the factory lad in the loose cloak. The moment they laid hands on

him he sprang aside in terror and clutched at Pierre. (Pierre shuddered

and shook himself free.) The lad was unable to walk. They dragged him

along, holding him up under the arms, and he screamed. When they got

him to the post he grew quiet, as if he suddenly understood something.

Whether he understood that screaming was useless or whether he thought

it incredible that men should kill him, at any rate he took his stand at

the post, waiting to be blindfolded like the others, and like a wounded

animal looked around him with glittering eyes.



Pierre was no longer able to turn away and close his eyes. His curiosity

and agitation, like that of the whole crowd, reached the highest pitch

at this fifth murder. Like the others this fifth man seemed calm he

wrapped his loose cloak closer and rubbed one bare foot with the other.



When they began to blindfold him he himself adjusted the knot which

hurt the back of his head then when they propped him against the

bloodstained post, he leaned back and, not being comfortable in that

position, straightened himself, adjusted his feet, and leaned back again

more comfortably. Pierre did not take his eyes from him and did not miss

his slightest movement.



Probably a word of command was given and was followed by the reports of

eight muskets but try as he would Pierre could not afterwards remember

having heard the slightest sound of the shots. He only saw how the

workman suddenly sank down on the cords that held him, how blood showed

itself in two places, how the ropes slackened under the weight of the

hanging body, and how the workman sat down, his head hanging unnaturally

and one leg bent under him. Pierre ran up to the post. No one hindered

him. Pale, frightened people were doing something around the workman.

The lower jaw of an old Frenchman with a thick mustache trembled as he

untied the ropes. The body collapsed. The soldiers dragged it awkwardly

from the post and began pushing it into the pit.



They all plainly and certainly knew that they were criminals who must

hide the traces of their guilt as quickly as possible.



Pierre glanced into the pit and saw that the factory lad was lying with

his knees close up to his head and one shoulder higher than the other.

That shoulder rose and fell rhythmically and convulsively, but spadefuls

of earth were already being thrown over the whole body. One of the

soldiers, evidently suffering, shouted gruffly and angrily at Pierre to

go back. But Pierre did not understand him and remained near the post,

and no one drove him away.



When the pit had been filled up a command was given. Pierre was taken

back to his place, and the rows of troops on both sides of the post

made a half turn and went past it at a measured pace. The twenty-four

sharpshooters with discharged muskets, standing in the center of the

circle, ran back to their places as the companies passed by.



Pierre gazed now with dazed eyes at these sharpshooters who ran in

couples out of the circle. All but one rejoined their companies. This

one, a young soldier, his face deadly pale, his shako pushed back, and

his musket resting on the ground, still stood near the pit at the spot

from which he had fired. He swayed like a drunken man, taking some steps

forward and back to save himself from falling. An old, noncommissioned

officer ran out of the ranks and taking him by the elbow dragged him to

his company. The crowd of Russians and Frenchmen began to disperse. They

all went away silently and with drooping heads.



That will teach them to start fires, said one of the Frenchmen.



Pierre glanced round at the speaker and saw that it was a soldier who

was trying to find some relief after what had been done, but was not

able to do so. Without finishing what he had begun to say he made a

hopeless movement with his arm and went away.











CHAPTER XII



After the execution Pierre was separated from the rest of the prisoners

and placed alone in a small, ruined, and befouled church.



Toward evening a noncommissioned officer entered with two soldiers and

told him that he had been pardoned and would now go to the barracks for

the prisoners of war. Without understanding what was said to him, Pierre

got up and went with the soldiers. They took him to the upper end of the

field, where there were some sheds built of charred planks, beams,

and battens, and led him into one of them. In the darkness some twenty

different men surrounded Pierre. He looked at them without understanding

who they were, why they were there, or what they wanted of him. He heard

what they said, but did not understand the meaning of the words and

made no kind of deduction from or application of them. He replied to

questions they put to him, but did not consider who was listening to his

replies, nor how they would understand them. He looked at their faces

and figures, but they all seemed to him equally meaningless.



From the moment Pierre had witnessed those terrible murders committed by

men who did not wish to commit them, it was as if the mainspring of

his life, on which everything depended and which made everything appear

alive, had suddenly been wrenched out and everything had collapsed

into a heap of meaningless rubbish. Though he did not acknowledge it to

himself, his faith in the right ordering of the universe, in humanity,

in his own soul, and in God, had been destroyed. He had experienced this

before, but never so strongly as now. When similar doubts had assailed

him before, they had been the result of his own wrongdoing, and at the

bottom of his heart he had felt that relief from his despair and from

those doubts was to be found within himself. But now he felt that

the universe had crumbled before his eyes and only meaningless ruins

remained, and this not by any fault of his own. He felt that it was not

in his power to regain faith in the meaning of life.



Around him in the darkness men were standing and evidently something

about him interested them greatly. They were telling him something and

asking him something. Then they led him away somewhere, and at last he

found himself in a corner of the shed among men who were laughing and

talking on all sides.



Well, then, mates... that very prince who... some voice at the other

end of the shed was saying, with a strong emphasis on the word who.



Sitting silent and motionless on a heap of straw against the wall,

Pierre sometimes opened and sometimes closed his eyes. But as soon as

he closed them he saw before him the dreadful face of the factory

ladespecially dreadful because of its simplicityand the faces of the

murderers, even more dreadful because of their disquiet. And he opened

his eyes again and stared vacantly into the darkness around him.



Beside him in a stooping position sat a small man of whose presence he

was first made aware by a strong smell of perspiration which came from

him every time he moved. This man was doing something to his legs in the

darkness, and though Pierre could not see his face he felt that the man

continually glanced at him. On growing used to the darkness Pierre saw

that the man was taking off his leg bands, and the way he did it aroused

Pierres interest.



Having unwound the string that tied the band on one leg, he carefully

coiled it up and immediately set to work on the other leg, glancing up

at Pierre. While one hand hung up the first string the other was already

unwinding the band on the second leg. In this way, having carefully

removed the leg bands by deft circular motions of his arm following

one another uninterruptedly, the man hung the leg bands up on some pegs

fixed above his head. Then he took out a knife, cut something, closed

the knife, placed it under the head of his bed, and, seating himself

comfortably, clasped his arms round his lifted knees and fixed his eyes

on Pierre. The latter was conscious of something pleasant, comforting,

and well-rounded in these deft movements, in the mans well-ordered

arrangements in his corner, and even in his very smell, and he looked at

the man without taking his eyes from him.



Youve seen a lot of trouble, sir, eh? the little man suddenly said.



And there was so much kindliness and simplicity in his singsong voice

that Pierre tried to reply, but his jaw trembled and he felt tears

rising to his eyes. The little fellow, giving Pierre no time to betray

his confusion, instantly continued in the same pleasant tones



Eh, lad, dont fret! said he, in the tender singsong caressing voice

old Russian peasant women employ. Dont fret, friendsuffer an hour,

live for an age! thats how it is, my dear fellow. And here we live,

thank heaven, without offense. Among these folk, too, there are good

men as well as bad, said he, and still speaking, he turned on his knees

with a supple movement, got up, coughed, and went off to another part of

the shed.



Eh, you rascal! Pierre heard the same kind voice saying at the other

end of the shed. So youve come, you rascal? She remembers... Now, now,

thatll do!



And the soldier, pushing away a little dog that was jumping up at

him, returned to his place and sat down. In his hands he had something

wrapped in a rag.



Here, eat a bit, sir, said he, resuming his former respectful tone as

he unwrapped and offered Pierre some baked potatoes. We had soup for

dinner and the potatoes are grand!



Pierre had not eaten all day and the smell of the potatoes seemed

extremely pleasant to him. He thanked the soldier and began to eat.



Well, are they all right? said the soldier with a smile. You should

do like this.



He took a potato, drew out his clasp knife, cut the potato into two

equal halves on the palm of his hand, sprinkled some salt on it from the

rag, and handed it to Pierre.



The potatoes are grand! he said once more. Eat some like that!



Pierre thought he had never eaten anything that tasted better.



Oh, Im all right, said he, but why did they shoot those poor

fellows? The last one was hardly twenty.



Tss, tt...! said the little man. Ah, what a sin... what a sin! he

added quickly, and as if his words were always waiting ready in his

mouth and flew out involuntarily he went on How was it, sir, that you

stayed in Moscow?



I didnt think they would come so soon. I stayed accidentally, replied

Pierre.



And how did they arrest you, dear lad? At your house?



No, I went to look at the fire, and they arrested me there, and tried

me as an incendiary.



Where theres law theres injustice, put in the little man.



And have you been here long? Pierre asked as he munched the last of

the potato.



I? It was last Sunday they took me, out of a hospital in Moscow.



Why, are you a soldier then?



Yes, we are soldiers of the psheron regiment. I was dying of fever. We

werent told anything. There were some twenty of us lying there. We had

no idea, never guessed at all.



And do you feel sad here? Pierre inquired.



How can one help it, lad? My name is Platn, and the surname is

Karatev, he added, evidently wishing to make it easier for Pierre to

address him. They call me little falcon in the regiment. How is one

to help feeling sad? Moscowshes the mother of cities. How can one see

all this and not feel sad? But the maggot gnaws the cabbage, yet dies

first thats what the old folks used to tell us, he added rapidly.



What? What did you say? asked Pierre.



Who? I? said Karatev. I say things happen not as we plan but as God

judges, he replied, thinking that he was repeating what he had said

before, and immediately continued



Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? And a house? So you have

abundance, then? And a housewife? And your old parents, are they still

living? he asked.



And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, he felt that a suppressed

smile of kindliness puckered the soldiers lips as he put these

questions. He seemed grieved that Pierre had no parents, especially that

he had no mother.



A wife for counsel, a mother-in-law for welcome, but theres none as

dear as ones own mother! said he. Well, and have you little ones? he

went on asking.



Again Pierres negative answer seemed to distress him, and he hastened

to add



Never mind! Youre young folks yet, and please God may still have some.

The great thing is to live in harmony....



But its all the same now, Pierre could not help saying.



Ah, my dear fellow! rejoined Karatev, never decline a prison or a

beggars sack!



He seated himself more comfortably and coughed, evidently preparing to

tell a long story.



Well, my dear fellow, I was still living at home, he began. We had

a well-to-do homestead, plenty of land, we peasants lived well and our

house was one to thank God for. When Father and we went out mowing

there were seven of us. We lived well. We were real peasants. It so

happened...



And Platn Karatev told a long story of how he had gone into someones

copse to take wood, how he had been caught by the keeper, had been

tried, flogged, and sent to serve as a soldier.



Well, lad, and a smile changed the tone of his voice we thought it

was a misfortune but it turned out a blessing! If it had not been for

my sin, my brother would have had to go as a soldier. But he, my younger

brother, had five little ones, while I, you see, only left a wife

behind. We had a little girl, but God took her before I went as a

soldier. I come home on leave and Ill tell you how it was, I look and

see that they are living better than before. The yard full of cattle,

the women at home, two brothers away earning wages, and only Michael the

youngest, at home. Father, he says, All my children are the same to

me it hurts the same whichever finger gets bitten. But if Platn hadnt

been shaved for a soldier, Michael would have had to go. called us

all to him and, will you believe it, placed us in front of the icons.

Michael, he says, come here and bow down to his feet and you, young

woman, you bow down too and you, grandchildren, also bow down before

him! Do you understand? he says. Thats how it is, dear fellow. Fate

looks for a head. But we are always judging, thats not wellthats

not right! Our luck is like water in a dragnet you pull at it and it

bulges, but when youve drawn it out its empty! Thats how it is.



And Platn shifted his seat on the straw.



After a short silence he rose.



Well, I think you must be sleepy, said he, and began rapidly crossing

himself and repeating



Lord Jesus Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus

Christ, holy Saint Nicholas, Frola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ, have

mercy on us and save us! he concluded, then bowed to the ground, got

up, sighed, and sat down again on his heap of straw. Thats the way.

Lay me down like a stone, O God, and raise me up like a loaf, he

muttered as he lay down, pulling his coat over him.



What prayer was that you were saying? asked Pierre.



Eh? murmured Platn, who had almost fallen asleep. What was I saying?

I was praying. Dont you pray?



Yes, I do, said Pierre. But what was that you said Frola and Lavra?



Well, of course, replied Platn quickly, the horses saints. One must

pity the animals too. Eh, the rascal! Now youve curled up and got warm,

you daughter of a bitch! said Karatev, touching the dog that lay at

his feet, and again turning over he fell asleep immediately.



Sounds of crying and screaming came from somewhere in the distance

outside, and flames were visible through the cracks of the shed, but

inside it was quiet and dark. For a long time Pierre did not sleep, but

lay with eyes open in the darkness, listening to the regular snoring

of Platn who lay beside him, and he felt that the world that had been

shattered was once more stirring in his soul with a new beauty and on

new and unshakable foundations.











CHAPTER XIII



Twenty-three soldiers, three officers, and two officials were confined

in the shed in which Pierre had been placed and where he remained for

four weeks.



When Pierre remembered them afterwards they all seemed misty figures to

him except Platn Karatev, who always remained in his mind a most

vivid and precious memory and the personification of everything Russian,

kindly, and round. When Pierre saw his neighbor next morning at dawn

the first impression of him, as of something round, was fully confirmed

Platns whole figurein a French overcoat girdled with a cord, a

soldiers cap, and bast shoeswas round. His head was quite round, his

back, chest, shoulders, and even his arms, which he held as if ever

ready to embrace something, were rounded, his pleasant smile and his

large, gentle brown eyes were also round.



Platn Karatev must have been fifty, judging by his stories of

campaigns he had been in, told as by an old soldier. He did not himself

know his age and was quite unable to determine it. But his brilliantly

white, strong teeth which showed in two unbroken semicircles when he

laughedas he often didwere all sound and good, there was not a gray

hair in his beard or on his head, and his whole body gave an impression

of suppleness and especially of firmness and endurance.



His face, despite its fine, rounded wrinkles, had an expression of

innocence and youth, his voice was pleasant and musical. But the chief

peculiarity of his speech was its directness and appositeness. It was

evident that he never considered what he had said or was going to say,

and consequently the rapidity and justice of his intonation had an

irresistible persuasiveness.



His physical strength and agility during the first days of his

imprisonment were such that he seemed not to know what fatigue and

sickness meant. Every night before lying down, he said Lord, lay me

down as a stone and raise me up as a loaf! and every morning on getting

up, he said I lay down and curled up, I get up and shake myself. And

indeed he only had to lie down, to fall asleep like a stone, and he

only had to shake himself, to be ready without a moments delay for some

work, just as children are ready to play directly they awake. He could

do everything, not very well but not badly. He baked, cooked, sewed,

planed, and mended boots. He was always busy, and only at night allowed

himself conversationof which he was fondand songs. He did not sing

like a trained singer who knows he is listened to, but like the birds,

evidently giving vent to the sounds in the same way that one stretches

oneself or walks about to get rid of stiffness, and the sounds were

always high-pitched, mournful, delicate, and almost feminine, and his

face at such times was very serious.



Having been taken prisoner and allowed his beard to grow, he seemed to

have thrown off all that had been forced upon himeverything military

and alien to himselfand had returned to his former peasant habits.



A soldier on leavea shirt outside breeches, he would say.



He did not like talking about his life as a soldier, though he did not

complain, and often mentioned that he had not been flogged once during

the whole of his army service. When he related anything it was generally

some old and evidently precious memory of his Christian life, as he

called his peasant existence. The proverbs, of which his talk was full,

were for the most part not the coarse and indecent saws soldiers

employ, but those folk sayings which taken without a context seem so

insignificant, but when used appositely suddenly acquire a significance

of profound wisdom.



He would often say the exact opposite of what he had said on a previous

occasion, yet both would be right. He liked to talk and he talked well,

adorning his speech with terms of endearment and with folk sayings which

Pierre thought he invented himself, but the chief charm of his talk lay

in the fact that the commonest eventssometimes just such as Pierre

had witnessed without taking notice of themassumed in Karatevs a

character of solemn fitness. He liked to hear the folk tales one of the

soldiers used to tell of an evening (they were always the same), but

most of all he liked to hear stories of real life. He would smile

joyfully when listening to such stories, now and then putting in a word

or asking a question to make the moral beauty of what he was told clear

to himself. Karatev had no attachments, friendships, or love, as Pierre

understood them, but loved and lived affectionately with everything life

brought him in contact with, particularly with mannot any particular

man, but those with whom he happened to be. He loved his dog, his

comrades, the French, and Pierre who was his neighbor, but Pierre felt

that in spite of Karatevs affectionate tenderness for him (by which

he unconsciously gave Pierres spiritual life its due) he would not have

grieved for a moment at parting from him. And Pierre began to feel in

the same way toward Karatev.



To all the other prisoners Platn Karatev seemed a most ordinary

soldier. They called him little falcon or Platsha, chaffed him

good-naturedly, and sent him on errands. But to Pierre he always

remained what he had seemed that first night an unfathomable, rounded,

eternal personification of the spirit of simplicity and truth.



Platn Karatev knew nothing by heart except his prayers. When he began

to speak he seemed not to know how he would conclude.



Sometimes Pierre, struck by the meaning of his words, would ask him to

repeat them, but Platn could never recall what he had said a moment

before, just as he never could repeat to Pierre the words of his

favorite song native and birch tree and my heart is sick occurred in

it, but when spoken and not sung, no meaning could be got out of it. He

did not, and could not, understand the meaning of words apart from

their context. Every word and action of his was the manifestation of

an activity unknown to him, which was his life. But his life, as he

regarded it, had no meaning as a separate thing. It had meaning only as

part of a whole of which he was always conscious. His words and actions

flowed from him as evenly, inevitably, and spontaneously as fragrance

exhales from a flower. He could not understand the value or significance

of any word or deed taken separately.











CHAPTER XIV



When Princess Mary heard from Nicholas that her brother was with the

Rostvs at Yaroslvl she at once prepared to go there, in spite of her

aunts efforts to dissuade herand not merely to go herself but to take

her nephew with her. Whether it were difficult or easy, possible or

impossible, she did not ask and did not want to know it was her duty,

not only to herself, to be near her brother who was perhaps dying, but

to do everything possible to take his son to him, and so she prepared

to set off. That she had not heard from Prince Andrew himself, Princess

Mary attributed to his being too weak to write or to his considering the

long journey too hard and too dangerous for her and his son.



In a few days Princess Mary was ready to start. Her equipages were the

huge family coach in which she had traveled to Vornezh, a semiopen

trap, and a baggage cart. With her traveled Mademoiselle Bourienne,

little Nicholas and his tutor, her old nurse, three maids, Tkhon, and a

young footman and courier her aunt had sent to accompany her.



The usual route through Moscow could not be thought of, and the

roundabout way Princess Mary was obliged to take through Lpetsk,

Ryazn, Vladmir, and Shya was very long and, as post horses were not

everywhere obtainable, very difficult, and near Ryazn where the French

were said to have shown themselves was even dangerous.



During this difficult journey Mademoiselle Bourienne, Dessalles, and

Princess Marys servants were astonished at her energy and firmness of

spirit. She went to bed later and rose earlier than any of them, and

no difficulties daunted her. Thanks to her activity and energy, which

infected her fellow travelers, they approached Yaroslvl by the end of

the second week.



The last days of her stay in Vornezh had been the happiest of her life.

Her love for Rostv no longer tormented or agitated her. It filled her

whole soul, had become an integral part of herself, and she no longer

struggled against it. Latterly she had become convinced that she loved

and was beloved, though she never said this definitely to herself

in words. She had become convinced of it at her last interview with

Nicholas, when he had come to tell her that her brother was with the

Rostvs. Not by a single word had Nicholas alluded to the fact that

Prince Andrews relations with Natsha might, if he recovered, be

renewed, but Princess Mary saw by his face that he knew and thought of

this.



Yet in spite of that, his relation to herconsiderate, delicate, and

lovingnot only remained unchanged, but it sometimes seemed to Princess

Mary that he was even glad that the family connection between them

allowed him to express his friendship more freely. She knew that she

loved for the first and only time in her life and felt that she was

beloved, and was happy in regard to it.



But this happiness on one side of her spiritual nature did not prevent

her feeling grief for her brother with full force on the contrary, that

spiritual tranquility on the one side made it the more possible for her

to give full play to her feeling for her brother. That feeling was so

strong at the moment of leaving Vornezh that those who saw her off, as

they looked at her careworn, despairing face, felt sure she would fall

ill on the journey. But the very difficulties and preoccupations of the

journey, which she took so actively in hand, saved her for a while from

her grief and gave her strength.



As always happens when traveling, Princess Mary thought only of the

journey itself, forgetting its object. But as she approached Yaroslvl

the thought of what might await her therenot after many days, but that

very eveningagain presented itself to her and her agitation increased

to its utmost limit.



The courier who had been sent on in advance to find out where the

Rostvs were staying in Yaroslvl, and in what condition Prince Andrew

was, when he met the big coach just entering the town gates was appalled

by the terrible pallor of the princess face that looked out at him from

the window.



I have found out everything, your excellency the Rostvs are staying

at the merchant Brnnikovs house, in the Square not far from here,

right above the Vlga, said the courier.



Princess Mary looked at him with frightened inquiry, not understanding

why he did not reply to what she chiefly wanted to know how was her

brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put that question for her.



How is the prince? she asked.



His excellency is staying in the same house with them.



Then he is alive, thought Princess Mary, and asked in a low voice

How is he?



The servants say he is still the same.



What still the same might mean Princess Mary did not ask, but with an

unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old Nicholas, who was sitting in

front of her looking with pleasure at the town, she bowed her head

and did not raise it again till the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking and

swaying, came to a stop. The carriage steps clattered as they were let

down.



The carriage door was opened. On the left there was watera great

riverand on the right a porch. There were people at the entrance

servants, and a rosy girl with a large plait of black hair, smiling as

it seemed to Princess Mary in an unpleasantly affected way. (This was

Snya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps. This way, this way! said the

girl, with the same artificial smile, and the princess found herself in

the hall facing an elderly woman of Oriental type, who came rapidly to

meet her with a look of emotion. This was the countess. She embraced

Princess Mary and kissed her.



Mon enfant! she muttered, je vous aime et vous connais depuis

longtemps. *



    * My child! I love you and have known you a long time.





Despite her excitement, Princess Mary realized that this was the

countess and that it was necessary to say something to her. Hardly

knowing how she did it, she contrived to utter a few polite phrases in

French in the same tone as those that had been addressed to her, and

asked How is he?



The doctor says that he is not in danger, said the countess, but as

she spoke she raised her eyes with a sigh, and her gesture conveyed a

contradiction of her words.



Where is he? Can I see himcan I? asked the princess.



One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear! Is this his son? said the

countess, turning to little Nicholas who was coming in with Dessalles.

There will be room for everybody, this is a big house. Oh, what a

lovely boy!



The countess took Princess Mary into the drawing room, where Snya was

talking to Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed the boy, and

the old count came in and welcomed the princess. He had changed very

much since Princess Mary had last seen him. Then he had been a brisk,

cheerful, self-assured old man now he seemed a pitiful, bewildered

person. While talking to Princess Mary he continually looked round as

if asking everyone whether he was doing the right thing. After the

destruction of Moscow and of his property, thrown out of his accustomed

groove he seemed to have lost the sense of his own significance and to

feel that there was no longer a place for him in life.



In spite of her one desire to see her brother as soon as possible, and

her vexation that at the moment when all she wanted was to see him they

should be trying to entertain her and pretending to admire her nephew,

the princess noticed all that was going on around her and felt the

necessity of submitting, for a time, to this new order of things which

she had entered. She knew it to be necessary, and though it was hard for

her she was not vexed with these people.



This is my niece, said the count, introducing SnyaYou dont know

her, Princess?



Princess Mary turned to Snya and, trying to stifle the hostile

feeling that arose in her toward the girl, she kissed her. But she felt

oppressed by the fact that the mood of everyone around her was so far

from what was in her own heart.



Where is he? she asked again, addressing them all.



He is downstairs. Natsha is with him, answered Snya, flushing. We

have sent to ask. I think you must be tired, Princess.



Tears of vexation showed themselves in Princess Marys eyes. She turned

away and was about to ask the countess again how to go to him, when

light, impetuous, and seemingly buoyant steps were heard at the door.

The princess looked round and saw Natsha coming in, almost runningthat

Natsha whom she had liked so little at their meeting in Moscow long

since.



But hardly had the princess looked at Natshas face before she realized

that here was a real comrade in her grief, and consequently a friend.

She ran to meet her, embraced her, and began to cry on her shoulder.



As soon as Natsha, sitting at the head of Prince Andrews bed, heard

of Princess Marys arrival, she softly left his room and hastened to her

with those swift steps that had sounded buoyant to Princess Mary.



There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran into the

drawing roomthat of loveboundless love for him, for her, and for all

that was near to the man she loved and of pity, suffering for others,

and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helping them. It was

plain that at that moment there was in Natshas heart no thought of

herself or of her own relations with Prince Andrew.



Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all this at the

first glance at Natshas face, and wept on her shoulder with sorrowful

pleasure.



Come, come to him, Mary, said Natsha, leading her into the other

room.



Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and turned to Natsha.

She felt that from her she would be able to understand and learn

everything.



How... she began her question but stopped short.



She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words.

Natshas face and eyes would have to tell her all more clearly and

profoundly.



Natsha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to say

all she knew or not she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes

which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was impossible

not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly, Natshas lips

twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and covering her face

with her hands she burst into sobs.



Princess Mary understood.



But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did not trust



But how is his wound? What is his general condition?



You, you... will see, was all Natsha could say.



They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they had left off

crying and were able to go to him with calm faces.



How has his whole illness gone? Is it long since he grew worse? When

did this happen? Princess Mary inquired.



Natsha told her that at first there had been danger from his feverish

condition and the pain he suffered, but at Tritsa that had passed

and the doctor had only been afraid of gangrene. That danger had also

passed. When they reached Yaroslvl the wound had begun to fester

(Natsha knew all about such things as festering) and the doctor had

said that the festering might take a normal course. Then fever set in,

but the doctor had said the fever was not very serious.



But two days ago this suddenly happened, said Natsha, struggling with

her sobs. I dont know why, but you will see what he is like.



Is he weaker? Thinner? asked the princess.



No, its not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary, he is too good, he

cannot, cannot live, because...











CHAPTER XV



When Natsha opened Prince Andrews door with a familiar movement and

let Princess Mary pass into the room before her, the princess felt the

sobs in her throat. Hard as she had tried to prepare herself, and now

tried to remain tranquil, she knew that she would be unable to look at

him without tears.



The princess understood what Natsha had meant by the words two days

ago this suddenly happened. She understood those words to mean that he

had suddenly softened and that this softening and gentleness were signs

of approaching death. As she stepped to the door she already saw in

imagination Andrews face as she remembered it in childhood, a gentle,

mild, sympathetic face which he had rarely shown, and which therefore

affected her very strongly. She was sure he would speak soft, tender

words to her such as her father had uttered before his death, and

that she would not be able to bear it and would burst into sobs in his

presence. Yet sooner or later it had to be, and she went in. The sobs

rose higher and higher in her throat as she more and more clearly

distinguished his form and her shortsighted eyes tried to make out his

features, and then she saw his face and met his gaze.



He was lying in a squirrel-fur dressing gown on a divan, surrounded by

pillows. He was thin and pale. In one thin, translucently white hand

he held a handkerchief, while with the other he stroked the delicate

mustache he had grown, moving his fingers slowly. His eyes gazed at them

as they entered.



On seeing his face and meeting his eyes Princess Marys pace suddenly

slackened, she felt her tears dry up and her sobs ceased. She suddenly

felt guilty and grew timid on catching the expression of his face and

eyes.



But in what am I to blame? she asked herself. And his cold, stern look

replied Because you are alive and thinking of the living, while I...



In the deep gaze that seemed to look not outwards but inwards there

was an almost hostile expression as he slowly regarded his sister and

Natsha.



He kissed his sister, holding her hand in his as was their wont.



How are you, Mary? How did you manage to get here? said he in a voice

as calm and aloof as his look.



Had he screamed in agony, that scream would not have struck such horror

into Princess Marys heart as the tone of his voice.



And have you brought little Nicholas? he asked in the same slow, quiet

manner and with an obvious effort to remember.



How are you now? said Princess Mary, herself surprised at what she was

saying.



That, my dear, you must ask the doctor, he replied, and again making

an evident effort to be affectionate, he said with his lips only (his

words clearly did not correspond to his thoughts)



Merci, chre amie, dtre venue. *



    * Thank you for coming, my dear.





Princess Mary pressed his hand. The pressure made him wince just

perceptibly. He was silent, and she did not know what to say. She now

understood what had happened to him two days before. In his words, his

tone, and especially in that calm, almost antagonistic look could be

felt an estrangement from everything belonging to this world, terrible

in one who is alive. Evidently only with an effort did he understand

anything living but it was obvious that he failed to understand, not

because he lacked the power to do so but because he understood something

elsesomething the living did not and could not understandand which

wholly occupied his mind.



There, you see how strangely fate has brought us together, said he,

breaking the silence and pointing to Natsha. She looks after me all

the time.



Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could say such a

thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he say that,

before her whom he loved and who loved him? Had he expected to live he

could not have said those words in that offensively cold tone. If he had

not known that he was dying, how could he have failed to pity her and

how could he speak like that in her presence? The only explanation was

that he was indifferent, because something else, much more important,

had been revealed to him.



The conversation was cold and disconnected and continually broke off.



Mary came by way of Ryazn, said Natsha.



Prince Andrew did not notice that she called his sister Mary, and only

after calling her so in his presence did Natsha notice it herself.



Really? he asked.



They told her that all Moscow has been burned down, and that...



Natsha stopped. It was impossible to talk. It was plain that he was

making an effort to listen, but could not do so.



Yes, they say its burned, he said. Its a great pity, and he gazed

straight before him, absently stroking his mustache with his fingers.



And so you have met Count Nicholas, Mary? Prince Andrew suddenly said,

evidently wishing to speak pleasantly to them. He wrote here that he

took a great liking to you, he went on simply and calmly, evidently

unable to understand all the complex significance his words had for

living people. If you liked him too, it would be a good thing for you

to get married, he added rather more quickly, as if pleased at having

found words he had long been seeking.



Princess Mary heard his words but they had no meaning for her, except as

a proof of how far away he now was from everything living.



Why talk of me? she said quietly and glanced at Natsha.



Natsha, who felt her glance, did not look at her. All three were again

silent.



Andrew, would you like... Princess Mary suddenly said in a trembling

voice, would you like to see little Nicholas? He is always talking

about you!



Prince Andrew smiled just perceptibly and for the first time, but

Princess Mary, who knew his face so well, saw with horror that he did

not smile with pleasure or affection for his son, but with quiet, gentle

irony because he thought she was trying what she believed to be the last

means of arousing him.



Yes, I shall be very glad to see him. Is he quite well?



When little Nicholas was brought into Prince Andrews room he looked at

his father with frightened eyes, but did not cry, because no one else

was crying. Prince Andrew kissed him and evidently did not know what to

say to him.



When Nicholas had been led away, Princess Mary again went up to her

brother, kissed him, and unable to restrain her tears any longer began

to cry.



He looked at her attentively.



Is it about Nicholas? he asked.



Princess Mary nodded her head, weeping.



Mary, you know the Gosp... but he broke off.



What did you say?



Nothing. You mustnt cry here, he said, looking at her with the same

cold expression.





When Princess Mary began to cry, he understood that she was crying at

the thought that little Nicholas would be left without a father. With

a great effort he tried to return to life and to see things from their

point of view.



Yes, to them it must seem sad! he thought. But how simple it is.



The fowls of the air sow not, neither do they reap, yet your Father

feedeth them, he said to himself and wished to say to Princess Mary

but no, they will take it their own way, they wont understand! They

cant understand that all those feelings they prize soall our feelings,

all those ideas that seem so important to us, are unnecessary. We cannot

understand one another, and he remained silent.





Prince Andrews little son was seven. He could scarcely read, and knew

nothing. After that day he lived through many things, gaining knowledge,

observation, and experience, but had he possessed all the faculties he

afterwards acquired, he could not have had a better or more profound

understanding of the meaning of the scene he had witnessed between

his father, Mary, and Natsha, than he had then. He understood it

completely, and, leaving the room without crying, went silently up

to Natsha who had come out with him and looked shyly at her with his

beautiful, thoughtful eyes, then his uplifted, rosy upper lip trembled

and leaning his head against her he began to cry.



After that he avoided Dessalles and the countess who caressed him and

either sat alone or came timidly to Princess Mary, or to Natsha of whom

he seemed even fonder than of his aunt, and clung to them quietly and

shyly.



When Princess Mary had left Prince Andrew she fully understood what

Natshas face had told her. She did not speak any more to Natsha of

hopes of saving his life. She took turns with her beside his sofa, and

did not cry any more, but prayed continually, turning in soul to that

Eternal and Unfathomable, whose presence above the dying man was now so

evident.











CHAPTER XVI



Not only did Prince Andrew know he would die, but he felt that he was

dying and was already half dead. He was conscious of an aloofness from

everything earthly and a strange and joyous lightness of existence.

Without haste or agitation he awaited what was coming. That inexorable,

eternal, distant, and unknown the presence of which he had felt

continually all his lifewas now near to him and, by the strange

lightness he experienced, almost comprehensible and palpable....





Formerly he had feared the end. He had twice experienced that terribly

tormenting fear of deaththe endbut now he no longer understood that

fear.



He had felt it for the first time when the shell spun like a top before

him, and he looked at the fallow field, the bushes, and the sky, and

knew that he was face to face with death. When he came to himself after

being wounded and the flower of eternal, unfettered love had instantly

unfolded itself in his soul as if freed from the bondage of life that

had restrained it, he no longer feared death and ceased to think about

it.



During the hours of solitude, suffering, and partial delirium he

spent after he was wounded, the more deeply he penetrated into the new

principle of eternal love revealed to him, the more he unconsciously

detached himself from earthly life. To love everything and everybody and

always to sacrifice oneself for love meant not to love anyone, not

to live this earthly life. And the more imbued he became with that

principle of love, the more he renounced life and the more completely he

destroyed that dreadful barrier whichin the absence of such lovestands

between life and death. When during those first days he remembered that

he would have to die, he said to himself Well, what of it? So much the

better!



But after the night in Mytshchi when, half delirious, he had seen her

for whom he longed appear before him and, having pressed her hand to his

lips, had shed gentle, happy tears, love for a particular woman again

crept unobserved into his heart and once more bound him to life. And

joyful and agitating thoughts began to occupy his mind. Recalling the

moment at the ambulance station when he had seen Kurgin, he could not

now regain the feeling he then had, but was tormented by the question

whether Kurgin was alive. And he dared not inquire.



His illness pursued its normal physical course, but what Natsha

referred to when she said This suddenly happened, had occurred two

days before Princess Mary arrived. It was the last spiritual struggle

between life and death, in which death gained the victory. It was

the unexpected realization of the fact that he still valued life as

presented to him in the form of his love for Natsha, 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. Snya was sitting by the table. He

began to doze. Suddenly a feeling of happiness seized him.



Ah, she has come! thought he.



And so it was in Snyas place sat Natsha who had just come in

noiselessly.



Since she had begun looking after him, he had always experienced this

physical consciousness of her nearness. She was sitting in an armchair

placed sideways, screening the light of the candle from him, and was

knitting a stocking. She had learned to knit stockings since Prince

Andrew had casually mentioned that no one nursed the sick so well as old

nurses who knit stockings, and that there is something soothing in

the knitting of stockings. The needles clicked lightly in her slender,

rapidly moving hands, and he could clearly see the thoughtful profile

of her drooping face. She moved, and the ball rolled off her knees. She

started, glanced round at him, and screening the candle with her hand

stooped carefully with a supple and exact movement, picked up the ball,

and regained her former position.



He looked at her without moving and saw that she wanted to draw a

deep breath after stooping, but refrained from doing so and breathed

cautiously.



At the Tritsa monastery they had spoken of the past, and he had told

her that if he lived he would always thank God for his wound which had

brought them together again, but after that they never spoke of the

future.



Can it or can it not be? he now thought as he looked at her and

listened to the light click of the steel needles. Can fate have brought

me to her so strangely only for me to die?... Is it possible that the

truth of life has been revealed to me only to show me that I have spent

my life in falsity? I love her more than anything in the world! But what

am I to do if I love her? he thought, and he involuntarily groaned,

from a habit acquired during his sufferings.



On hearing that sound Natsha put down the stocking, leaned nearer to

him, and suddenly, noticing his shining eyes, stepped lightly up to him

and bent over him.



You are not asleep?



No, I have been looking at you a long time. I felt you come in. No one

else gives me that sense of soft tranquillity that you do... that light.

I want to weep for joy.



Natsha drew closer to him. Her face shone with rapturous joy.



Natsha, I love you too much! More than anything in the world.



And I!She turned away for an instant. Why too much? she asked.



Why too much?... Well, what do you, what do you feel in your soul, your

whole soulshall I live? What do you think?



I am sure of it, sure! Natsha almost shouted, taking hold of both his

hands with a passionate movement.



He remained silent awhile.



How good it would be! and taking her hand he kissed it.



Natsha felt happy and agitated, but at once remembered that this would

not do and that he had to be quiet.



But you have not slept, she said, repressing her joy. Try to sleep...

please!



He pressed her hand and released it, and she went back to the candle and

sat down again in her former position. Twice she turned and looked at

him, and her eyes met his beaming at her. She set herself a task on her

stocking and resolved not to turn round till it was finished.



Soon he really shut his eyes and fell asleep. He did not sleep long and

suddenly awoke with a start and in a cold perspiration.



As he fell asleep he had still been thinking of the subject that now

always occupied his mindabout life and death, and chiefly about death.

He felt himself nearer to it.



Love? What is love? he thought.



Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I

understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only

because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to

die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and

eternal source. These thoughts seemed to him comforting. But they were

only thoughts. Something was lacking in them, they were not clear, they

were too one-sidedly personal and brain-spun. And there was the former

agitation and obscurity. He fell asleep.



He dreamed that he was lying in the room he really was in, but that

he was quite well and unwounded. Many various, indifferent, and

insignificant people appeared before him. He talked to them and

discussed something trivial. They were preparing to go away somewhere.

Prince Andrew dimly realized that all this was trivial and that he had

more important cares, but he continued to speak, surprising them by

empty witticisms. Gradually, unnoticed, all these persons began to

disappear and a single question, that of the closed door, superseded

all else. He rose and went to the door to bolt and lock it. Everything

depended on whether he was, or was not, in time to lock it. He went, and

tried to hurry, but his legs refused to move and he knew he would not be

in time to lock the door though he painfully strained all his powers. He

was seized by an agonizing fear. And that fear was the fear of death. It

stood behind the door. But just when he was clumsily creeping toward

the door, that dreadful something on the other side was already pressing

against it and forcing its way in. Something not humandeathwas

breaking in through that door, and had to be kept out. He seized the

door, making a final effort to hold it backto lock it was no longer

possiblebut his efforts were weak and clumsy and the door, pushed from

behind by that terror, opened and closed again.



Once again it pushed from outside. His last superhuman efforts were vain

and both halves of the door noiselessly opened. It entered, and it was

death, and Prince Andrew died.



But at the instant he died, Prince Andrew remembered that he was asleep,

and at the very instant he died, having made an effort, he awoke.



Yes, it was death! I diedand woke up. Yes, death is an awakening! And

all at once it grew light in his soul and the veil that had till then

concealed the unknown was lifted from his spiritual vision. He felt as

if powers till then confined within him had been liberated, and that

strange lightness did not again leave him.



When, waking in a cold perspiration, he moved on the divan, Natsha went

up and asked him what was the matter. He did not answer and looked at

her strangely, not understanding.



That was what had happened to him two days before Princess Marys

arrival. From that day, as the doctor expressed it, the wasting fever

assumed a malignant character, but what the doctor said did not interest

Natsha, she saw the terrible moral symptoms which to her were more

convincing.



From that day an awakening from life came to Prince Andrew together with

his awakening from sleep. And compared to the duration of life it did

not seem to him slower than an awakening from sleep compared to the

duration of a dream.



There was nothing terrible or violent in this comparatively slow

awakening.



His last days and hours passed in an ordinary and simple way. Both

Princess Mary and Natsha, who did not leave him, felt this. They did

not weep or shudder and during these last days they themselves felt

that they were not attending on him (he was no longer there, he had left

them) but on what reminded them most closely of himhis body. Both felt

this so strongly that the outward and terrible side of death did not

affect them and they did not feel it necessary to foment their grief.

Neither in his presence nor out of it did they weep, nor did they ever

talk to one another about him. They felt that they could not express in

words what they understood.



They both saw that he was sinking slowly and quietly, deeper and deeper,

away from them, and they both knew that this had to be so and that it

was right.



He confessed, and received communion everyone came to take leave of

him. When they brought his son to him, he pressed his lips to the boys

and turned away, not because he felt it hard and sad (Princess Mary and

Natsha understood that) but simply because he thought it was all that

was required of him, but when they told him to bless the boy, he did

what was demanded and looked round as if asking whether there was

anything else he should do.



When the last convulsions of the body, which the spirit was leaving,

occurred, Princess Mary and Natsha were present.



Is it over? said Princess Mary when his body had for a few minutes

lain motionless, growing cold before them. Natsha went up, looked at

the dead eyes, and hastened to close them. She closed them but did not

kiss them, but clung to that which reminded her most nearly of himhis

body.



Where has he gone? Where is he now?...



When the body, washed and dressed, lay in the coffin on a table,

everyone came to take leave of him and they all wept.



Little Nicholas cried because his heart was rent by painful perplexity.

The countess and Snya cried from pity for Natsha and because he was

no more. The old count cried because he felt that before long, he, too,

must take the same terrible step.



Natsha and Princess Mary also wept now, but not because of their own

personal grief they wept with a reverent and softening emotion which

had taken possession of their souls at the consciousness of the

simple and solemn mystery of death that had been accomplished in their

presence.











BOOK THIRTEEN 1812











CHAPTER I



Mans mind cannot grasp the causes of events in their completeness, but

the desire to find those causes is implanted in mans soul. And without

considering the multiplicity and complexity of the conditions any one

of which taken separately may seem to be the cause, he snatches at the

first approximation to a cause that seems to him intelligible and says

This is the cause! In historical events (where the actions of men are

the subject of observation) the first and most primitive approximation

to present itself was the will of the gods and, after that, the will of

those who stood in the most prominent positionthe heroes of history.

But we need only penetrate to the essence of any historic eventwhich

lies in the activity of the general mass of men who take part in itto

be convinced that the will of the historic hero does not control the

actions of the mass but is itself continually controlled. It may seem

to be a matter of indifference whether we understand the meaning of

historical events this way or that yet there is the same difference

between a man who says that the people of the West moved on the East

because Napoleon wished it and a man who says that this happened because

it had to happen, as there is between those who declared that the

earth was stationary and that the planets moved round it and those who

admitted that they did not know what upheld the earth, but knew there

were laws directing its movement and that of the other planets. There

is, and can be, no cause of an historical event except the one cause of

all causes. But there are laws directing events, and some of these laws

are known to us while we are conscious of others we cannot comprehend.

The discovery of these laws is only possible when we have quite

abandoned the attempt to find the cause in the will of some one man,

just as the discovery of the laws of the motion of the planets was

possible only when men abandoned the conception of the fixity of the

earth.



The historians consider that, next to the battle of Borodin and the

occupation of Moscow by the enemy and its destruction by fire, the most

important episode of the war of 1812 was the movement of the Russian

army from the Ryazna to the Kalga road and to the Tartino campthe

so-called flank march across the Krsnaya Pakhr River. They ascribe the

glory of that achievement of genius to different men and dispute as to

whom the honor is due. Even foreign historians, including the French,

acknowledge the genius of the Russian commanders when they speak of

that flank march. But it is hard to understand why military writers,

and following them others, consider this flank march to be the profound

conception of some one man who saved Russia and destroyed Napoleon. In

the first place it is hard to understand where the profundity and genius

of this movement lay, for not much mental effort was needed to see that

the best position for an army when it is not being attacked is where

there are most provisions and even a dull boy of thirteen could have

guessed that the best position for an army after its retreat from Moscow

in 1812 was on the Kalga road. So it is impossible to understand by

what reasoning the historians reach the conclusion that this maneuver

was a profound one. And it is even more difficult to understand just why

they think that this maneuver was calculated to save Russia and destroy

the French for this flank march, had it been preceded, accompanied,

or followed by other circumstances, might have proved ruinous to the

Russians and salutary for the French. If the position of the Russian

army really began to improve from the time of that march, it does not at

all follow that the march was the cause of it.



That flank march might not only have failed to give any advantage to

the Russian army, but might in other circumstances have led to its

destruction. What would have happened had Moscow not burned down? If

Murat had not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon had not remained

inactive? If the Russian army at Krsnaya Pakhr had given battle as

Bennigsen and Barclay advised? What would have happened had the French

attacked the Russians while they were marching beyond the Pakhr? What

would have happened if on approaching Tartino, Napoleon had attacked

the Russians with but a tenth of the energy he had shown when he

attacked them at Smolnsk? What would have happened had the French moved

on Petersburg?... In any of these eventualities the flank march that

brought salvation might have proved disastrous.



The third and most incomprehensible thing is that people studying

history deliberately avoid seeing that this flank march cannot be

attributed to any one man, that no one ever foresaw it, and that in

reality, like the retreat from Fil, it did not suggest itself to anyone

in its entirety, but resultedmoment by moment, step by step, event by

eventfrom an endless number of most diverse circumstances and was only

seen in its entirety when it had been accomplished and belonged to the

past.



At the council at Fil the prevailing thought in the minds of the

Russian commanders was the one naturally suggesting itself, namely, a

direct retreat by the Nzhni road. In proof of this there is the fact

that the majority of the council voted for such a retreat, and above

all there is the well-known conversation after the council, between the

commander in chief and Lansky, who was in charge of the commissariat

department. Lansky informed the commander in chief that the army

supplies were for the most part stored along the Ok in the Tla and

Ryazn provinces, and that if they retreated on Nzhni the army would

be separated from its supplies by the broad river Ok, which cannot be

crossed early in winter. This was the first indication of the necessity

of deviating from what had previously seemed the most natural coursea

direct retreat on Nzhni-Nvgorod. The army turned more to the south,

along the Ryazn road and nearer to its supplies. Subsequently the

inactivity of the French (who even lost sight of the Russian army),

concern for the safety of the arsenal at Tla, and especially the

advantages of drawing nearer to its supplies caused the army to turn

still further south to the Tla road. Having crossed over, by a forced

march, to the Tla road beyond the Pakhr, the Russian commanders

intended to remain at Podlsk and had no thought of the Tartino

position but innumerable circumstances and the reappearance of French

troops who had for a time lost touch with the Russians, and projects

of giving battle, and above all the abundance of provisions in Kalga

province, obliged our army to turn still more to the south and to cross

from the Tla to the Kalga road and go to Tartino, which was between

the roads along which those supplies lay. Just as it is impossible to

say when it was decided to abandon Moscow, so it is impossible to say

precisely when, or by whom, it was decided to move to Tartino. Only

when the army had got there, as the result of innumerable and varying

forces, did people begin to assure themselves that they had desired this

movement and long ago foreseen its result.











CHAPTER II



The famous flank movement merely consisted in this after the advance

of the French had ceased, the Russian army, which had been continually

retreating straight back from the invaders, deviated from that direct

course and, not finding itself pursued, was naturally drawn toward the

district where supplies were abundant.



If instead of imagining to ourselves commanders of genius leading the

Russian army, we picture that army without any leaders, it could not

have done anything but make a return movement toward Moscow, describing

an arc in the direction where most provisions were to be found and where

the country was richest.



That movement from the Nzhni to the Ryazn, Tla, and Kalga roads was

so natural that even the Russian marauders moved in that direction, and

demands were sent from Petersburg for Kutzov to take his army that

way. At Tartino Kutzov received what was almost a reprimand from

the Emperor for having moved his army along the Ryazn road, and the

Emperors letter indicated to him the very position he had already

occupied near Kalga.



Having rolled like a ball in the direction of the impetus given by the

whole campaign and by the battle of Borodin, the Russian armywhen

the strength of that impetus was exhausted and no fresh push was

receivedassumed the position natural to it.



Kutzovs merit lay, not in any strategic maneuver of genius, as it is

called, but in the fact that he alone understood the significance of

what had happened. He alone then understood the meaning of the French

armys inactivity, he alone continued to assert that the battle of

Borodin had been a victory, he alonewho as commander in chief might

have been expected to be eager to attackemployed his whole strength to

restrain the Russian army from useless engagements.



The beast wounded at Borodin was lying where the fleeing hunter had

left him but whether he was still alive, whether he was strong and

merely lying low, the hunter did not know. Suddenly the beast was heard

to moan.



The moan of that wounded beast (the French army) which betrayed its

calamitous condition was the sending of Lauriston to Kutzovs camp with

overtures for peace.



Napoleon, with his usual assurance that whatever entered his head was

right, wrote to Kutzov the first words that occurred to him, though

they were meaningless.





MONSIEUR LE PRINCE KOUTOUZOV I am sending one of my adjutants-general

to discuss several interesting questions with you. I beg your Highness

to credit what he says to you, especially when he expresses the

sentiment of esteem and special regard I have long entertained for your

person. This letter having no other object, I pray God, monsieur le

prince Koutouzov, to keep you in His holy and gracious protection!



NAPOLEON



MOSCOW, OCTOBER 30, 1812





Kutzov replied I should be cursed by posterity were I looked on as

the initiator of a settlement of any sort. Such is the present spirit

of my nation. But he continued to exert all his powers to restrain his

troops from attacking.



During the month that the French troops were pillaging in Moscow and

the Russian troops were quietly encamped at Tartino, a change had taken

place in the relative strength of the two armiesboth in spirit and in

numberas a result of which the superiority had passed to the Russian

side. Though the condition and numbers of the French army were unknown

to the Russians, as soon as that change occurred the need of attacking

at once showed itself by countless signs. These signs were Lauristons

mission the abundance of provisions at Tartino the reports coming in

from all sides of the inactivity and disorder of the French the flow of

recruits to our regiments the fine weather the long rest the Russian

soldiers had enjoyed, and the impatience to do what they had been

assembled for, which usually shows itself in an army that has been

resting curiosity as to what the French army, so long lost sight of,

was doing the boldness with which our outposts now scouted close up to

the French stationed at Tartino the news of easy successes gained by

peasants and guerrilla troops over the French, the envy aroused by this

the desire for revenge that lay in the heart of every Russian as long as

the French were in Moscow, and (above all) a dim consciousness in every

soldiers mind that the relative strength of the armies had changed and

that the advantage was now on our side. There was a substantial change

in the relative strength, and an advance had become inevitable. And at

once, as a clock begins to strike and chime as soon as the minute hand

has completed a full circle, this change was shown by an increased

activity, whirring, and chiming in the higher spheres.











CHAPTER III



The Russian army was commanded by Kutzov and his staff, and also by the

Emperor from Petersburg. Before the news of the abandonment of Moscow

had been received in Petersburg, a detailed plan of the whole campaign

had been drawn up and sent to Kutzov for his guidance. Though this plan

had been drawn up on the supposition that Moscow was still in our hands,

it was approved by the staff and accepted as a basis for action.

Kutzov only replied that movements arranged from a distance were always

difficult to execute. So fresh instructions were sent for the solution

of difficulties that might be encountered, as well as fresh people who

were to watch Kutzovs actions and report upon them.



Besides this, the whole staff of the Russian army was now reorganized.

The posts left vacant by Bagratin, who had been killed, and by

Barclay, who had gone away in dudgeon, had to be filled. Very serious

consideration was given to the question whether it would be better to

put A in Bs place and B in Ds, or on the contrary to put D in As

place, and so onas if anything more than As or Bs satisfaction

depended on this.



As a result of the hostility between Kutzov and Bennigsen, his Chief of

Staff, the presence of confidential representatives of the Emperor, and

these transfers, a more than usually complicated play of parties

was going on among the staff of the army. A was undermining B, D was

undermining C, and so on in all possible combinations and permutations.

In all these plottings the subject of intrigue was generally the conduct

of the war, which all these men believed they were directing but this

affair of the war went on independently of them, as it had to go

that is, never in the way people devised, but flowing always from the

essential attitude of the masses. Only in the highest spheres did

all these schemes, crossings, and interminglings appear to be a true

reflection of what had to happen.





Prince Michael Ilarinovich! (wrote the Emperor on the second of October

in a letter that reached Kutzov after the battle at Tartino) Since

September 2 Moscow has been in the hands of the enemy. Your last reports

were written on the twentieth, and during all this time not only has

no action been taken against the enemy or for the relief of the ancient

capital, but according to your last report you have even retreated

farther. Srpukhov is already occupied by an enemy detachment and Tla

with its famous arsenal so indispensable to the army, is in danger.

From General Wintzingerodes reports, I see that an enemy corps of ten

thousand men is moving on the Petersburg road. Another corps of several

thousand men is moving on Dmtrov. A third has advanced along the

Vladmir road, and a fourth, rather considerable detachment is stationed

between Rza and Mozhysk. Napoleon himself was in Moscow as late as

the twenty-fifth. In view of all this information, when the enemy has

scattered his forces in large detachments, and with Napoleon and his

Guards in Moscow, is it possible that the enemys forces confronting you

are so considerable as not to allow of your taking the offensive? On the

contrary, he is probably pursuing you with detachments, or at most with

an army corps much weaker than the army entrusted to you. It would seem

that, availing yourself of these circumstances, you might advantageously

attack a weaker one and annihilate him, or at least oblige him to

retreat, retaining in our hands an important part of the provinces now

occupied by the enemy, and thereby averting danger from Tla and other

towns in the interior. You will be responsible if the enemy is able to

direct a force of any size against Petersburg to threaten this capital

in which it has not been possible to retain many troops for with the

army entrusted to you, and acting with resolution and energy, you have

ample means to avert this fresh calamity. Remember that you have still

to answer to our offended country for the loss of Moscow. You have

experienced my readiness to reward you. That readiness will not weaken

in me, but I and Russia have a right to expect from you all the zeal,

firmness, and success which your intellect, military talent, and the

courage of the troops you command justify us in expecting.





But by the time this letter, which proved that the real relation of

the forces had already made itself felt in Petersburg, was dispatched,

Kutzov had found himself unable any longer to restrain the army he

commanded from attacking and a battle had taken place.



On the second of October a Cossack, Shapovlov, who was out scouting,

killed one hare and wounded another. Following the wounded hare he made

his way far into the forest and came upon the left flank of Murats

army, encamped there without any precautions. The Cossack laughingly

told his comrades how he had almost fallen into the hands of the French.

A cornet, hearing the story, informed his commander.



The Cossack was sent for and questioned. The Cossack officers wished

to take advantage of this chance to capture some horses, but one of

the superior officers, who was acquainted with the higher authorities,

reported the incident to a general on the staff. The state of things on

the staff had of late been exceedingly strained. Ermlov had been to

see Bennigsen a few days previously and had entreated him to use

his influence with the commander in chief to induce him to take the

offensive.



If I did not know you I should think you did not want what you are

asking for. I need only advise anything and his Highness is sure to do

the opposite, replied Bennigsen.



The Cossacks report, confirmed by horse patrols who were sent out, was

the final proof that events had matured. The tightly coiled spring was

released, the clock began to whirr and the chimes to play. Despite all

his supposed power, his intellect, his experience, and his knowledge

of men, Kutzovhaving taken into consideration the Cossacks report, a

note from Bennigsen who sent personal reports to the Emperor, the wishes

he supposed the Emperor to hold, and the fact that all the generals

expressed the same wishcould no longer check the inevitable movement,

and gave the order to do what he regarded as useless and harmfulgave

his approval, that is, to the accomplished fact.











CHAPTER IV



Bennigsens note and the Cossacks information that the left flank

of the French was unguarded were merely final indications that it was

necessary to order an attack, and it was fixed for the fifth of October.



On the morning of the fourth of October Kutzov signed the dispositions.

Toll read them to Ermlov, asking him to attend to the further

arrangements.



All rightall right. I havent time just now, replied Ermlov, and

left the hut.



The dispositions drawn up by Toll were very good. As in the Austerlitz

dispositions, it was writtenthough not in German this time



The First Column will march here and here, the Second Column will

march there and there, and so on and on paper, all these columns

arrived at their places at the appointed time and destroyed the enemy.

Everything had been admirably thought out as is usual in dispositions,

and as is always the case, not a single column reached its place at the

appointed time.



When the necessary number of copies of the dispositions had been

prepared, an officer was summoned and sent to deliver them to Ermlov

to deal with. A young officer of the Horse Guards, Kutzovs orderly,

pleased at the importance of the mission entrusted to him, went to

Ermlovs quarters.



Gone away, said Ermlovs orderly.



The officer of the Horse Guards went to a general with whom Ermlov was

often to be found.



No, and the generals out too.



The officer, mounting his horse, rode off to someone else.



No, hes gone out.



If only they dont make me responsible for this delay! What a nuisance

it is! thought the officer, and he rode round the whole camp. One man

said he had seen Ermlov ride past with some other generals, others said

he must have returned home. The officer searched till six oclock in the

evening without even stopping to eat. Ermlov was nowhere to be found

and no one knew where he was. The officer snatched a little food at

a comrades, and rode again to the vanguard to find Milordovich.

Milordovich too was away, but here he was told that he had gone to a

ball at General Kkins and that Ermlov was probably there too.



But where is it?



Why, there, over at chkino, said a Cossack officer, pointing to a

country house in the far distance.



What, outside our line?



Theyve put two regiments as outposts, and theyre having such a spree

there, its awful! Two bands and three sets of singers!



The officer rode out beyond our lines to chkino. While still at a

distance he heard as he rode the merry sounds of a soldiers dance song

proceeding from the house.



In the meadows... in the meadows! he heard, accompanied by whistling

and the sound of a torban, drowned every now and then by shouts. These

sounds made his spirits rise, but at the same time he was afraid that

he would be blamed for not having executed sooner the important order

entrusted to him. It was already past eight oclock. He dismounted

and went up into the porch of a large country house which had remained

intact between the Russian and French forces. In the refreshment room

and the hall, footmen were bustling about with wine and viands. Groups

of singers stood outside the windows. The officer was admitted and

immediately saw all the chief generals of the army together, and among

them Ermlovs big imposing figure. They all had their coats unbuttoned

and were standing in a semicircle with flushed and animated faces,

laughing loudly. In the middle of the room a short handsome general with

a red face was dancing the trepk with much spirit and agility.



Ha, ha, ha! Bravo, Nicholas Ivnych! Ha, ha, ha!



The officer felt that by arriving with important orders at such a moment

he was doubly to blame, and he would have preferred to wait but one of

the generals espied him and, hearing what he had come about, informed

Ermlov.



Ermlov came forward with a frown on his face and, hearing what the

officer had to say, took the papers from him without a word.





You think he went off just by chance? said a comrade, who was on the

staff that evening, to the officer of the Horse Guards, referring to

Ermlov. It was a trick. It was done on purpose to get Konovntsyn into

trouble. Youll see what a mess therell be tomorrow.











CHAPTER V



Next day the decrepit Kutzov, having given orders to be called early,

said his prayers, dressed, and, with an unpleasant consciousness of

having to direct a battle he did not approve of, got into his calche

and drove from Letashvka (a village three and a half miles from

Tartino) to the place where the attacking columns were to meet. He sat

in the calche, dozing and waking up by turns, and listening for any

sound of firing on the right as an indication that the action had begun.

But all was still quiet. A damp dull autumn morning was just dawning. On

approaching Tartino Kutzov noticed cavalrymen leading their horses to

water across the road along which he was driving. Kutzov looked at

them searchingly, stopped his carriage, and inquired what regiment they

belonged to. They belonged to a column that should have been far in

front and in ambush long before then. It may be a mistake, thought

the old commander in chief. But a little further on he saw infantry

regiments with their arms piled and the soldiers, only partly dressed,

eating their rye porridge and carrying fuel. He sent for an officer. The

officer reported that no order to advance had been received.



How! Not rec... Kutzov began, but checked himself immediately and

sent for a senior officer. Getting out of his calche, he waited with

drooping head and breathing heavily, pacing silently up and down. When

Ekhen, the officer of the general staff whom he had summoned, appeared,

Kutzov went purple in the face, not because that officer was to blame

for the mistake, but because he was an object of sufficient importance

for him to vent his wrath on. Trembling and panting the old man fell

into that state of fury in which he sometimes used to roll on the

ground, and he fell upon Ekhen, threatening him with his hands,

shouting and loading him with gross abuse. Another man, Captain Brzin,

who happened to turn up and who was not at all to blame, suffered the

same fate.



What sort of another blackguard are you? Ill have you shot!

Scoundrels! yelled Kutzov in a hoarse voice, waving his arms and

reeling.



He was suffering physically. He, the commander in chief, a Serene

Highness who everybody said possessed powers such as no man had ever had

in Russia, to be placed in this positionmade the laughingstock of the

whole army! I neednt have been in such a hurry to pray about today,

or have kept awake thinking everything over all night, thought he to

himself. When I was a chit of an officer no one would have dared to

mock me so... and now! He was in a state of physical suffering as if

from corporal punishment, and could not avoid expressing it by cries of

anger and distress. But his strength soon began to fail him, and looking

about him, conscious of having said much that was amiss, he again got

into his calche and drove back in silence.



His wrath, once expended, did not return, and blinking feebly he

listened to excuses and self-justifications (Ermlov did not come to see

him till the next day) and to the insistence of Bennigsen, Konovntsyn,

and Toll that the movement that had miscarried should be executed next

day. And once more Kutzov had to consent.











CHAPTER VI



Next day the troops assembled in their appointed places in the evening

and advanced during the night. It was an autumn night with dark purple

clouds, but no rain. The ground was damp but not muddy, and the troops

advanced noiselessly, only occasionally a jingling of the artillery

could be faintly heard. The men were forbidden to talk out loud, to

smoke their pipes, or to strike a light, and they tried to prevent their

horses neighing. The secrecy of the undertaking heightened its charm

and they marched gaily. Some columns, supposing they had reached their

destination, halted, piled arms, and settled down on the cold ground,

but the majority marched all night and arrived at places where they

evidently should not have been.



Only Count Orlv-Densov with his Cossacks (the least important

detachment of all) got to his appointed place at the right time. This

detachment halted at the outskirts of a forest, on the path leading from

the village of Stromlova to Dmtrovsk.



Toward dawn, Count Orlv-Densov, who had dozed off, was awakened by a

deserter from the French army being brought to him. This was a Polish

sergeant of Poniatowskis corps, who explained in Polish that he had

come over because he had been slighted in the service that he ought

long ago to have been made an officer, that he was braver than any of

them, and so he had left them and wished to pay them out. He said that

Murat was spending the night less than a mile from where they were,

and that if they would let him have a convoy of a hundred men he would

capture him alive. Count Orlv-Densov consulted his fellow officers.



The offer was too tempting to be refused. Everyone volunteered to go and

everybody advised making the attempt. After much disputing and arguing,

Major-General Grkov with two Cossack regiments decided to go with the

Polish sergeant.



Now, remember, said Count Orlv-Densov to the sergeant at parting,

if you have been lying Ill have you hanged like a dog but if its

true you shall have a hundred gold pieces!



Without replying, the sergeant, with a resolute air, mounted and rode

away with Grkov whose men had quickly assembled. They disappeared into

the forest, and Count Orlv-Densov, having seen Grkov off, returned,

shivering from the freshness of the early dawn and excited by what he

had undertaken on his own responsibility, and began looking at the enemy

camp, now just visible in the deceptive light of dawn and the dying

campfires. Our columns ought to have begun to appear on an open

declivity to his right. He looked in that direction, but though the

columns would have been visible quite far off, they were not to be seen.

It seemed to the count that things were beginning to stir in the French

camp, and his keen-sighted adjutant confirmed this.



Oh, it is really too late, said Count Orlv, looking at the camp.



As often happens when someone we have trusted is no longer before

our eyes, it suddenly seemed quite clear and obvious to him that the

sergeant was an impostor, that he had lied, and that the whole Russian

attack would be ruined by the absence of those two regiments, which

he would lead away heaven only knew where. How could one capture a

commander in chief from among such a mass of troops!



I am sure that rascal was lying, said the count.



They can still be called back, said one of his suite, who like Count

Orlv felt distrustful of the adventure when he looked at the enemys

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 Orlv with sudden

determination, looking at his watch. It will be too late. It is quite

light.



And the adjutant galloped through the forest after Grkov. When Grkov

returned, Count Orlv-Densov, excited both by the abandoned attempt and

by vainly awaiting the infantry columns that still did not appear, as

well as by the proximity of the enemy, resolved to advance. All his men

felt the same excitement.



Mount! he commanded in a whisper. The men took their places and

crossed themselves.... Forward, with Gods aid!



Hurrah-ah-ah! reverberated in the forest, and the Cossack companies,

trailing their lances and advancing one after another as if poured out

of a sack, dashed gaily across the brook toward the camp.



One desperate, frightened yell from the first French soldier who saw the

Cossacks, and all who were in the camp, undressed and only just waking

up, ran off in all directions, abandoning cannons, muskets, and horses.



Had the Cossacks pursued the French, without heeding what was behind and

around them, they would have captured Murat and everything there.

That was what the officers desired. But it was impossible to make the

Cossacks budge when once they had got booty and prisoners. None of them

listened to orders. Fifteen hundred prisoners and thirty-eight guns were

taken on the spot, besides standards and (what seemed most important to

the Cossacks) horses, saddles, horsecloths, and the like. All this had

to be dealt with, the prisoners and guns secured, the booty dividednot

without some shouting and even a little fighting among themselvesand it

was on this that the Cossacks all busied themselves.



The French, not being farther pursued, began to recover themselves they

formed into detachments and began firing. Orlv-Densov, still waiting

for the other columns to arrive, advanced no further.



Meantime, according to the dispositions which said that the First

Column will march and so on, the infantry of the belated columns,

commanded by Bennigsen and directed by Toll, had started in due order

and, as always happens, had got somewhere, but not to their appointed

places. As always happens the men, starting cheerfully, began to halt

murmurs were heard, there was a sense of confusion, and finally a

backward movement. Adjutants and generals galloped about, shouted, grew

angry, quarreled, said they had come quite wrong and were late, gave

vent to a little abuse, and at last gave it all up and went forward,

simply to get somewhere. We shall get somewhere or other! And they did

indeed get somewhere, though not to their right places a few eventually

even got to their right place, but too late to be of any use and only

in time to be fired at. Toll, who in this battle played the part of

Weyrother at Austerlitz, galloped assiduously from place to place,

finding everything upside down everywhere. Thus he stumbled on Bagovts

corps in a wood when it was already broad daylight, though the corps

should long before have joined Orlv-Densov. Excited and vexed by the

failure and supposing that someone must be responsible for it, Toll

galloped up to the commander of the corps and began upbraiding him

severely, saying that he ought to be shot. General Bagovt, a fighting

old soldier of placid temperament, being also upset by all the delay,

confusion, and cross-purposes, fell into a rage to everybodys surprise

and quite contrary to his usual character and said disagreeable things

to Toll.



I prefer not to take lessons from anyone, but I can die with my men as

well as anybody, he said, and advanced with a single division.



Coming out onto a field under the enemys fire, this brave general went

straight ahead, leading his men under fire, without considering in his

agitation whether going into action now, with a single division, would

be of any use or no. Danger, cannon balls, and bullets were just what he

needed in his angry mood. One of the first bullets killed him, and other

bullets killed many of his men. And his division remained under fire for

some time quite uselessly.











CHAPTER VII



Meanwhile another column was to have attacked the French from the front,

but Kutzov accompanied that column. He well knew that nothing but

confusion would come of this battle undertaken against his will, and as

far as was in his power held the troops back. He did not advance.



He rode silently on his small gray horse, indolently answering

suggestions that they should attack.



The word attack is always on your tongue, but you dont see that we are

unable to execute complicated maneuvers, said he to Milordovich who

asked permission to advance.



We couldnt take Murat prisoner this morning or get to the place in

time, and nothing can be done now! he replied to someone else.



When Kutzov was informed that at the French rearwhere according to the

reports of the Cossacks there had previously been nobodythere were now

two battalions of Poles, he gave a sidelong glance at Ermlov who was

behind him and to whom he had not spoken since the previous day.



You see! They are asking to attack and making plans of all kinds,

but as soon as one gets to business nothing is ready, and the enemy,

forewarned, takes measures accordingly.



Ermlov screwed up his eyes and smiled faintly on hearing these words.

He understood that for him the storm had blown over, and that Kutzov

would content himself with that hint.



Hes having a little fun at my expense, said Ermlov softly, nudging

with his knee Ravski who was at his side.



Soon after this, Ermlov moved up to Kutzov and respectfully remarked



It is not too late yet, your Highnessthe enemy has not gone awayif

you were to order an attack! If not, the Guards will not so much as see

a little smoke.



Kutzov did not reply, but when they reported to him that Murats troops

were in retreat he ordered an advance, though at every hundred paces he

halted for three quarters of an hour.



The whole battle consisted in what Orlv-Densovs Cossacks had done

the rest of the army merely lost some hundreds of men uselessly.



In consequence of this battle Kutzov received a diamond decoration,

and Bennigsen some diamonds and a hundred thousand rubles, others also

received pleasant recognitions corresponding to their various grades,

and following the battle fresh changes were made in the staff.



Thats how everything is done with us, all topsy-turvy! said the

Russian officers and generals after the Tartino battle, letting it be

understood that some fool there is doing things all wrong but that

we ourselves should not have done so, just as people speak today. But

people who talk like that either do not know what they are talking about

or deliberately deceive themselves. No battleTartino, Borodin, or

Austerlitztakes place as those who planned it anticipated. That is an

essential condition.



A countless number of free forces (for nowhere is man freer than during

a battle, where it is a question of life and death) influence the course

taken by the fight, and that course never can be known in advance and

never coincides with the direction of any one force.



If many simultaneously and variously directed forces act on a given

body, the direction of its motion cannot coincide with any one of those

forces, but will always be a meanwhat in mechanics is represented by

the diagonal of a parallelogram of forces.



If in the descriptions given by historians, especially French ones, we

find their wars and battles carried out in accordance with previously

formed plans, the only conclusion to be drawn is that those descriptions

are false.



The battle of Tartino obviously did not attain the aim Toll had in

viewto lead the troops into action in the order prescribed by the

dispositions nor that which Count Orlv-Densov may have had in viewto

take Murat prisoner nor the result of immediately destroying the whole

corps, which Bennigsen and others may have had in view nor the aim of

the officer who wished to go into action to distinguish himself nor

that of the Cossack who wanted more booty than he got, and so on. But

if the aim of the battle was what actually resulted and what all the

Russians of that day desiredto drive the French out of Russia and

destroy their armyit is quite clear that the battle of Tartino, just

because of its incongruities, was exactly what was wanted at that stage

of the campaign. It would be difficult and even impossible to imagine

any result more opportune than the actual outcome of this battle. With

a minimum of effort and insignificant losses, despite the greatest

confusion, the most important results of the whole campaign were

attained the transition from retreat to advance, an exposure of the

weakness of the French, and the administration of that shock which

Napoleons army had only awaited to begin its flight.











CHAPTER VIII



Napoleon enters Moscow after the brilliant victory de la Moskowa there

can be no doubt about the victory for the battlefield remains in the

hands of the French. The Russians retreat and abandon their ancient

capital. Moscow, abounding in provisions, arms, munitions, and

incalculable wealth, is in Napoleons hands. The Russian army, only half

the strength of the French, does not make a single attempt to attack for

a whole month. Napoleons position is most brilliant. He can either fall

on the Russian army with double its strength and destroy it negotiate

an advantageous peace, or in case of a refusal make a menacing move on

Petersburg, or even, in the case of a reverse, return to Smolnsk or

Vlna or remain in Moscow in short, no special genius would seem to be

required to retain the brilliant position the French held at that time.

For that, only very simple and easy steps were necessary not to allow

the troops to loot, to prepare winter clothingof which there was

sufficient in Moscow for the whole armyand methodically to collect the

provisions, of which (according to the French historians) there were

enough in Moscow to supply the whole army for six months. Yet Napoleon,

that greatest of all geniuses, who the historians declare had control of

the army, took none of these steps.



He not merely did nothing of the kind, but on the contrary he used his

power to select the most foolish and ruinous of all the courses open

to him. Of all that Napoleon might have done wintering in Moscow,

advancing on Petersburg or on Nzhni-Nvgorod, or retiring by a more

northerly or more southerly route (say by the road Kutzov afterwards

took), nothing more stupid or disastrous can be imagined than what he

actually did. He remained in Moscow till October, letting the troops

plunder the city then, hesitating whether to leave a garrison behind

him, he quitted Moscow, approached Kutzov without joining battle,

turned to the right and reached Mlo-Yaroslvets, again without

attempting to break through and take the road Kutzov took, but retiring

instead to Mozhysk along the devastated Smolnsk road. Nothing more

stupid than that could have been devised, or more disastrous for the

army, as the sequel showed. Had Napoleons aim been to destroy his army,

the most skillful strategist could hardly have devised any series

of actions that would so completely have accomplished that purpose,

independently of anything the Russian army might do.



Napoleon, the man of genius, did this! But to say that he destroyed his

army because he wished to, or because he was very stupid, would be as

unjust as to say that he had brought his troops to Moscow because he

wished to and because he was very clever and a genius.



In both cases his personal activity, having no more force than the

personal activity of any soldier, merely coincided with the laws that

guided the event.



The historians quite falsely represent Napoleons faculties as having

weakened in Moscow, and do so only because the results did not justify

his actions. He employed all his ability and strength to do the best he

could for himself and his army, as he had done previously and as he did

subsequently in 1813. His activity at that time was no less astounding

than it was in Egypt, in Italy, in Austria, and in Prussia. We do not

know for certain in how far his genius was genuine in Egyptwhere forty

centuries looked down upon his grandeurfor his great exploits there are

all told us by Frenchmen. We cannot accurately estimate his genius in

Austria or Prussia, for we have to draw our information from French

or German sources, and the incomprehensible surrender of whole corps

without fighting and of fortresses without a siege must incline Germans

to recognize his genius as the only explanation of the war carried on

in Germany. But we, thank God, have no need to recognize his genius

in order to hide our shame. We have paid for the right to look at the

matter plainly and simply, and we will not abandon that right.



His activity in Moscow was as amazing and as full of genius as

elsewhere. Order after order and plan after plan were issued by him

from the time he entered Moscow till the time he left it. The absence

of citizens and of a deputation, and even the burning of Moscow, did not

disconcert him. He did not lose sight either of the welfare of his

army or of the doings of the enemy, or of the welfare of the people

of Russia, or of the direction of affairs in Paris, or of diplomatic

considerations concerning the terms of the anticipated peace.











CHAPTER IX



With regard to military matters, Napoleon immediately on his entry into

Moscow gave General Sabastiani strict orders to observe the movements

of the Russian army, sent army corps out along the different roads, and

charged Murat to find Kutzov. Then he gave careful directions about the

fortification of the Krmlin, and drew up a brilliant plan for a future

campaign over the whole map of Russia.



With regard to diplomatic questions, Napoleon summoned Captain Ykovlev,

who had been robbed and was in rags and did not know how to get out of

Moscow, minutely explained to him his whole policy and his magnanimity,

and having written a letter to the Emperor Alexander in which he

considered it his duty to inform his Friend and Brother that Rostopchn

had managed affairs badly in Moscow, he dispatched Ykovlev to

Petersburg.



Having similarly explained his views and his magnanimity to Tutlmin, he

dispatched that old man also to Petersburg to negotiate.



With regard to legal matters, immediately after the fires he gave orders

to find and execute the incendiaries. And the scoundrel Rostopchn was

punished by an order to burn down his houses.



With regard to administrative matters, Moscow was granted a

constitution. A municipality was established and the following

announcement issued





INHABITANTS OF MOSCOW!



Your misfortunes are cruel, but His Majesty the Emperor and King

desires to arrest their course. Terrible examples have taught you how he

punishes disobedience and crime. Strict measures have been taken to

put an end to disorder and to re-establish public security. A

paternal administration, chosen from among yourselves, will form your

municipality or city government. It will take care of you, of your

needs, and of your welfare. Its members will be distinguished by a red

ribbon worn across the shoulder, and the mayor of the city will wear

a white belt as well. But when not on duty they will only wear a red

ribbon round the left arm.



The city police is established on its former footing, and better order

already prevails in consequence of its activity. The government has

appointed two commissaries general, or chiefs of police, and twenty

commissaries or captains of wards have been appointed to the different

wards of the city. You will recognize them by the white ribbon they will

wear on the left arm. Several churches of different denominations are

open, and divine service is performed in them unhindered. Your fellow

citizens are returning every day to their homes and orders have been

given that they should find in them the help and protection due to

their misfortunes. These are the measures the government has adopted to

re-establish order and relieve your condition. But to achieve this

aim it is necessary that you should add your efforts and should, if

possible, forget the misfortunes you have suffered, should entertain

the hope of a less cruel fate, should be certain that inevitable and

ignominious death awaits those who make any attempt on your persons or

on what remains of your property, and finally that you should not doubt

that these will be safeguarded, since such is the will of the greatest

and most just of monarchs. Soldiers and citizens, of whatever nation you

may be, re-establish public confidence, the source of the welfare of

a state, live like brothers, render mutual aid and protection one to

another, unite to defeat the intentions of the evil-minded, obey the

military and civil authorities, and your tears will soon cease to flow!





With regard to supplies for the army, Napoleon decreed that all the

troops in turn should enter Moscow  la maraude * to obtain provisions

for themselves, so that the army might have its future provided for.



    * As looters.



With regard to religion, Napoleon ordered the priests to be brought back

and services to be again performed in the churches.



With regard to commerce and to provisioning the army, the following was

placarded everywhere



PROCLAMATION



You, peaceful inhabitants of Moscow, artisans and workmen whom

misfortune has driven from the city, and you scattered tillers of

the soil, still kept out in the fields by groundless fear, listen!

Tranquillity is returning to this capital and order is being restored in

it. Your fellow countrymen are emerging boldly from their hiding places

on finding that they are respected. Any violence to them or to their

property is promptly punished. His Majesty the Emperor and King protects

them, and considers no one among you his enemy except those who disobey

his orders. He desires to end your misfortunes and restore you to your

homes and families. Respond, therefore, to his benevolent intentions

and come to us without fear. Inhabitants, return with confidence to your

abodes! You will soon find means of satisfying your needs. Craftsmen

and industrious artisans, return to your work, your houses, your shops,

where the protection of guards awaits you! You shall receive proper pay

for your work. And lastly you too, peasants, come from the forests where

you are hiding in terror, return to your huts without fear, in full

assurance that you will find protection! Markets are established in the

city where peasants can bring their surplus supplies and the products of

the soil. The government has taken the following steps to ensure freedom

of sale for them (1) From today, peasants, husbandmen, and those

living in the neighborhood of Moscow may without any danger bring their

supplies of all kinds to two appointed markets, of which one is on

the Mokhovya Street and the other at the Provision Market. (2) Such

supplies will be bought from them at such prices as seller and buyer may

agree on, and if a seller is unable to obtain a fair price he will be

free to take his goods back to his village and no one may hinder him

under any pretense. (3) Sunday and Wednesday of each week are appointed

as the chief market days and to that end a sufficient number of troops

will be stationed along the highroads on Tuesdays and Saturdays at such

distances from the town as to protect the carts. (4) Similar measures

will be taken that peasants with their carts and horses may meet with no

hindrance on their return journey. (5) Steps will immediately be taken

to re-establish ordinary trading.



Inhabitants of the city and villages, and you, workingmen and artisans,

to whatever nation you belong, you are called on to carry out the

paternal intentions of His Majesty the Emperor and King and to

co-operate with him for the public welfare! Lay your respect and

confidence at his feet and do not delay to unite with us!





With the object of raising the spirits of the troops and of the people,

reviews were constantly held and rewards distributed. The Emperor

rode through the streets to comfort the inhabitants, and, despite his

preoccupation with state affairs, himself visited the theaters that were

established by his order.



In regard to philanthropy, the greatest virtue of crowned heads,

Napoleon also did all in his power. He caused the words Maison de ma

Mre to be inscribed on the charitable institutions, thereby combining

tender filial affection with the majestic benevolence of a monarch. He

visited the Foundling Hospital and, allowing the orphans saved by him

to kiss his white hands, graciously conversed with Tutlmin. Then, as

Thiers eloquently recounts, he ordered his soldiers to be paid in forged

Russian money which he had prepared Raising the use of these means

by an act worthy of himself and of the French army, he let relief

be distributed to those who had been burned out. But as food was too

precious to be given to foreigners, who were for the most part enemies,

Napoleon preferred to supply them with money with which to purchase food

from outside, and had paper rubles distributed to them.



With reference to army discipline, orders were continually being issued

to inflict severe punishment for the nonperformance of military duties

and to suppress robbery.











CHAPTER X



But strange to say, all these measures, efforts, and planswhich were

not at all worse than others issued in similar circumstancesdid not

affect the essence of the matter but, like the hands of a clock detached

from the mechanism, swung about in an arbitrary and aimless way without

engaging the cogwheels.



With reference to the military sidethe plan of campaignthat work of

genius of which Thiers remarks that, His genius never devised anything

more profound, more skillful, or more admirable, and enters into a

polemic with M. Fain to prove that this work of genius must be referred

not to the fourth but to the fifteenth of Octoberthat plan never was or

could be executed, for it was quite out of touch with the facts of the

case. The fortifying of the Krmlin, for which la Mosque (as Napoleon

termed the church of Basil the Beatified) was to have been razed to

the ground, proved quite useless. The mining of the Krmlin only helped

toward fulfilling Napoleons wish that it should be blown up when he

left Moscowas a child wants the floor on which he has hurt himself to

be beaten. The pursuit of the Russian army, about which Napoleon was so

concerned, produced an unheard-of result. The French generals lost touch

with the Russian army of sixty thousand men, and according to Thiers it

was only eventually found, like a lost pin, by the skilland apparently

the geniusof Murat.



With reference to diplomacy, all Napoleons arguments as to his

magnanimity and justice, both to Tutlmin and to Ykovlev (whose chief

concern was to obtain a greatcoat and a conveyance), proved useless

Alexander did not receive these envoys and did not reply to their

embassage.



With regard to legal matters, after the execution of the supposed

incendiaries the rest of Moscow burned down.



With regard to administrative matters, the establishment of a

municipality did not stop the robberies and was only of use to certain

people who formed part of that municipality and under pretext of

preserving order looted Moscow or saved their own property from being

looted.



With regard to religion, as to which in Egypt matters had so easily been

settled by Napoleons visit to a mosque, no results were achieved.

Two or three priests who were found in Moscow did try to carry out

Napoleons wish, but one of them was slapped in the face by a French

soldier while conducting service, and a French official reported of

another that The priest whom I found and invited to say Mass cleaned

and locked up the church. That night the doors were again broken

open, the padlocks smashed, the books mutilated, and other disorders

perpetrated.



With reference to commerce, the proclamation to industrious workmen and

to peasants evoked no response. There were no industrious workmen, and

the peasants caught the commissaries who ventured too far out of town

with the proclamation and killed them.



As to the theaters for the entertainment of the people and the troops,

these did not meet with success either. The theaters set up in the

Krmlin and in Posnykovs house were closed again at once because the

actors and actresses were robbed.



Even philanthropy did not have the desired effect. The genuine as

well as the false paper money which flooded Moscow lost its value. The

French, collecting booty, cared only for gold. Not only was the

paper money valueless which Napoleon so graciously distributed to the

unfortunate, but even silver lost its value in relation to gold.



But the most amazing example of the ineffectiveness of the orders given

by the authorities at that time was Napoleons attempt to stop the

looting and re-establish discipline.



This is what the army authorities were reporting



Looting continues in the city despite the decrees against it. Order

is not yet restored and not a single merchant is carrying on trade in a

lawful manner. The sutlers alone venture to trade, and they sell stolen

goods.



The neighborhood of my ward continues to be pillaged by soldiers of

the 3rd Corps who, not satisfied with taking from the unfortunate

inhabitants hiding in the cellars the little they have left, even have

the ferocity to wound them with their sabers, as I have repeatedly

witnessed.



Nothing new, except that the soldiers are robbing and pillagingOctober

9.



Robbery and pillaging continue. There is a band of thieves in our

district who ought to be arrested by a strong forceOctober 11.



The Emperor is extremely displeased that despite the strict orders to

stop pillage, parties of marauding Guards are continually seen returning

to the Krmlin. Among the Old Guard disorder and pillage were renewed

more violently than ever yesterday evening, last night, and today. The

Emperor sees with regret that the picked soldiers appointed to guard his

person, who should set an example of discipline, carry disobedience to

such a point that they break into the cellars and stores containing army

supplies. Others have disgraced themselves to the extent of disobeying

sentinels and officers, and have abused and beaten them.



The Grand Marshal of the palace, wrote the governor, complains

bitterly that in spite of repeated orders, the soldiers continue to

commit nuisances in all the courtyards and even under the very windows

of the Emperor.



That army, like a herd of cattle run wild and trampling underfoot the

provender which might have saved it from starvation, disintegrated and

perished with each additional day it remained in Moscow. But it did not

go away.



It began to run away only when suddenly seized by a panic caused by the

capture of transport trains on the Smolnsk road, and by the battle of

Tartino. The news of that battle of Tartino, unexpectedly received

by Napoleon at a review, evoked in him a desire to punish the Russians

(Thiers says), and he issued the order for departure which the whole

army was demanding.



Fleeing from Moscow the soldiers took with them everything they had

stolen. Napoleon, too, carried away his own personal trsor, but on

seeing the baggage trains that impeded the army, he was (Thiers says)

horror-struck. And yet with his experience of war he did not order all

the superfluous vehicles to be burned, as he had done with those of a

certain marshal when approaching Moscow. He gazed at the calches and

carriages in which soldiers were riding and remarked that it was a very

good thing, as those vehicles could be used to carry provisions, the

sick, and the wounded.



The plight of the whole army resembled that of a wounded animal which

feels it is perishing and does not know what it is doing. To study the

skillful tactics and aims of Napoleon and his army from the time it

entered Moscow till it was destroyed is like studying the dying leaps

and shudders of a mortally wounded animal. Very often a wounded animal,

hearing a rustle, rushes straight at the hunters 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 Tartino

frightened the beast, and it rushed forward onto the hunters gun,

reached him, turned back, and finallylike any wild beastran back along

the most disadvantageous and dangerous path, where the old scent was

familiar.



During the whole of that period Napoleon, who seems to us to have been

the leader of all these movementsas the figurehead of a ship may seem

to a savage to guide the vesselacted like a child who, holding a couple

of strings inside a carriage, thinks he is driving it.











CHAPTER XI



Early in the morning of the sixth of October Pierre went out of the

shed, and on returning stopped by the door to play with a little

blue-gray dog, with a long body and short bandy legs, that jumped about

him. This little dog lived in their shed, sleeping beside Karatev at

night it sometimes made excursions into the town but always returned

again. Probably it had never had an owner, and it still belonged to

nobody and had no name. The French called it Azor the soldier who

told stories called it Femglka Karatev and others called it Gray, or

sometimes Flabby. Its lack of a master, a name, or even of a breed or

any definite color did not seem to trouble the blue-gray dog in the

least. Its furry tail stood up firm and round as a plume, its bandy legs

served it so well that it would often gracefully lift a hind leg and run

very easily and quickly on three legs, as if disdaining to use all

four. Everything pleased it. Now it would roll on its back, yelping with

delight, now bask in the sun with a thoughtful air of importance, and

now frolic about playing with a chip of wood or a straw.



Pierres attire by now consisted of a dirty torn shirt (the only

remnant of his former clothing), a pair of soldiers trousers which by

Karatevs advice he tied with string round the ankles for warmth, and

a peasant coat and cap. Physically he had changed much during this

time. He no longer seemed stout, though he still had the appearance of

solidity and strength hereditary in his family. A beard and mustache

covered the lower part of his face, and a tangle of hair, infested

with lice, curled round his head like a cap. The look of his eyes

was resolute, calm, and animatedly alert, as never before. The former

slackness which had shown itself even in his eyes was now replaced by an

energetic readiness for action and resistance. His feet were bare.



Pierre first looked down the field across which vehicles and horsemen

were passing that morning, then into the distance across the river, then

at the dog who was pretending to be in earnest about biting him,

and then at his bare feet which he placed with pleasure in various

positions, moving his dirty thick big toes. Every time he looked at his

bare feet a smile of animated self-satisfaction flitted across his face.

The sight of them reminded him of all he had experienced and learned

during these weeks and this recollection was pleasant to him.



For some days the weather had been calm and clear with slight frosts in

the morningswhat is called an old wives summer.



In the sunshine the air was warm, and that warmth was particularly

pleasant with the invigorating freshness of the morning frost still in

the air.



On everythingfar and nearlay the magic crystal glitter seen only at

that time of autumn. The Sparrow Hills were visible in the distance,

with the village, the church, and the large white house. The bare trees,

the sand, the bricks and roofs of the houses, the green church spire,

and the corners of the white house in the distance, all stood out in the

transparent air in most delicate outline and with unnatural clearness.

Near by could be seen the familiar ruins of a half-burned mansion

occupied by the French, with lilac bushes still showing dark green

beside the fence. And even that ruined and befouled housewhich in dull

weather was repulsively uglyseemed quietly beautiful now, in the clear,

motionless brilliance.



A French corporal, with coat unbuttoned in a homely way, a skullcap on

his head, and a short pipe in his mouth, came from behind a corner of

the shed and approached Pierre with a friendly wink.



What sunshine, Monsieur Kiril! (Their name for Pierre.) Eh? Just like

spring!



And the corporal leaned against the door and offered Pierre his pipe,

though whenever he offered it Pierre always declined it.



To be on the march in such weather... he began.



Pierre inquired what was being said about leaving, and the corporal told

him that nearly all the troops were starting and there ought to be an

order about the prisoners that day. Sokolv, one of the soldiers in the

shed with Pierre, was dying, and Pierre told the corporal that something

should be done about him. The corporal replied that Pierre need not

worry about that as they had an ambulance and a permanent hospital and

arrangements would be made for the sick, and that in general everything

that could happen had been foreseen by the authorities.



Besides, Monsieur Kiril, you have only to say a word to the captain,

you know. He is a man who never forgets anything. Speak to the captain

when he makes his round, he will do anything for you.



(The captain of whom the corporal spoke often had long chats with Pierre

and showed him all sorts of favors.)



You see, St. Thomas, he said to me the other day. Monsieur Kiril is

a man of education, who speaks French. He is a Russian seigneur who has

had misfortunes, but he is a man. He knows whats what.... If he wants

anything and asks me, he wont get a refusal. When one has studied, you

see, one likes education and well-bred people. It is for your sake I

mention it, Monsieur Kiril. The other day if it had not been for you

that affair would have ended ill.



And after chatting a while longer, the corporal went away. (The affair

he had alluded to had happened a few days beforea fight between the

prisoners and the French soldiers, in which Pierre had succeeded in

pacifying his comrades.) Some of the prisoners who had heard Pierre

talking to the corporal immediately asked what the Frenchman had said.

While Pierre was repeating what he had been told about the army leaving

Moscow, a thin, sallow, tattered French soldier came up to the door of

the shed. Rapidly and timidly raising his fingers to his forehead by way

of greeting, he asked Pierre whether the soldier Platoche to whom he had

given a shirt to sew was in that shed.



A week before the French had had boot leather and linen issued to them,

which they had given out to the prisoners to make up into boots and

shirts for them.



Ready, ready, dear fellow! said Karatev, coming out with a neatly

folded shirt.



Karatev, on account of the warm weather and for convenience at work,

was wearing only trousers and a tattered shirt as black as soot. His

hair was bound round, workman fashion, with a wisp of lime-tree bast,

and his round face seemed rounder and pleasanter than ever.



A promise is own brother to performance! I said Friday and here it is,

ready, said Platn, smiling and unfolding the shirt he had sewn.



The Frenchman glanced around uneasily and then, as if overcoming his

hesitation, rapidly threw off his uniform and put on the shirt. He had

a long, greasy, flowered silk waistcoat next to his sallow, thin bare

body, but no shirt. He was evidently afraid the prisoners looking on

would laugh at him, and thrust his head into the shirt hurriedly. None

of the prisoners said a word.



See, it fits well! Platn kept repeating, pulling the shirt straight.



The Frenchman, having pushed his head and hands through, without raising

his eyes, looked down at the shirt and examined the seams.



You see, dear man, this is not a sewing shop, and I had no proper

tools and, as they say, one needs a tool even to kill a louse, said

Platn with one of his round smiles, obviously pleased with his work.



Its 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 Karatev,

still admiring his handiwork. Youll be nice and comfortable....



Thanks, thanks, old fellow.... But the bits left over? said the

Frenchman again and smiled. He took out an assignation ruble note and

gave it to Karatev. But give me the pieces that are over.



Pierre saw that Platn did not want to understand what the Frenchman

was saying, and he looked on without interfering. Karatev thanked the

Frenchman for the money and went on admiring his own work. The Frenchman

insisted on having the pieces returned that were left over and asked

Pierre to translate what he said.



What does he want the bits for? said Karatev. Theyd make fine leg

bands for us. Well, never mind.



And Karatev, with a suddenly changed and saddened expression, took

a small bundle of scraps from inside his shirt and gave it to the

Frenchman without looking at him. Oh dear! muttered Karatev and went

away. The Frenchman looked at the linen, considered for a moment, then

looked inquiringly at Pierre and, as if Pierres look had told him

something, suddenly blushed and shouted in a squeaky voice



Platoche! Eh, Platoche! Keep them yourself! And handing back the odd

bits he turned and went out.



There, look at that, said Karatev, swaying his head. People said

they were not Christians, but they too have souls. Its what the old

folk used to say A sweating hands an open hand, a dry hands close.

Hes naked, but yet hes given it back.



Karatev smiled thoughtfully and was silent awhile looking at the

pieces.



But theyll make grand leg bands, dear friend, he said, and went back

into the shed.











CHAPTER XII



Four weeks had passed since Pierre had been taken prisoner and though

the French had offered to move him from the mens to the officers shed,

he had stayed in the shed where he was first put.



In burned and devastated Moscow Pierre experienced almost the extreme

limits of privation a man can endure but thanks to his physical

strength and health, of which he had till then been unconscious, and

thanks especially to the fact that the privations came so gradually that

it was impossible to say when they began, he endured his position

not only lightly but joyfully. And just at this time he obtained the

tranquillity and ease of mind he had formerly striven in vain to reach.

He had long sought in different ways that tranquillity of mind, that

inner harmony which had so impressed him in the soldiers at the battle

of Borodin. He had sought it in philanthropy, in Freemasonry, in the

dissipations of town life, in wine, in heroic feats of self-sacrifice,

and in romantic love for Natsha he had sought it by reasoningand all

these quests and experiments had failed him. And now without thinking

about it he had found that peace and inner harmony only through the

horror of death, through privation, and through what he recognized in

Karatev.



Those dreadful moments he had lived through at the executions had as it

were forever washed away from his imagination and memory the agitating

thoughts and feelings that had formerly seemed so important. It did

not now occur to him to think of Russia, or the war, or politics, or

Napoleon. It was plain to him that all these things were no business

of his, and that he was not called on to judge concerning them and

therefore could not do so. Russia and summer weather are not bound

together, he thought, repeating words of Karatevs which he found

strangely consoling. His intention of killing Napoleon and his

calculations of the cabalistic number of the beast of the Apocalypse now

seemed to him meaningless and even ridiculous. His anger with his wife

and anxiety that his name should not be smirched now seemed not merely

trivial but even amusing. What concern was it of his that somewhere or

other that woman was leading the life she preferred? What did it matter

to anybody, and especially to him, whether or not they found out that

their prisoners name was Count Bezkhov?



He now often remembered his conversation with Prince Andrew and quite

agreed with him, though he understood Prince Andrews thoughts somewhat

differently. Prince Andrew had thought and said that happiness could

only be negative, but had said it with a shade of bitterness and irony

as though he was really saying that all desire for positive happiness is

implanted in us merely to torment us and never be satisfied. But Pierre

believed it without any mental reservation. The absence of suffering,

the satisfaction of ones needs and consequent freedom in the choice of

ones occupation, that is, of ones way of life, now seemed to Pierre to

be indubitably mans highest happiness. Here and now for the first time

he fully appreciated the enjoyment of eating when he wanted to eat,

drinking when he wanted to drink, sleeping when he wanted to sleep, of

warmth when he was cold, of talking to a fellow man when he wished to

talk and to hear a human voice. The satisfaction of ones needsgood

food, cleanliness, and freedomnow that he was deprived of all this,

seemed to Pierre to constitute perfect happiness and the choice

of occupation, that is, of his way of lifenow that that was so

restrictedseemed to him such an easy matter that he forgot that a

superfluity of the comforts of life destroys all joy in satisfying ones

needs, while great freedom in the choice of occupationsuch freedom as

his wealth, his education, and his social position had given him in his

own lifeis just what makes the choice of occupation insolubly difficult

and destroys the desire and possibility of having an occupation.



All Pierres daydreams now turned on the time when he would be free. Yet

subsequently, and for the rest of his life, he thought and spoke with

enthusiasm of that month of captivity, of those irrecoverable, strong,

joyful sensations, and chiefly of the complete peace of mind and inner

freedom which he experienced only during those weeks.



When on the first day he got up early, went out of the shed at dawn, and

saw the cupolas and crosses of the New Convent of the Virgin still dark

at first, the hoarfrost on the dusty grass, the Sparrow Hills, and the

wooded banks above the winding river vanishing in the purple distance,

when he felt the contact of the fresh air and heard the noise of the

crows flying from Moscow across the field, and when afterwards light

gleamed from the east and the suns rim appeared solemnly from behind a

cloud, and the cupolas and crosses, the hoarfrost, the distance and the

river, all began to sparkle in the glad lightPierre felt a new joy and

strength in life such as he had never before known. And this not only

stayed with him during the whole of his imprisonment, but even grew in

strength as the hardships of his position increased.



That feeling of alertness and of readiness for anything was still

further strengthened in him by the high opinion his fellow prisoners

formed of him soon after his arrival at the shed. With his knowledge

of languages, the respect shown him by the French, his simplicity, his

readiness to give anything asked of him (he received the allowance

of three rubles a week made to officers) with his strength, which he

showed to the soldiers by pressing nails into the walls of the hut his

gentleness to his companions, and his capacity for sitting still and

thinking without doing anything (which seemed to them incomprehensible),

he appeared to them a rather mysterious and superior being. The very

qualities that had been a hindrance, if not actually harmful, to him in

the world he had lived inhis strength, his disdain for the comforts of

life, his absent-mindedness and simplicityhere among these people gave

him almost the status of a hero. And Pierre felt that their opinion

placed responsibilities upon him.











CHAPTER XIII



The French evacuation began on the night between the sixth and seventh

of October kitchens and sheds were dismantled, carts loaded, and troops

and baggage trains started.



At seven in the morning a French convoy in marching trim, wearing shakos

and carrying muskets, knapsacks, and enormous sacks, stood in front

of the sheds, and animated French talk mingled with curses sounded all

along the lines.



In the shed everyone was ready, dressed, belted, shod, and only awaited

the order to start. The sick soldier, Sokolv, pale and thin with dark

shadows round his eyes, alone sat in his place barefoot and not dressed.

His eyes, prominent from the emaciation of his face, gazed inquiringly

at his comrades who were paying no attention to him, and he moaned

regularly and quietly. It was evidently not so much his sufferings that

caused him to moan (he had dysentery) as his fear and grief at being

left alone.



Pierre, girt with a rope round his waist and wearing shoes Karatev had

made for him from some leather a French soldier had torn off a tea chest

and brought to have his boots mended with, went up to the sick man and

squatted down beside him.



You know, Sokolv, they are not all going away! They have a hospital

here. You may be better off than we others, said Pierre.



O Lord! Oh, it will be the death of me! O Lord! moaned the man in a

louder voice.



Ill go and ask them again directly, said Pierre, rising and going to

the door of the shed.



Just as Pierre reached the door, the corporal who had offered him a

pipe the day before came up to it with two soldiers. The corporal and

soldiers were in marching kit with knapsacks and shakos that had metal

straps, and these changed their familiar faces.



The corporal came, according to orders, to shut the door. The prisoners

had to be counted before being let out.



Corporal, what will they do with the sick man?... Pierre began.



But even as he spoke he began to doubt whether this was the corporal

he knew or a stranger, so unlike himself did the corporal seem at that

moment. Moreover, just as Pierre was speaking a sharp rattle of drums

was suddenly heard from both sides. The corporal frowned at Pierres

words and, uttering some meaningless oaths, slammed the door. The shed

became semidark, and the sharp rattle of the drums on two sides drowned

the sick mans groans.



There it is!... It again!... said Pierre to himself, and an

involuntary shudder ran down his spine. In the corporals changed face,

in the sound of his voice, in the stirring and deafening noise of the

drums, he recognized that mysterious, callous force which compelled

people against their will to kill their fellow menthat force the effect

of which he had witnessed during the executions. To fear or to try to

escape that force, to address entreaties or exhortations to those who

served as its tools, was useless. Pierre knew this now. One had to wait

and endure. He did not again go to the sick man, nor turn to look at

him, but stood frowning by the door of the hut.



When that door was opened and the prisoners, crowding against one

another like a flock of sheep, squeezed into the exit, Pierre pushed

his way forward and approached that very captain who as the corporal had

assured him was ready to do anything for him. The captain was also in

marching kit, and on his cold face appeared that same it which Pierre

had recognized in the corporals words and in the roll of the drums.



Pass on, pass on! the captain reiterated, frowning sternly, and

looking at the prisoners who thronged past him.



Pierre went up to him, though he knew his attempt would be vain.



What now? the officer asked with a cold look as if not recognizing

Pierre.



Pierre told him about the sick man.



Hell manage to walk, devil take him! said the captain. Pass on, pass

on! he continued without looking at Pierre.



But he is dying, Pierre again began.



Be so good... shouted the captain, frowning angrily.



Dram-da-da-dam, dam-dam... rattled the drums, and Pierre understood

that this mysterious force completely controlled these men and that it

was now useless to say any more.



The officer prisoners were separated from the soldiers and told to march

in front. There were about thirty officers, with Pierre among them, and

about three hundred men.



The officers, who had come from the other sheds, were all strangers to

Pierre and much better dressed than he. They looked at him and at his

shoes mistrustfully, as at an alien. Not far from him walked a fat major

with a sallow, bloated, angry face, who was wearing a Kazn dressing

gown tied round with a towel, and who evidently enjoyed the respect of

his fellow prisoners. He kept one hand, in which he clasped his tobacco

pouch, inside the bosom of his dressing gown and held the stem of his

pipe firmly with the other. Panting and puffing, the major grumbled and

growled at everybody because he thought he was being pushed and that

they were all hurrying when they had nowhere to hurry to and were

all surprised at something when there was nothing to be surprised at.

Another, a thin little officer, was speaking to everyone, conjecturing

where they were now being taken and how far they would get that day. An

official in felt boots and wearing a commissariat uniform ran round from

side to side and gazed at the ruins of Moscow, loudly announcing his

observations as to what had been burned down and what this or that part

of the city was that they could see. A third officer, who by his accent

was a Pole, disputed with the commissariat officer, arguing that he was

mistaken in his identification of the different wards of Moscow.



What are you disputing about? said the major angrily. What does it

matter whether it is St. Nicholas or St. Blasius? You see its burned

down, and theres an end of it.... What are you pushing for? Isnt the

road wide enough? said he, turning to a man behind him who was not

pushing him at all.



Oh, oh, oh! What have they done? the prisoners on one side and another

were heard saying as they gazed on the charred ruins. All beyond the

river, and Zbova, and in the Krmlin.... Just look! Theres not half of

it left. Yes, I told youthe whole quarter beyond the river, and so it

is.



Well, you know its burned, so whats the use of talking? said the

major.



As they passed near a church in the Khamvniki (one of the few unburned

quarters of Moscow) the whole mass of prisoners suddenly started to one

side and exclamations of horror and disgust were heard.



Ah, the villains! What heathens! Yes dead, dead, so he is... And

smeared with something!



Pierre too drew near the church where the thing was that evoked these

exclamations, and dimly made out something leaning against the palings

surrounding the church. From the words of his comrades who saw better

than he did, he found that this was the body of a man, set upright

against the palings with its face smeared with soot.



Go on! What the devil... Go on! Thirty thousand devils!... the convoy

guards began cursing and the French soldiers, with fresh virulence,

drove away with their swords the crowd of prisoners who were gazing at

the dead man.











CHAPTER XIV



Through the cross streets of the Khamvniki quarter the prisoners

marched, followed only by their escort and the vehicles and wagons

belonging to that escort, but when they reached the supply stores they

came among a huge and closely packed train of artillery mingled with

private vehicles.



At the bridge they all halted, waiting for those in front to get across.

From the bridge they had a view of endless lines of moving baggage

trains before and behind them. To the right, where the Kalga road turns

near Neskchny, endless rows of troops and carts stretched away into

the distance. These were troops of Beauharnais corps which had started

before any of the others. Behind, along the riverside and across the

Stone Bridge, were Neys troops and transport.



Davouts troops, in whose charge were the prisoners, were crossing the

Crimean bridge and some were already debouching into the Kalga road.

But the baggage trains stretched out so that the last of Beauharnais

train had not yet got out of Moscow and reached the Kalga road when

the vanguard of Neys army was already emerging from the Great Ordnka

Street.



When they had crossed the Crimean bridge the prisoners moved a few steps

forward, halted, and again moved on, and from all sides vehicles and men

crowded closer and closer together. They advanced the few hundred paces

that separated the bridge from the Kalga road, taking more than an

hour to do so, and came out upon the square where the streets of the

Transmoskv ward and the Kalga road converge, and the prisoners jammed

close together had to stand for some hours at that crossway. From all

sides, like the roar of the sea, were heard the rattle of wheels, the

tramp of feet, and incessant shouts of anger and abuse. Pierre stood

pressed against the wall of a charred house, listening to that noise

which mingled in his imagination with the roll of the drums.



To get a better view, several officer prisoners climbed onto the wall of

the half-burned house against which Pierre was leaning.



What crowds! Just look at the crowds!... Theyve loaded goods even on

the cannon! Look there, those are furs! they exclaimed. Just see what

the blackguards have looted.... There! See what that one has behind

in the cart.... Why, those are settings taken from some icons, by

heaven!... Oh, the rascals!... See how that fellow has loaded

himself up, he can hardly walk! Good lord, theyve even grabbed those

chaises!... See that fellow there sitting on the trunks.... Heavens!

Theyre fighting.



Thats right, hit him on the snouton his snout! Like this, we

shant get away before evening. Look, look there.... Why, that must be

Napoleons own. See what horses! And the monograms with a crown! Its

like a portable house.... That fellows dropped his sack and doesnt see

it. Fighting again... A woman with a baby, and not bad-looking either!

Yes, I dare say, thats the way theyll let you pass.... Just look,

theres no end to it. Russian wenches, by heaven, so they are! In

carriagessee how comfortably theyve settled themselves!



Again, as at the church in Khamvniki, a wave of general curiosity

bore all the prisoners forward onto the road, and Pierre, thanks to

his stature, saw over the heads of the others what so attracted their

curiosity. In three carriages involved among the munition carts, closely

squeezed together, sat women with rouged faces, dressed in glaring

colors, who were shouting something in shrill voices.



From the moment Pierre had recognized the appearance of the mysterious

force nothing had seemed to him strange or dreadful neither the corpse

smeared with soot for fun nor these women hurrying away nor the burned

ruins of Moscow. All that he now witnessed scarcely made an impression

on himas if his soul, making ready for a hard struggle, refused to

receive impressions that might weaken it.



The womens vehicles drove by. Behind them came more carts, soldiers,

wagons, soldiers, gun carriages, carriages, soldiers, ammunition carts,

more soldiers, and now and then women.



Pierre did not see the people as individuals but saw their movement.



All these people and horses seemed driven forward by some invisible

power. During the hour Pierre watched them they all came flowing from

the different streets with one and the same desire to get on quickly

they all jostled one another, began to grow angry and to fight, white

teeth gleamed, brows frowned, ever the same words of abuse flew from

side to side, and all the faces bore the same swaggeringly resolute

and coldly cruel expression that had struck Pierre that morning on the

corporals face when the drums were beating.



It was not till nearly evening that the officer commanding the escort

collected his men and with shouts and quarrels forced his way in among

the baggage trains, and the prisoners, hemmed in on all sides, emerged

onto the Kalga road.



They marched very quickly, without resting, and halted only when the sun

began to set. The baggage carts drew up close together and the men

began to prepare for their nights rest. They all appeared angry and

dissatisfied. For a long time, oaths, angry shouts, and fighting could

be heard from all sides. A carriage that followed the escort ran

into one of the carts and knocked a hole in it with its pole. Several

soldiers ran toward the cart from different sides some beat the

carriage horses on their heads, turning them aside, others fought among

themselves, and Pierre saw that one German was badly wounded on the head

by a sword.



It seemed that all these men, now that they had stopped amid fields

in the chill dusk of the autumn evening, experienced one and the same

feeling of unpleasant awakening from the hurry and eagerness to push on

that had seized them at the start. Once at a standstill they all seemed

to understand that they did not yet know where they were going, and that

much that was painful and difficult awaited them on this journey.



During this halt the escort treated the prisoners even worse than they

had done at the start. It was here that the prisoners for the first time

received horseflesh for their meat ration.



From the officer down to the lowest soldier they showed what seemed like

personal spite against each of the prisoners, in unexpected contrast to

their former friendly relations.



This spite increased still more when, on calling over the roll of

prisoners, it was found that in the bustle of leaving Moscow one Russian

soldier, who had pretended to suffer from colic, had escaped. Pierre saw

a Frenchman beat a Russian soldier cruelly for straying too far from

the road, and heard his friend the captain reprimand and threaten to

court-martial a noncommissioned officer on account of the escape of the

Russian. To the noncommissioned officers excuse that the prisoner was

ill and could not walk, the officer replied that the order was to shoot

those who lagged behind. Pierre felt that that fatal force which had

crushed him during the executions, but which he had not felt during his

imprisonment, now again controlled his existence. It was terrible, but

he felt that in proportion to the efforts of that fatal force to crush

him, there grew and strengthened in his soul a power of life independent

of it.



He ate his supper of buckwheat soup with horseflesh and chatted with his

comrades.



Neither Pierre nor any of the others spoke of what they had seen in

Moscow, or of the roughness of their treatment by the French, or of the

order to shoot them which had been announced to them. As if in reaction

against the worsening of their position they were all particularly

animated and gay. They spoke of personal reminiscences, of amusing

scenes they had witnessed during the campaign, and avoided all talk of

their present situation.



The sun had set long since. Bright stars shone out here and there in the

sky. A red glow as of a conflagration spread above the horizon from the

rising full moon, and that vast red ball swayed strangely in the gray

haze. It grew light. The evening was ending, but the night had not yet

come. Pierre got up and left his new companions, crossing between the

campfires to the other side of the road where he had been told the

common soldier prisoners were stationed. He wanted to talk to them. On

the road he was stopped by a French sentinel who ordered him back.



Pierre turned back, not to his companions by the campfire, but to an

unharnessed cart where there was nobody. Tucking his legs under him and

dropping his head he sat down on the cold ground by the wheel of the

cart and remained motionless a long while sunk in thought. Suddenly he

burst out into a fit of his broad, good-natured laughter, so loud that

men from various sides turned with surprise to see what this strange and

evidently solitary laughter could mean.



Ha-ha-ha! laughed Pierre. And he said aloud to himself The soldier

did not let me pass. They took me and shut me up. They hold me captive.

What, me? Me? My immortal soul? Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!... and he laughed

till tears started to his eyes.



A man got up and came to see what this queer big fellow was laughing at

all by himself. Pierre stopped laughing, got up, went farther away from

the inquisitive man, and looked around him.



The huge, endless bivouac that had previously resounded with the

crackling of campfires and the voices of many men had grown quiet, the

red campfires were growing paler and dying down. High up in the light

sky hung the full moon. Forests and fields beyond the camp, unseen

before, were now visible in the distance. And farther still, beyond

those forests and fields, the bright, oscillating, limitless distance

lured one to itself. Pierre glanced up at the sky and the twinkling

stars in its faraway depths. And all that is me, all that is within me,

and it is all I! thought Pierre. And they caught all that and put it

into a shed boarded up with planks! He smiled, and went and lay down to

sleep beside his companions.











CHAPTER XV



In the early days of October another envoy came to Kutzov with a letter

from Napoleon proposing peace and falsely dated from Moscow, though

Napoleon was already not far from Kutzov on the old Kalga road.

Kutzov replied to this letter as he had done to the one formerly

brought by Lauriston, saying that there could be no question of peace.



Soon after that a report was received from Drokhovs guerrilla

detachment operating to the left of Tartino that troops of Broussiers

division had been seen at Formnsk and that being separated from the

rest of the French army they might easily be destroyed. The soldiers and

officers again demanded action. Generals on the staff, excited by the

memory of the easy victory at Tartino, urged Kutzov to carry out

Drokhovs suggestion. Kutzov did not consider any offensive necessary.

The result was a compromise which was inevitable a small detachment was

sent to Formnsk to attack Broussier.



By a strange coincidence, this task, which turned out to be a most

difficult and important one, was entrusted to Dokhtrovthat same modest

little Dokhtrov whom no one had described to us as drawing up plans

of battles, dashing about in front of regiments, showering crosses on

batteries, and so on, and who was thought to be and was spoken of as

undecided and undiscerningbut whom we find commanding wherever the

position was most difficult all through the Russo-French wars from

Austerlitz to the year 1813. At Austerlitz he remained last at the

Augezd dam, rallying the regiments, saving what was possible when all

were flying and perishing and not a single general was left in the rear

guard. Ill with fever he went to Smolnsk with twenty thousand men

to defend the town against Napoleons whole army. In Smolnsk, at the

Malkhov Gate, he had hardly dozed off in a paroxysm of fever before he

was awakened by the bombardment of the townand Smolnsk held out all

day long. At the battle of Borodin, when Bagratin was killed and nine

tenths of the men of our left flank had fallen and the full force of the

French artillery fire was directed against it, the man sent there was

this same irresolute and undiscerning DokhtrovKutzov hastening to

rectify a mistake he had made by sending someone else there first.

And the quiet little Dokhtrov rode thither, and Borodin became the

greatest glory of the Russian army. Many heroes have been described to

us in verse and prose, but of Dokhtrov scarcely a word has been said.



It was Dokhtrov again whom they sent to Formnsk and from there to

Mlo-Yaroslvets, the place where the last battle with the French was

fought and where the obvious disintegration of the French army began

and we are told of many geniuses and heroes of that period of the

campaign, but of Dokhtrov nothing or very little is said and that

dubiously. And this silence about Dokhtrov is the clearest testimony to

his merit.



It is natural for a man who does not understand the workings of a

machine to imagine that a shaving that has fallen into it by chance

and is interfering with its action and tossing about in it is its most

important part. The man who does not understand the construction of

the machine cannot conceive that the small connecting cogwheel which

revolves quietly is one of the most essential parts of the machine, and

not the shaving which merely harms and hinders the working.



On the tenth of October when Dokhtrov had gone halfway to Formnsk and

stopped at the village of Aristvo, preparing faithfully to execute the

orders he had received, the whole French army having, in its convulsive

movement, reached Murats position apparently in order to give

battlesuddenly without any reason turned off to the left onto the new

Kalga road and began to enter Formnsk, where only Broussier had

been till then. At that time Dokhtrov had under his command, besides

Drokhovs detachment, the two small guerrilla detachments of Figner and

Seslvin.



On the evening of October 11 Seslvin came to the Aristvo headquarters

with a French guardsman he had captured. The prisoner said that the

troops that had entered Formnsk that day were the vanguard of the whole

army, that Napoleon was there and the whole army had left Moscow four

days previously. That same evening a house serf who had come from

Brovsk said he had seen an immense army entering the town. Some

Cossacks of Dokhtrovs detachment reported having sighted the French

Guards marching along the road to Brovsk. From all these reports it was

evident that where they had expected to meet a single division there

was now the whole French army marching from Moscow in an unexpected

directionalong the Kalga road. Dokhtrov was unwilling to undertake

any action, as it was not clear to him now what he ought to do. He had

been ordered to attack Formnsk. But only Broussier had been there at

that time and now the whole French army was there. Ermlov wished to act

on his own judgment, but Dokhtrov insisted that he must have Kutzovs

instructions. So it was decided to send a dispatch to the staff.



For this purpose a capable officer, Bolkhovtinov, was chosen, who

was to explain the whole affair by word of mouth, besides delivering

a written report. Toward midnight Bolkhovtinov, having received the

dispatch and verbal instructions, galloped off to the General Staff

accompanied by a Cossack with spare horses.











CHAPTER XVI



It was a warm, dark, autumn night. It had been raining for four days.

Having changed horses twice and galloped twenty miles in an hour and a

half over a sticky, muddy road, Bolkhovtinov reached Litashvka after

one oclock at night. Dismounting at a cottage on whose wattle fence

hung a signboard, GENERAL STAFF, and throwing down his reins, he entered

a dark passage.



The general on duty, quick! Its very important! said he to someone

who had risen and was sniffing in the dark passage.



He has been very unwell since the evening and this is the third night

he has not slept, said the orderly pleadingly in a whisper. You should

wake the captain first.



But this is very important, from General Dokhtrov, said

Bolkhovtinov, entering the open door which he had found by feeling in

the dark.



The orderly had gone in before him and began waking somebody.



Your honor, your honor! A courier.



What? Whats that? From whom? came a sleepy voice.



From Dokhtrov and from Alexy Petrvich. Napoleon is at Formnsk,

said Bolkhovtinov, unable to see in the dark who was speaking but

guessing by the voice that it was not Konovntsyn.



The man who had wakened yawned and stretched himself.



I dont like waking him, he said, fumbling for something. He is very

ill. Perhaps this is only a rumor.



Here is the dispatch, said Bolkhovtinov. My orders are to give it at

once to the general on duty.



Wait a moment, Ill light a candle. You damned rascal, where do you

always hide it? said the voice of the man who was stretching himself,

to the orderly. (This was Shcherbnin, Konovntsyns adjutant.) Ive

found it, Ive found it! he added.



The orderly was striking a light and Shcherbnin was fumbling for

something on the candlestick.



Oh, the nasty beasts! said he with disgust.



By the light of the sparks Bolkhovtinov saw Shcherbnins youthful face

as he held the candle, and the face of another man who was still asleep.

This was Konovntsyn.



When the flame of the sulphur splinters kindled by the tinder burned

up, first blue and then red, Shcherbnin lit the tallow candle, from

the candlestick of which the cockroaches that had been gnawing it were

running away, and looked at the messenger. Bolkhovtinov was bespattered

all over with mud and had smeared his face by wiping it with his sleeve.



Who gave the report? inquired Shcherbnin, taking the envelope.



The news is reliable, said Bolkhovtinov. Prisoners, Cossacks, and

the scouts all say the same thing.



Theres nothing to be done, well have to wake him, said Shcherbnin,

rising and going up to the man in the nightcap who lay covered by a

greatcoat. Peter Petrvich! said he. (Konovntsyn did not stir.) To

the General Staff! he said with a smile, knowing that those words would

be sure to arouse him.



And in fact the head in the nightcap was lifted at once. On

Konovntsyns handsome, resolute face with cheeks flushed by fever,

there still remained for an instant a faraway dreamy expression remote

from present affairs, but then he suddenly started and his face assumed

its habitual calm and firm appearance.



Well, what is it? From whom? he asked immediately but without hurry,

blinking at the light.



While listening to the officers report Konovntsyn broke the seal and

read the dispatch. Hardly had he done so before he lowered his legs in

their woolen stockings to the earthen floor and began putting on his

boots. Then he took off his nightcap, combed his hair over his temples,

and donned his cap.



Did you get here quickly? Let us go to his Highness.



Konovntsyn had understood at once that the news brought was of great

importance and that no time must be lost. He did not consider or ask

himself whether the news was good or bad. That did not interest him. He

regarded the whole business of the war not with his intelligence or his

reason but by something else. There was within him a deep unexpressed

conviction that all would be well, but that one must not trust to this

and still less speak about it, but must only attend to ones own work.

And he did his work, giving his whole strength to the task.



Peter Petrvich Konovntsyn, like Dokhtrov, seems to have been included

merely for proprietys sake in the list of the so-called heroes of

1812the Barclays, Ravskis, Ermlovs, Pltovs, and Milordoviches. Like

Dokhtrov he had the reputation of being a man of very limited capacity

and information, and like Dokhtrov he never made plans of battle but

was always found where the situation was most difficult. Since his

appointment as general on duty he had always slept with his door open,

giving orders that every messenger should be allowed to wake him up. In

battle he was always under fire, so that Kutzov reproved him for it and

feared to send him to the front, and like Dokhtrov he was one of those

unnoticed cogwheels that, without clatter or noise, constitute the most

essential part of the machine.



Coming out of the hut into the damp, dark night Konovntsyn

frownedpartly from an increased pain in his head and partly at the

unpleasant thought that occurred to him, of how all that nest of

influential men on the staff would be stirred up by this news,

especially Bennigsen, who ever since Tartino had been at daggers

drawn with Kutzov and how they would make suggestions, quarrel, issue

orders, and rescind them. And this premonition was disagreeable to him

though he knew it could not be helped.



And in fact Toll, to whom he went to communicate the news, immediately

began to expound his plans to a general sharing his quarters, until

Konovntsyn, who listened in weary silence, reminded him that they must

go to see his Highness.











CHAPTER XVII



Kutzov like all old people did not sleep much at night. He often fell

asleep unexpectedly in the daytime, but at night, lying on his bed

without undressing, he generally remained awake thinking.



So he lay now on his bed, supporting his large, heavy, scarred head on

his plump hand, with his one eye open, meditating and peering into the

darkness.



Since Bennigsen, who corresponded with the Emperor and had more

influence than anyone else on the staff, had begun to avoid him, Kutzov

was more at ease as to the possibility of himself and his troops being

obliged to take part in useless aggressive movements. The lesson of the

Tartino battle and of the day before it, which Kutzov remembered with

pain, must, he thought, have some effect on others too.



They must understand that we can only lose by taking the offensive.

Patience and time are my warriors, my champions, thought Kutzov. He

knew that an apple should not be plucked while it is green. It will fall

of itself when ripe, but if picked unripe the apple is spoiled, the tree

is harmed, and your teeth are set on edge. Like an experienced sportsman

he knew that the beast was wounded, and wounded as only the whole

strength of Russia could have wounded it, but whether it was mortally

wounded or not was still an undecided question. Now by the fact of

Lauriston and Barthlemi having been sent, and by the reports of the

guerrillas, Kutzov was almost sure that the wound was mortal. But he

needed further proofs and it was necessary to wait.



They want to run to see how they have wounded it. Wait and we shall

see! Continual maneuvers, continual advances! thought he. What for?

Only to distinguish themselves! As if fighting were fun. They are

like children from whom one cant get any sensible account of what has

happened because they all want to show how well they can fight. But

thats not what is needed now.



And what ingenious maneuvers they all propose to me! It seems to

them that when they have thought of two or three contingencies (he

remembered the general plan sent him from Petersburg) they have

foreseen everything. But the contingencies are endless.



The undecided question as to whether the wound inflicted at Borodin was

mortal or not had hung over Kutzovs head for a whole month. On the one

hand the French had occupied Moscow. On the other Kutzov felt assured

with all his being that the terrible blow into which he and all the

Russians had put their whole strength must have been mortal. But in any

case proofs were needed he had waited a whole month for them and grew

more impatient the longer he waited. Lying on his bed during those

sleepless nights he did just what he reproached those younger generals

for doing. He imagined all sorts of possible contingencies, just like

the younger men, but with this difference, that he saw thousands of

contingencies instead of two or three and based nothing on them. The

longer he thought the more contingencies presented themselves. He

imagined all sorts of movements of the Napoleonic army as a whole or

in sectionsagainst Petersburg, or against him, or to outflank him.

He thought too of the possibility (which he feared most of all) that

Napoleon might fight him with his own weapon and remain in Moscow

awaiting him. Kutzov even imagined that Napoleons army might turn back

through Medn and Yukhnv, but the one thing he could not foresee was

what happenedthe insane, convulsive stampede of Napoleons army during

its first eleven days after leaving Moscow a stampede which made

possible what Kutzov had not yet even dared to think ofthe complete

extermination of the French. Drokhovs report about Broussiers

division, the guerrillas reports of distress in Napoleons army, rumors

of preparations for leaving Moscow, all confirmed the supposition that

the French army was beaten and preparing for flight. But these were

only suppositions, which seemed important to the younger men but not to

Kutzov. With his sixty years experience he knew what value to attach

to rumors, knew how apt people who desire anything are to group all news

so that it appears to confirm what they desire, and he knew how readily

in such cases they omit all that makes for the contrary. And the more

he desired it the less he allowed himself to believe it. This question

absorbed all his mental powers. All else was to him only lifes

customary routine. To such customary routine belonged his conversations

with the staff, the letters he wrote from Tartino to Madame de Stal,

the reading of novels, the distribution of awards, his correspondence

with Petersburg, and so on. But the destruction of the French, which he

alone foresaw, was his hearts one desire.



On the night of the eleventh of October he lay leaning on his arm and

thinking of that.



There was a stir in the next room and he heard the steps of Toll,

Konovntsyn, and Bolkhovtinov.



Eh, whos there? Come in, come in! What news? the field marshal called

out to them.



While a footman was lighting a candle, Toll communicated the substance

of the news.



Who brought it? asked Kutzov with a look which, when the candle was

lit, struck Toll by its cold severity.



There can be no doubt about it, your Highness.



Call him in, call him here.



Kutzov sat up with one leg hanging down from the bed and his big paunch

resting against the other which was doubled under him. He screwed up his

seeing eye to scrutinize the messenger more carefully, as if wishing to

read in his face what preoccupied his own mind.



Tell me, tell me, friend, said he to Bolkhovtinov in his low, aged

voice, as he pulled together the shirt which gaped open on his chest,

come nearernearer. What news have you brought me? Eh? That Napoleon

has left Moscow? Are you sure? Eh?



Bolkhovtinov gave a detailed account from the beginning of all he had

been told to report.



Speak quicker, quicker! Dont torture me! Kutzov interrupted him.



Bolkhovtinov told him everything and was then silent, awaiting

instructions. Toll was beginning to say something but Kutzov checked

him. He tried to say something, but his face suddenly puckered and

wrinkled he waved his arm at Toll and turned to the opposite side of

the room, to the corner darkened by the icons that hung there.



O Lord, my Creator, Thou has heard our prayer... said he in a

tremulous voice with folded hands. Russia is saved. I thank Thee, O

Lord! and he wept.











CHAPTER XVIII



From the time he received this news to the end of the campaign all

Kutzovs activity was directed toward restraining his troops, by

authority, by guile, and by entreaty, from useless attacks,

maneuvers, or encounters with the perishing enemy. Dokhtrov went to

Mlo-Yaroslvets, but Kutzov lingered with the main army and gave

orders for the evacuation of Kalgaa retreat beyond which town seemed

to him quite possible.



Everywhere Kutzov retreated, but the enemy without waiting for his

retreat fled in the opposite direction.



Napoleons historians describe to us his skilled maneuvers at Tartino

and Mlo-Yaroslvets, and make conjectures as to what would have

happened had Napoleon been in time to penetrate into the rich southern

provinces.



But not to speak of the fact that nothing prevented him from advancing

into those southern provinces (for the Russian army did not bar his

way), the historians forget that nothing could have saved his army, for

then already it bore within itself the germs of inevitable ruin. How

could that armywhich had found abundant supplies in Moscow and had

trampled them underfoot instead of keeping them, and on arriving at

Smolnsk had looted provisions instead of storing themhow could that

army recuperate in Kalga province, which was inhabited by Russians such

as those who lived in Moscow, and where fire had the same property of

consuming what was set ablaze?



That army could not recover anywhere. Since the battle of Borodin

and the pillage of Moscow it had borne within itself, as it were, the

chemical elements of dissolution.



The members of what had once been an armyNapoleon himself and all his

soldiers fledwithout knowing whither, each concerned only to make his

escape as quickly as possible from this position, of the hopelessness of

which they were all more or less vaguely conscious.



So it came about that at the council at Mlo-Yaroslvets, when the

generals pretending to confer together expressed various opinions, all

mouths were closed by the opinion uttered by the simple-minded soldier

Mouton who, speaking last, said what they all felt that the one thing

needful was to get away as quickly as possible and no one, not

even Napoleon, could say anything against that truth which they all

recognized.



But though they all realized that it was necessary to get away, there

still remained a feeling of shame at admitting that they must flee. An

external shock was needed to overcome that shame, and this shock came in

due time. It was what the French called le hourra de lEmpereur.



The day after the council at Mlo-Yaroslvets Napoleon rode out early in

the morning amid the lines of his army with his suite of marshals and

an escort, on the pretext of inspecting the army and the scene of the

previous and of the impending battle. Some Cossacks on the prowl for

booty fell in with the Emperor and very nearly captured him. If the

Cossacks did not capture Napoleon then, what saved him was the very

thing that was destroying the French army, the booty on which the

Cossacks fell. Here as at Tartino they went after plunder, leaving the

men. Disregarding Napoleon they rushed after the plunder and Napoleon

managed to escape.



When les enfants du Don might so easily have taken the Emperor himself

in the midst of his army, it was clear that there was nothing for it but

to fly as fast as possible along the nearest, familiar road. Napoleon

with his forty-year-old stomach understood that hint, not feeling his

former agility and boldness, and under the influence of the fright

the Cossacks had given him he at once agreed with Mouton and issued

ordersas the historians tell usto retreat by the Smolnsk road.



That Napoleon agreed with Mouton, and that the army retreated, does

not prove that Napoleon caused it to retreat, but that the forces which

influenced the whole army and directed it along the Mozhysk (that is,

the Smolnsk) road acted simultaneously on him also.











CHAPTER XIX



A man in motion always devises an aim for that motion. To be able to go

a thousand miles he must imagine that something good awaits him at the

end of those thousand miles. One must have the prospect of a promised

land to have the strength to move.



The promised land for the French during their advance had been Moscow,

during their retreat it was their native land. But that native land

was too far off, and for a man going a thousand miles it is absolutely

necessary to set aside his final goal and to say to himself Today I

shall get to a place twenty-five miles off where I shall rest and

spend the night, and during the first days journey that resting place

eclipses his ultimate goal and attracts all his hopes and desires. And

the impulses felt by a single person are always magnified in a crowd.



For the French retreating along the old Smolnsk road, the final

goaltheir native landwas too remote, and their immediate goal

was Smolnsk, toward which all their desires and hopes, enormously

intensified in the mass, urged them on. It was not that they knew that

much food and fresh troops awaited them in Smolnsk, nor that they were

told so (on the contrary their superior officers, and Napoleon himself,

knew that provisions were scarce there), but because this alone could

give them strength to move on and endure their present privations. So

both those who knew and those who did not know deceived themselves, and

pushed on to Smolnsk as to a promised land.



Coming out onto the highroad the French fled with surprising energy

and unheard-of rapidity toward the goal they had fixed on. Besides the

common impulse which bound the whole crowd of French into one mass and

supplied them with a certain energy, there was another cause binding

them togethertheir great numbers. As with the physical law of gravity,

their enormous mass drew the individual human atoms to itself. In their

hundreds of thousands they moved like a whole nation.



Each of them desired nothing more than to give himself up as a prisoner

to escape from all this horror and misery but on the one hand the force

of this common attraction to Smolnsk, their goal, drew each of them in

the same direction on the other hand an army corps could not surrender

to a company, and though the French availed themselves of every

convenient opportunity to detach themselves and to surrender on the

slightest decent pretext, such pretexts did not always occur. Their

very numbers and their crowded and swift movement deprived them of that

possibility and rendered it not only difficult but impossible for the

Russians to stop this movement, to which the French were directing all

their energies. Beyond a certain limit no mechanical disruption of the

body could hasten the process of decomposition.



A lump of snow cannot be melted instantaneously. There is a certain

limit of time in less than which no amount of heat can melt the snow. On

the contrary the greater the heat the more solidified the remaining snow

becomes.



Of the Russian commanders Kutzov alone understood this. When the flight

of the French army along the Smolnsk road became well defined, what

Konovntsyn had foreseen on the night of the eleventh of October began

to occur. The superior officers all wanted to distinguish themselves,

to cut off, to seize, to capture, and to overthrow the French, and all

clamored for action.



Kutzov alone used all his power (and such power is very limited in the

case of any commander in chief) to prevent an attack.



He could not tell them what we say now Why fight, why block the road,

losing our own men and inhumanly slaughtering unfortunate wretches? What

is the use of that, when a third of their army has melted away on the

road from Moscow to Vyzma without any battle? But drawing from his

aged wisdom what they could understand, he told them of the golden

bridge, and they laughed at and slandered him, flinging themselves on,

rending and exulting over the dying beast.



Ermlov, Milordovich, Pltov, and others in proximity to the French

near Vyzma could not resist their desire to cut off and break up two

French corps, and by way of reporting their intention to Kutzov they

sent him a blank sheet of paper in an envelope.



And try as Kutzov might to restrain the troops, our men attacked,

trying to bar the road. Infantry regiments, we are told, advanced to the

attack with music and with drums beating, and killed and lost thousands

of men.



But they did not cut off or overthrow anybody and the French army,

closing up more firmly at the danger, continued, while steadily melting

away, to pursue its fatal path to Smolnsk.











BOOK FOURTEEN 1812











CHAPTER I



The Battle of Borodin, with the occupation of Moscow that followed it

and the flight of the French without further conflicts, is one of the

most instructive phenomena in history.



All historians agree that the external activity of states and nations

in their conflicts with one another is expressed in wars, and that as a

direct result of greater or less success in war the political strength

of states and nations increases or decreases.



Strange as may be the historical account of how some king or emperor,

having quarreled with another, collects an army, fights his enemys

army, gains a victory by killing three, five, or ten thousand men, and

subjugates a kingdom and an entire nation of several millions, all

the facts of history (as far as we know it) confirm the truth of the

statement that the greater or lesser success of one army against another

is the cause, or at least an essential indication, of an increase or

decrease in the strength of the nationeven though it is unintelligible

why the defeat of an armya hundredth part of a nationshould oblige

that whole nation to submit. An army gains a victory, and at once the

rights of the conquering nation have increased to the detriment of the

defeated. An army has suffered defeat, and at once a people loses its

rights in proportion to the severity of the reverse, and if its army

suffers a complete defeat the nation is quite subjugated.



So according to history it has been found from the most ancient times,

and so it is to our own day. All Napoleons wars serve to confirm this

rule. In proportion to the defeat of the Austrian army Austria loses

its rights, and the rights and the strength of France increase. The

victories of the French at Jena and Auerstdt destroy the independent

existence of Prussia.



But then, in 1812, the French gain a victory near Moscow. Moscow is

taken and after that, with no further battles, it is not Russia that

ceases to exist, but the French army of six hundred thousand, and

then Napoleonic France itself. To strain the facts to fit the rules of

history to say that the field of battle at Borodin remained in the

hands of the Russians, or that after Moscow there were other battles

that destroyed Napoleons army, is impossible.



After the French victory at Borodin there was no general engagement nor

any that were at all serious, yet the French army ceased to exist. What

does this mean? If it were an example taken from the history of China,

we might say that it was not an historic phenomenon (which is the

historians usual expedient when anything does not fit their standards)

if the matter concerned some brief conflict in which only a small number

of troops took part, we might treat it as an exception but this event

occurred before our fathers eyes, and for them it was a question of the

life or death of their fatherland, and it happened in the greatest of

all known wars.



The period of the campaign of 1812 from the battle of Borodin to the

expulsion of the French proved that the winning of a battle does not

produce a conquest and is not even an invariable indication of conquest

it proved that the force which decides the fate of peoples lies not in

the conquerors, nor even in armies and battles, but in something else.



The French historians, describing the condition of the French army

before it left Moscow, affirm that all was in order in the Grand Army,

except the cavalry, the artillery, and the transportthere was no forage

for the horses or the cattle. That was a misfortune no one could remedy,

for the peasants of the district burned their hay rather than let the

French have it.



The victory gained did not bring the usual results because the peasants

Karp and Vlas (who after the French had evacuated Moscow drove in their

carts to pillage the town, and in general personally failed to manifest

any heroic feelings), and the whole innumerable multitude of such

peasants, did not bring their hay to Moscow for the high price offered

them, but burned it instead.



Let us imagine two men who have come out to fight a duel with rapiers

according to all the rules of the art of fencing. The fencing has

gone on for some time suddenly one of the combatants, feeling himself

wounded and understanding that the matter is no joke but concerns his

life, throws down his rapier, and seizing the first cudgel that comes to

hand begins to brandish it. Then let us imagine that the combatant who

so sensibly employed the best and simplest means to attain his end was

at the same time influenced by traditions of chivalry and, desiring to

conceal the facts of the case, insisted that he had gained his victory

with the rapier according to all the rules of art. One can imagine what

confusion and obscurity would result from such an account of the duel.



The fencer who demanded a contest according to the rules of fencing was

the French army his opponent who threw away the rapier and snatched up

the cudgel was the Russian people those who try to explain the matter

according to the rules of fencing are the historians who have described

the event.



After the burning of Smolnsk a war began which did not follow any

previous traditions of war. The burning of towns and villages, the

retreats after battles, the blow dealt at Borodin and the renewed

retreat, the burning of Moscow, the capture of marauders, the seizure of

transports, and the guerrilla war were all departures from the rules.



Napoleon felt this, and from the time he took up the correct fencing

attitude in Moscow and instead of his opponents rapier saw a cudgel

raised above his head, he did not cease to complain to Kutzov and to

the Emperor Alexander that the war was being carried on contrary to all

the rulesas if there were any rules for killing people. In spite of the

complaints of the French as to the nonobservance of the rules, in

spite of the fact that to some highly placed Russians it seemed rather

disgraceful to fight with a cudgel and they wanted to assume a pose en

quarte or en tierce according to all the rules, and to make an adroit

thrust en prime, and so onthe cudgel of the peoples war was lifted

with all its menacing and majestic strength, and without consulting

anyones tastes or rules and regardless of anything else, it rose and

fell with stupid simplicity, but consistently, and belabored the French

till the whole invasion had perished.



And it is well for a people who do notas the French did in 1813salute

according to all the rules of art, and, presenting the hilt of their

rapier gracefully and politely, hand it to their magnanimous conqueror,

but at the moment of trial, without asking what rules others have

adopted in similar cases, simply and easily pick up the first cudgel

that comes to hand and strike with it till the feeling of resentment and

revenge in their soul yields to a feeling of contempt and compassion.











CHAPTER II



One of the most obvious and advantageous departures from the so-called

laws of war is the action of scattered groups against men pressed

together in a mass. Such action always occurs in wars that take on a

national character. In such actions, instead of two crowds opposing

each other, the men disperse, attack singly, run away when attacked by

stronger forces, but again attack when opportunity offers. This was done

by the guerrillas in Spain, by the mountain tribes in the Caucasus, and

by the Russians in 1812.



People have called this kind of war guerrilla warfare and assume that

by so calling it they have explained its meaning. But such a war does

not fit in under any rule and is directly opposed to a well-known rule

of tactics which is accepted as infallible. That rule says that an

attacker should concentrate his forces in order to be stronger than his

opponent at the moment of conflict.



Guerrilla war (always successful, as history shows) directly infringes

that rule.



This contradiction arises from the fact that military science assumes

the strength of an army to be identical with its numbers. Military

science says that the more troops the greater the strength. Les gros

bataillons ont toujours raison. *



    * Large battalions are always victorious.



For military science to say this is like defining momentum in mechanics

by reference to the mass only stating that momenta are equal or unequal

to each other simply because the masses involved are equal or unequal.



Momentum (quantity of motion) is the product of mass and velocity.



In military affairs the strength of an army is the product of its mass

and some unknown x.



Military science, seeing in history innumerable instances of the fact

that the size of any army does not coincide with its strength and that

small detachments defeat larger ones, obscurely admits the existence

of this unknown factor and tries to discover itnow in a geometric

formation, now in the equipment employed, now, and most usually, in the

genius of the commanders. But the assignment of these various meanings

to the factor does not yield results which accord with the historic

facts.



Yet it is only necessary to abandon the false view (adopted to gratify

the heroes) of the efficacy of the directions issued in wartime by

commanders, in order to find this unknown quantity.



That unknown quantity is the spirit of the army, that is to say, the

greater or lesser readiness to fight and face danger felt by all the men

composing an army, quite independently of whether they are, or are not,

fighting under the command of a genius, in twoor three-line formation,

with cudgels or with rifles that repeat thirty times a minute. Men

who want to fight will always put themselves in the most advantageous

conditions for fighting.



The spirit of an army is the factor which multiplied by the mass gives

the resulting force. To define and express the significance of this

unknown factorthe spirit of an armyis a problem for science.



This problem is only solvable if we cease arbitrarily to substitute

for the unknown x itself the conditions under which that force becomes

apparentsuch as the commands of the general, the equipment employed,

and so onmistaking these for the real significance of the factor,

and if we recognize this unknown quantity in its entirety as being

the greater or lesser desire to fight and to face danger. Only then,

expressing known historic facts by equations and comparing the relative

significance of this factor, can we hope to define the unknown.



Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting fifteen men, battalions, or

divisions, conquerthat is, kill or take captiveall the others, while

themselves losing four, so that on the one side four and on the other

fifteen were lost. Consequently the four were equal to the fifteen, and

therefore 4x  15y. Consequently x/y  15/4. This equation does not

give us the value of the unknown factor but gives us a ratio between two

unknowns. And by bringing variously selected historic units (battles,

campaigns, periods of war) into such equations, a series of numbers

could be obtained in which certain laws should exist and might be

discovered.



The tactical rule that an army should act in masses when attacking, and

in smaller groups in retreat, unconsciously confirms the truth that the

strength of an army depends on its spirit. To lead men forward under

fire more discipline (obtainable only by movement in masses) is needed

than is needed to resist attacks. But this rule which leaves out of

account the spirit of the army continually proves incorrect and is in

particularly striking contrast to the facts when some strong rise or

fall in the spirit of the troops occurs, as in all national wars.



The French, retreating in 1812though according to tactics they should

have separated into detachments to defend themselvescongregated into

a mass because the spirit of the army had so fallen that only the mass

held the army together. The Russians, on the contrary, ought according

to tactics to have attacked in mass, but in fact they split up

into small units, because their spirit had so risen that separate

individuals, without orders, dealt blows at the French without needing

any compulsion to induce them to expose themselves to hardships and

dangers.











CHAPTER III



The so-called partisan war began with the entry of the French into

Smolnsk.



Before partisan warfare had been officially recognized by the

government, thousands of enemy stragglers, marauders, and foragers had

been destroyed by the Cossacks and the peasants, who killed them off

as instinctively as dogs worry a stray mad dog to death. Dens Davdov,

with his Russian instinct, was the first to recognize the value of

this terrible cudgel which regardless of the rules of military science

destroyed the French, and to him belongs the credit for taking the first

step toward regularizing this method of warfare.



On August 24 Davdovs first partisan detachment was formed and then

others were recognized. The further the campaign progressed the more

numerous these detachments became.



The irregulars destroyed the great army piecemeal. They gathered the

fallen leaves that dropped of themselves from that withered treethe

French armyand sometimes shook that tree itself. By October, when

the French were fleeing toward Smolnsk, there were hundreds of such

companies, of various sizes and characters. There were some that adopted

all the army methods and had infantry, artillery, staffs, and the

comforts of life. Others consisted solely of Cossack cavalry. There were

also small scratch groups of foot and horse, and groups of peasants and

landowners that remained unknown. A sacristan commanded one party which

captured several hundred prisoners in the course of a month and there

was Vaslisa, the wife of a village elder, who slew hundreds of the

French.



The partisan warfare flamed up most fiercely in the latter days of

October. Its first period had passed when the partisans themselves,

amazed at their own boldness, feared every minute to be surrounded

and captured by the French, and hid in the forests without unsaddling,

hardly daring to dismount and always expecting to be pursued. By the end

of October this kind of warfare had taken definite shape it had become

clear to all what could be ventured against the French and what could

not. Now only the commanders of detachments with staffs, and moving

according to rules at a distance from the French, still regarded many

things as impossible. The small bands that had started their activities

long before and had already observed the French closely considered

things possible which the commanders of the big detachments did not dare

to contemplate. The Cossacks and peasants who crept in among the French

now considered everything possible.



On October 22, Densov (who was one of the irregulars) was with his

group at the height of the guerrilla enthusiasm. Since early morning he

and his party had been on the move. All day long he had been watching

from the forest that skirted the highroad a large French convoy of

cavalry baggage and Russian prisoners separated from the rest of the

army, whichas was learned from spies and prisonerswas moving under a

strong escort to Smolnsk. Besides Densov and Dlokhov (who also led

a small party and moved in Densovs vicinity), the commanders of some

large divisions with staffs also knew of this convoy and, as Densov

expressed it, were sharpening their teeth for it. Two of the commanders

of large partiesone a Pole and the other a Germansent invitations

to Densov almost simultaneously, requesting him to join up with their

divisions to attack the convoy.



No, bwother, I have gwown mustaches myself, said Densov on reading

these documents, and he wrote to the German that, despite his heartfelt

desire to serve under so valiant and renowned a general, he had to forgo

that pleasure because he was already under the command of the Polish

general. To the Polish general he replied to the same effect, informing

him that he was already under the command of the German.



Having arranged matters thus, Densov and Dlokhov intended, without

reporting matters to the higher command, to attack and seize that

convoy with their own small forces. On October 22 it was moving from

the village of Miklino to that of Shmshevo. To the left of the road

between Miklino and Shmshevo there were large forests, extending in

some places up to the road itself though in others a mile or more back

from it. Through these forests Densov and his party rode all day,

sometimes keeping well back in them and sometimes coming to the very

edge, but never losing sight of the moving French. That morning,

Cossacks of Densovs party had seized and carried off into the forest

two wagons loaded with cavalry saddles, which had stuck in the mud not

far from Miklino where the forest ran close to the road. Since then,

and until evening, the party had watched the movements of the French

without attacking. It was necessary to let the French reach Shmshevo

quietly without alarming them and then, after joining Dlokhov who was

to come that evening to a consultation at a watchmans hut in the forest

less than a mile from Shmshevo, to surprise the French at dawn, falling

like an avalanche on their heads from two sides, and rout and capture

them all at one blow.



In their rear, more than a mile from Miklino where the forest came

right up to the road, six Cossacks were posted to report if any fresh

columns of French should show themselves.



Beyond Shmshevo, Dlokhov was to observe the road in the same way, to

find out at what distance there were other French troops. They reckoned

that the convoy had fifteen hundred men. Densov had two hundred, and

Dlokhov might have as many more, but the disparity of numbers did not

deter Densov. All that he now wanted to know was what troops these were

and to learn that he had to capture a tonguethat is, a man from

the enemy column. That mornings attack on the wagons had been made so

hastily that the Frenchmen with the wagons had all been killed only a

little drummer boy had been taken alive, and as he was a straggler he

could tell them nothing definite about the troops in that column.



Densov considered it dangerous to make a second attack for fear of

putting the whole column on the alert, so he sent Tkhon Shcherbty, a

peasant of his party, to Shmshevo to try and seize at least one of the

French quartermasters who had been sent on in advance.











CHAPTER IV



It was a warm rainy autumn day. The sky and the horizon were both

the color of muddy water. At times a sort of mist descended, and then

suddenly heavy slanting rain came down.



Densov in a felt cloak and a sheepskin cap from which the rain ran down

was riding a thin thoroughbred horse with sunken sides. Like his horse,

which turned its head and laid its ears back, he shrank from the driving

rain and gazed anxiously before him. His thin face with its short, thick

black beard looked angry.



Beside Densov rode an esaul, * Densovs fellow worker, also in felt

cloak and sheepskin cap, and riding a large sleek Don horse.



    * A captain of Cossacks.



Esaul Lovyski the Third was a tall man as straight as an arrow,

pale-faced, fair-haired, with narrow light eyes and with calm

self-satisfaction in his face and bearing. Though it was impossible to

say in what the peculiarity of the horse and rider lay, yet at first

glance at the esaul and Densov one saw that the latter was wet and

uncomfortable and was a man mounted on a horse, while looking at the

esaul one saw that he was as comfortable and as much at ease as always

and that he was not a man who had mounted a horse, but a man who was one

with his horse, a being consequently possessed of twofold strength.



A little ahead of them walked a peasant guide, wet to the skin and

wearing a gray peasant coat and a white knitted cap.



A little behind, on a poor, small, lean Kirghz mount with an enormous

tail and mane and a bleeding mouth, rode a young officer in a blue

French overcoat.



Beside him rode an hussar, with a boy in a tattered French uniform and

blue cap behind him on the crupper of his horse. The boy held on to the

hussar with cold, red hands, and raising his eyebrows gazed about him

with surprise. This was the French drummer boy captured that morning.



Behind them along the narrow, sodden, cutup forest road came hussars in

threes and fours, and then Cossacks some in felt cloaks, some in French

greatcoats, and some with horsecloths over their heads. The horses,

being drenched by the rain, all looked black whether chestnut or bay.

Their necks, with their wet, close-clinging manes, looked strangely

thin. Steam rose from them. Clothes, saddles, reins, were all wet,

slippery, and sodden, like the ground and the fallen leaves that strewed

the road. The men sat huddled up trying not to stir, so as to warm the

water that had trickled to their bodies and not admit the fresh cold

water that was leaking in under their seats, their knees, and at the

back of their necks. In the midst of the outspread line of Cossacks two

wagons, drawn by French horses and by saddled Cossack horses that had

been hitched on in front, rumbled over the tree stumps and branches and

splashed through the water that lay in the ruts.



Densovs horse swerved aside to avoid a pool in the track and bumped

his riders knee against a tree.



Oh, the devil! exclaimed Densov angrily, and showing his teeth he

struck his horse three times with his whip, splashing himself and his

comrades with mud.



Densov was out of sorts both because of the rain and also from hunger

(none of them had eaten anything since morning), and yet more because he

still had no news from Dlokhov and the man sent to capture a tongue

had not returned.



Therell hardly be another such chance to fall on a transport as today.

Its too risky to attack them by oneself, and if we put it off till

another day one of the big guerrilla detachments will snatch the prey

from under our noses, thought Densov, continually peering forward,

hoping to see a messenger from Dlokhov.



On coming to a path in the forest along which he could see far to the

right, Densov stopped.



Theres someone coming, said he.



The esaul looked in the direction Densov indicated.



There are two, an officer and a Cossack. But it is not presupposable

that it is the lieutenant colonel himself, said the esaul, who was fond

of using words the Cossacks did not know.



The approaching riders having descended a decline were no longer

visible, but they reappeared a few minutes later. In front, at a weary

gallop and using his leather whip, rode an officer, disheveled and

drenched, whose trousers had worked up to above his knees. Behind him,

standing in the stirrups, trotted a Cossack. The officer, a very young

lad with a broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped up to Densov

and handed him a sodden envelope.



From the general, said the officer. Please excuse its not being quite

dry.



Densov, frowning, took the envelope and opened it.



There, they kept telling us Its dangerous, its dangerous,

said the officer, addressing the esaul while Densov was reading the

dispatch. But Komarv and Ihe pointed to the Cossackwere prepared.

We have each of us two pistols.... But whats this? he asked, noticing

the French drummer boy. A prisoner? Youve already been in action? May

I speak to him?



Wostv! Ptya! exclaimed Densov, having run through the dispatch.

Why didnt you say who you were? and turning with a smile he held out

his hand to the lad.



The officer was Ptya Rostv.



All the way Ptya had been preparing himself to behave with Densov as

befitted a grown-up man and an officerwithout hinting at their previous

acquaintance. But as soon as Densov smiled at him Ptya brightened

up, blushed with pleasure, forgot the official manner he had been

rehearsing, and began telling him how he had already been in a battle

near Vyzma and how a certain hussar had distinguished himself there.



Well, I am glad to see you, Densov interrupted him, and his face

again assumed its anxious expression.



Michael Feokltych, said he to the esaul, this is again fwom that

German, you know. Hehe indicated Ptyais serving under him.



And Densov told the esaul that the dispatch just delivered was a

repetition of the German generals demand that he should join forces

with him for an attack on the transport.



If we dont take it tomowwow, hell snatch it fwom under our noses, he

added.



While Densov was talking to the esaul, Ptyaabashed by Densovs

cold tone and supposing that it was due to the condition of his

trousersfurtively tried to pull them down under his greatcoat so

that no one should notice it, while maintaining as martial an air as

possible.



Will there be any orders, your honor? he asked Densov, holding his

hand at the salute and resuming the game of adjutant and general for

which he had prepared himself, or shall I remain with your honor?



Orders? Densov repeated thoughtfully. But can you stay till

tomowwow?



Oh, please... May I stay with you? cried Ptya.



But, just what did the genewal tell you? To weturn at once? asked

Densov.



Ptya blushed.



He gave me no instructions. I think I could? he returned, inquiringly.



Well, all wight, said Densov.



And turning to his men he directed a party to go on to the halting place

arranged near the watchmans hut in the forest, and told the officer on

the Kirghz horse (who performed the duties of an adjutant) to go and

find out where Dlokhov was and whether he would come that evening.

Densov himself intended going with the esaul and Ptya to the edge of

the forest where it reached out to Shmshevo, to have a look at the part

of the French bivouac they were to attack next day.



Well, old fellow, said he to the peasant guide, lead us to

Shmshevo.



Densov, Ptya, and the esaul, accompanied by some Cossacks and the

hussar who had the prisoner, rode to the left across a ravine to the

edge of the forest.











CHAPTER V



The rain had stopped, and only the mist was falling and drops from

the trees. Densov, the esaul, and Ptya rode silently, following the

peasant in the knitted cap who, stepping lightly with outturned toes

and moving noiselessly in his bast shoes over the roots and wet leaves,

silently led them to the edge of the forest.



He ascended an incline, stopped, looked about him, and advanced to where

the screen of trees was less dense. On reaching a large oak tree that

had not yet shed its leaves, he stopped and beckoned mysteriously to

them with his hand.



Densov and Ptya rode up to him. From the spot where the peasant was

standing they could see the French. Immediately beyond the forest, on a

downward slope, lay a field of spring rye. To the right, beyond a steep

ravine, was a small village and a landowners house with a broken roof.

In the village, in the house, in the garden, by the well, by the pond,

over all the rising ground, and all along the road uphill from the

bridge leading to the village, not more than five hundred yards

away, crowds of men could be seen through the shimmering mist. Their

un-Russian shouting at their horses which were straining uphill with the

carts, and their calls to one another, could be clearly heard.



Bwing the prisoner here, said Densov in a low voice, not taking his

eyes off the French.



A Cossack dismounted, lifted the boy down, and took him to Densov.

Pointing to the French troops, Densov asked him what these and those

of them were. The boy, thrusting his cold hands into his pockets and

lifting his eyebrows, looked at Densov in affright, but in spite of

an evident desire to say all he knew gave confused answers, merely

assenting to everything Densov asked him. Densov turned away from him

frowning and addressed the esaul, conveying his own conjectures to him.



Ptya, rapidly turning his head, looked now at the drummer boy, now

at Densov, now at the esaul, and now at the French in the village and

along the road, trying not to miss anything of importance.



Whether Dlokhov comes or not, we must seize it, eh? said Densov with

a merry sparkle in his eyes.



It is a very suitable spot, said the esaul.



Well send the infantwy down by the swamps, Densov continued.

Theyll cweep up to the garden youll wide up fwom there with the

Cossackshe pointed to a spot in the forest beyond the villageand I

with my hussars fwom here. And at the signal shot...



The hollow is impassabletheres a swamp there, said the esaul. The

horses would sink. We must ride round more to the left....



While they were talking in undertones the crack of a shot sounded

from the low ground by the pond, a puff of white smoke appeared, then

another, and the sound of hundreds of seemingly merry French voices

shouting together came up from the slope. For a moment Densov and the

esaul drew back. They were so near that they thought they were the cause

of the firing and shouting. But the firing and shouting did not relate

to them. Down below, a man wearing something red was running through the

marsh. The French were evidently firing and shouting at him.



Why, thats our Tkhon, said the esaul.



So it is! It is!



The wascal! said Densov.



Hell get away! said the esaul, screwing up his eyes.



The man whom they called Tkhon, having run to the stream, plunged in

so that the water splashed in the air, and, having disappeared for an

instant, scrambled out on all fours, all black with the wet, and ran on.

The French who had been pursuing him stopped.



Smart, that! said the esaul.



What a beast! said Densov with his former look of vexation. What has

he been doing all this time?



Who is he? asked Ptya.



Hes our plastn. I sent him to capture a tongue.



Oh, yes, said Ptya, nodding at the first words Densov uttered as if

he understood it all, though he really did not understand anything of

it.



Tkhon Shcherbty was one of the most indispensable men in their band.

He was a peasant from Pokrvsk, near the river Gzhat. When Densov had

come to Pokrvsk at the beginning of his operations and had as usual

summoned the village elder and asked him what he knew about the French,

the elder, as though shielding himself, had replied, as all village

elders did, that he had neither seen nor heard anything of them. But

when Densov explained that his purpose was to kill the French, and

asked if no French had strayed that way, the elder replied that some

more-orderers had really been at their village, but that Tkhon

Shcherbty was the only man who dealt with such matters. Densov had

Tkhon called and, having praised him for his activity, said a few words

in the elders presence about loyalty to the Tsar and the country and

the hatred of the French that all sons of the fatherland should cherish.



We dont do the French any harm, said Tkhon, evidently frightened by

Densovs words. We only fooled about with the lads for fun, you know!

We killed a score or so of more-orderers, but we did no harm else....



Next day when Densov had left Pokrvsk, having quite forgotten about

this peasant, it was reported to him that Tkhon had attached himself

to their party and asked to be allowed to remain with it. Densov gave

orders to let him do so.



Tkhon, who at first did rough work, laying campfires, fetching water,

flaying dead horses, and so on, soon showed a great liking and aptitude

for partisan warfare. At night he would go out for booty and always

brought back French clothing and weapons, and when told to would bring

in French captives also. Densov then relieved him from drudgery and

began taking him with him when he went out on expeditions and had him

enrolled among the Cossacks.



Tkhon did not like riding, and always went on foot, never lagging

behind the cavalry. He was armed with a musketoon (which he carried

rather as a joke), a pike and an ax, which latter he used as a wolf uses

its teeth, with equal ease picking fleas out of its fur or crunching

thick bones. Tkhon with equal accuracy would split logs with blows at

arms length, or holding the head of the ax would cut thin little pegs

or carve spoons. In Densovs party he held a peculiar and exceptional

position. When anything particularly difficult or nasty had to be

doneto push a cart out of the mud with ones shoulders, pull a horse

out of a swamp by its tail, skin it, slink in among the French, or walk

more than thirty miles in a dayeverybody pointed laughingly at Tkhon.



It wont hurt that devilhes as strong as a horse! they said of him.



Once a Frenchman Tkhon was trying to capture fired a pistol at him

and shot him in the fleshy part of the back. That wound (which Tkhon

treated only with internal and external applications of vodka) was the

subject of the liveliest jokes by the whole detachmentjokes in which

Tkhon readily joined.



Hallo, mate! Never again? Gave you a twist? the Cossacks would banter

him. And Tkhon, purposely writhing and making faces, pretended to be

angry and swore at the French with the funniest curses. The only effect

of this incident on Tkhon was that after being wounded he seldom

brought in prisoners.



He was the bravest and most useful man in the party. No one found more

opportunities for attacking, no one captured or killed more Frenchmen,

and consequently he was made the buffoon of all the Cossacks and hussars

and willingly accepted that role. Now he had been sent by Densov

overnight to Shmshevo to capture a tongue. But whether because he

had not been content to take only one Frenchman or because he had slept

through the night, he had crept by day into some bushes right among the

French and, as Densov had witnessed from above, had been detected by

them.











CHAPTER VI



After talking for some time with the esaul about next days attack,

which now, seeing how near they were to the French, he seemed to have

definitely decided on, Densov turned his horse and rode back.



Now, my lad, well go and get dwy, he said to Ptya.



As they approached the watchhouse Densov stopped, peering into the

forest. Among the trees a man with long legs and long, swinging arms,

wearing a short jacket, bast shoes, and a Kazn hat, was approaching

with long, light steps. He had a musketoon over his shoulder and an ax

stuck in his girdle. When he espied Densov he hastily threw something

into the bushes, removed his sodden hat by its floppy brim, and

approached his commander. It was Tkhon. His wrinkled and pockmarked

face and narrow little eyes beamed with self-satisfied merriment. He

lifted his head high and gazed at Densov as if repressing a laugh.



Well, where did you disappear to? inquired Densov.



Where did I disappear to? I went to get Frenchmen, answered Tkhon

boldly and hurriedly, in a husky but melodious bass voice.



Why did you push yourself in there by daylight? You ass! Well, why

havent you taken one?



Oh, I took one all right, said Tkhon.



Where is he?



You see, I took him first thing at dawn, Tkhon continued, spreading

out his flat feet with outturned toes in their bast shoes. I took him

into the forest. Then I see hes no good and think Ill go and fetch a

likelier one.



You see?... What a wogueits just as I thought, said Densov to the

esaul. Why didnt you bwing that one?



What was the good of bringing him? Tkhon interrupted hastily and

angrilythat one wouldnt have done for you. As if I dont know what

sort you want!



What a bwute you are!... Well?



I went for another one, Tkhon continued, and I crept like this

through the wood and lay down. (He suddenly lay down on his stomach

with a supple movement to show how he had done it.) One turned up and

I grabbed him, like this. (He jumped up quickly and lightly.) Come

along to the colonel, I said. He starts yelling, and suddenly there

were four of them. They rushed at me with their little swords. So I went

for them with my ax, this way What are you up to? says I. Christ

be with you! shouted Tkhon, waving his arms with an angry scowl and

throwing out his chest.



Yes, we saw from the hill how you took to your heels through the

puddles! said the esaul, screwing up his glittering eyes.



Ptya badly wanted to laugh, but noticed that they all refrained from

laughing. He turned his eyes rapidly from Tkhons face to the esauls

and Densovs, unable to make out what it all meant.



Dont play the fool! said Densov, coughing angrily. Why didnt you

bwing the first one?



Tkhon scratched his back with one hand and his head with the other,

then suddenly his whole face expanded into a beaming, foolish grin,

disclosing a gap where he had lost a tooth (that was why he was called

Shcherbtythe gap-toothed). Densov smiled, and Ptya burst into a peal

of merry laughter in which Tkhon himself joined.



Oh, but he was a regular good-for-nothing, said Tkhon. The clothes

on himpoor stuff! How could I bring him? And so rude, your honor! Why,

he says Im a generals son myself, I wont go! he says.



You are a bwute! said Densov. I wanted to question...



But I questioned him, said Tkhon. He said he didnt know much.

There are a lot of us, he says, but all poor stuffonly soldiers in

name, he says. Shout loud at them, he says, and youll take

them all, Tkhon concluded, looking cheerfully and resolutely into

Densovs eyes.



Ill give you a hundwed sharp lashesthatll teach you to play the

fool! said Densov severely.



But why are you angry? remonstrated Tkhon, just as if Id never seen

your Frenchmen! Only wait till it gets dark and Ill fetch you any of

them you wantthree if you like.



Well, lets go, said Densov, and rode all the way to the watchhouse

in silence and frowning angrily.



Tkhon followed behind and Ptya heard the Cossacks laughing with him

and at him, about some pair of boots he had thrown into the bushes.



When the fit of laughter that had seized him at Tkhons words and smile

had passed and Ptya realized for a moment that this Tkhon had killed a

man, he felt uneasy. He looked round at the captive drummer boy and felt

a pang in his heart. But this uneasiness lasted only a moment. He felt

it necessary to hold his head higher, to brace himself, and to question

the esaul with an air of importance about tomorrows undertaking, that

he might not be unworthy of the company in which he found himself.



The officer who had been sent to inquire met Densov on the way with the

news that Dlokhov was soon coming and that all was well with him.



Densov at once cheered up and, calling Ptya to him, said Well, tell

me about yourself.











CHAPTER VII



Ptya, having left his people after their departure from Moscow, joined

his regiment and was soon taken as orderly by a general commanding a

large guerrilla detachment. From the time he received his commission,

and especially since he had joined the active army and taken part in

the battle of Vyzma, Ptya had been in a constant state of blissful

excitement at being grown-up and in a perpetual ecstatic hurry not to

miss any chance to do something really heroic. He was highly delighted

with what he saw and experienced in the army, but at the same time

it always seemed to him that the really heroic exploits were being

performed just where he did not happen to be. And he was always in a

hurry to get where he was not.



When on the twenty-first of October his general expressed a wish to send

somebody to Densovs detachment, Ptya begged so piteously to be sent

that the general could not refuse. But when dispatching him he recalled

Ptyas mad action at the battle of Vyzma, where instead of riding by

the road to the place to which he had been sent, he had galloped to the

advanced line under the fire of the French and had there twice fired

his pistol. So now the general explicitly forbade his taking part in any

action whatever of Densovs. That was why Ptya had blushed and grown

confused when Densov asked him whether he could stay. Before they had

ridden to the outskirts of the forest Ptya had considered he must carry

out his instructions strictly and return at once. But when he saw the

French and saw Tkhon and learned that there would certainly be an

attack that night, he decided, with the rapidity with which young people

change their views, that the general, whom he had greatly respected till

then, was a rubbishy German, that Densov was a hero, the esaul a hero,

and Tkhon a hero too, and that it would be shameful for him to leave

them at a moment of difficulty.



It was already growing dusk when Densov, Ptya, and the esaul rode up

to the watchhouse. In the twilight saddled horses could be seen, and

Cossacks and hussars who had rigged up rough shelters in the glade and

were kindling glowing fires in a hollow of the forest where the French

could not see the smoke. In the passage of the small watchhouse a

Cossack with sleeves rolled up was chopping some mutton. In the room

three officers of Densovs band were converting a door into a tabletop.

Ptya took off his wet clothes, gave them to be dried, and at once began

helping the officers to fix up the dinner table.



In ten minutes the table was ready and a napkin spread on it. On the

table were vodka, a flask of rum, white bread, roast mutton, and salt.



Sitting at table with the officers and tearing the fat savory mutton

with his hands, down which the grease trickled, Ptya was in an ecstatic

childish state of love for all men, and consequently of confidence that

others loved him in the same way.



So then what do you think, Vasli Dmtrich? said he to Densov. Its

all right my staying a day with you? And not waiting for a reply he

answered his own question You see I was told to find outwell, I am

finding out.... Only do let me into the very... into the chief... I

dont want a reward.... But I want...



Ptya clenched his teeth and looked around, throwing back his head and

flourishing his arms.



Into the vewy chief... Densov repeated with a smile.



Only, please let me command something, so that I may really command...

Ptya went on. What would it be to you?... Oh, you want a knife? he

said, turning to an officer who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton.



And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it.



Please keep it. I have several like it, said Ptya, blushing.

Heavens! I was quite forgetting! he suddenly cried. I have some

raisins, fine ones you know, seedless ones. We have a new sutler and

he has such capital things. I bought ten pounds. I am used to something

sweet. Would you like some?... and Ptya ran out into the passage to

his Cossack and brought back some bags which contained about five pounds

of raisins. Have some, gentlemen, have some!



You want a coffeepot, dont you? he asked the esaul. I bought a

capital one from our sutler! He has splendid things. And hes very

honest, thats the chief thing. Ill be sure to send it to you. Or

perhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn outthat happens

sometimes, you know. I have brought some with me, here they areand he

showed a baga 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, Ptya stopped and

blushed.



He tried to remember whether he had not done anything else that was

foolish. And running over the events of the day he remembered the French

drummer boy. Its capital for us here, but what of him? Where have they

put him? Have they fed him? Havent they hurt his feelings? he thought.

But having caught himself saying too much about the flints, he was now

afraid to speak out.



I might ask, he thought, but theyll say Hes a boy himself and so

he pities the boy. Ill show them tomorrow whether Im a boy. Will it

seem odd if I ask? Ptya thought. Well, never mind! and immediately,

blushing and looking anxiously at the officers to see if they appeared

ironical, he said



May I call in that boy who was taken prisoner and give him something to

eat?... Perhaps...



Yes, hes a poor little fellow, said Densov, who evidently saw

nothing shameful in this reminder. Call him in. His name is Vincent

Bosse. Have him fetched.



Ill call him, said Ptya.



Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow, Densov repeated.



Ptya was standing at the door when Densov said this. He slipped in

between the officers, came close to Densov, and said



Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how fine, how splendid!



And having kissed Densov he ran out of the hut.



Bosse! Vincent! Ptya cried, stopping outside the door.



Who do you want, sir? asked a voice in the darkness.



Ptya replied that he wanted the French lad who had been captured that

day.



Ah, Vesnny? said a Cossack.



Vincent, the boys name, had already been changed by the Cossacks into

Vesnny (vernal) and into Vesnya by the peasants and soldiers. In both

these adaptations the reference to spring (vesn) matched the impression

made by the young lad.



He is warming himself there by the bonfire. Ho, Vesnya!

Vesnya!Vesnny! laughing voices were heard calling to one another in

the darkness.



Hes a smart lad, said an hussar standing near Ptya. We gave him

something to eat a while ago. He was awfully hungry!



The sound of bare feet splashing through the mud was heard in the

darkness, and the drummer boy came to the door.



Ah, cest vous! said Ptya. Voulez-vous manger? Nayez pas peur, on

ne vous fera pas de mal, * he added shyly and affectionately, touching

the boys hand. Entrez, entrez. *(2)



     * Ah, its you! Do you want something to eat? Dont be

     afraid, they wont hurt you.



     * (2) Come in, come in.





Merci, monsieur, * said the drummer boy in a trembling almost childish

voice, and he began scraping his dirty feet on the threshold.



    * Thank you, sir.





There were many things Ptya wanted to say to the drummer boy, but did

not dare to. He stood irresolutely beside him in the passage. Then in

the darkness he took the boys hand and pressed it.



Come in, come in! he repeated in a gentle whisper. Oh, what can I do

for him? he thought, and opening the door he let the boy pass in first.



When the boy had entered the hut, Ptya sat down at a distance from

him, considering it beneath his dignity to pay attention to him. But

he fingered the money in his pocket and wondered whether it would seem

ridiculous to give some to the drummer boy.











CHAPTER VIII



The arrival of Dlokhov diverted Ptyas attention from the drummer boy,

to whom Densov had had some mutton and vodka given, and whom he had had

dressed in a Russian coat so that he might be kept with their band and

not sent away with the other prisoners. Ptya had heard in the army many

stories of Dlokhovs extraordinary bravery and of his cruelty to the

French, so from the moment he entered the hut Ptya did not take his

eyes from him, but braced himself up more and more and held his head

high, that he might not be unworthy even of such company.



Dlokhovs appearance amazed Ptya by its simplicity.



Densov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of Nicholas the

Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of speaking and everything he

did indicated his unusual position. But Dlokhov, who in Moscow had worn

a Persian costume, had now the appearance of a most correct officer of

the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore a Guardsmans padded coat with

an Order of St. George at his buttonhole and a plain forage cap set

straight on his head. He took off his wet felt cloak in a corner of

the room, and without greeting anyone went up to Densov and began

questioning him about the matter in hand. Densov told him of the

designs the large detachments had on the transport, of the message Ptya

had brought, and his own replies to both generals. Then he told him all

he knew of the French detachment.



Thats so. But we must know what troops they are and their numbers,

said Dlokhov. It will be necessary to go there. We cant start the

affair without knowing for certain how many there are. I like to work

accurately. Here nowwouldnt one of these gentlemen like to ride over

to the French camp with me? I have brought a spare uniform.



I, I... Ill go with you! cried Ptya.



Theres no need for you to go at all, said Densov, addressing

Dlokhov, and as for him, I wont let him go on any account.



I like that! exclaimed Ptya. Why shouldnt I go?



Because its useless.



Well, you must excuse me, because... because... I shall go, and thats

all. Youll take me, wont you? he said, turning to Dlokhov.



Why not? Dlokhov answered absently, scrutinizing the face of the

French drummer boy. Have you had that youngster with you long? he

asked Densov.



He was taken today but he knows nothing. Im keeping him with me.



Yes, and where do you put the others? inquired Dlokhov.



Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them, shouted Densov,

suddenly flushing. And I say boldly that I have not a single mans life

on my conscience. Would it be difficult for you to send thirty or

thwee hundwed men to town under escort, instead of stainingI speak

bluntlystaining the honor of a soldier?



That kind of amiable talk would be suitable from this young count of

sixteen, said Dlokhov with cold irony, but its time for you to drop

it.



Why, Ive not said anything! I only say that Ill certainly go with

you, said Ptya shyly.



But for you and me, old fellow, its time to drop these amenities,

continued Dlokhov, as if he found particular pleasure in speaking of

this subject which irritated Densov. Now, why have you kept this lad?

he went on, swaying his head. Because you are sorry for him! Dont we

know those receipts of yours? You send a hundred men away, and thirty

get there. The rest either starve or get killed. So isnt it all the

same not to send them?



The esaul, screwing up his light-colored eyes, nodded approvingly.



Thats not the point. Im not going to discuss the matter. I do not

wish to take it on my conscience. You say theyll die. All wight. Only

not by my fault!



Dlokhov began laughing.



Who has told them not to capture me these twenty times over? But if

they did catch me theyd string me up to an aspen tree, and with all

your chivalry just the same. He paused. However, we must get to work.

Tell the Cossack to fetch my kit. I have two French uniforms in it.

Well, are you coming with me? he asked Ptya.



I? Yes, yes, certainly! cried Ptya, blushing almost to tears and

glancing at Densov.



While Dlokhov had been disputing with Densov what should be done with

prisoners, Ptya had once more felt awkward and restless but again he

had no time to grasp fully what they were talking about. If grown-up,

distinguished men think so, it must be necessary and right, thought he.

But above all Densov must not dare to imagine that Ill obey him and

that he can order me about. I will certainly go to the French camp with

Dlokhov. If he can, so can I!



And to all Densovs persuasions, Ptya replied that he too was

accustomed to do everything accurately and not just anyhow, and that he

never considered personal danger.



For youll admit that if we dont know for sure how many of them there

are... hundreds of lives may depend on it, while there are only two

of us. Besides, I want to go very much and certainly will go, so dont

hinder me, said he. It will only make things worse....











CHAPTER IX



Having put on French greatcoats and shakos, Ptya and Dlokhov rode to

the clearing from which Densov had reconnoitered the French camp,

and emerging from the forest in pitch darkness they descended into the

hollow. On reaching the bottom, Dlokhov told the Cossacks accompanying

him to await him there and rode on at a quick trot along the road to the

bridge. Ptya, his heart in his mouth with excitement, rode by his side.



If were caught, I wont be taken alive! I have a pistol, whispered

he.



Dont talk Russian, said Dlokhov in a hurried whisper, and at that

very moment they heard through the darkness the challenge Qui vive? *

and the click of a musket.



    * Who goes there?





The blood rushed to Ptyas face and he grasped his pistol.



Lanciers du 6-me, * replied Dlokhov, neither hastening nor slackening

his horses pace.



    * Lancers of the 6th Regiment.





The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge.



Mot dordre. *



    * Password.





Dlokhov reined in his horse and advanced at a walk.



Dites donc, le colonel Grard est ici? * he asked.



    * Tell me, is Colonel Grard here?





Mot dordre, repeated the sentinel, barring the way and not replying.



Quand un officier fait sa ronde, les sentinelles ne demandent pas le

mot dordre... cried Dlokhov suddenly flaring up and riding straight

at the sentinel. Je vous demande si le colonel est ici. *



     * When an officer is making his round, sentinels dont ask

     him for the password.... I am asking you if the colonel is

     here.





And without waiting for an answer from the sentinel, who had stepped

aside, Dlokhov rode up the incline at a walk.



Noticing the black outline of a man crossing the road, Dlokhov stopped

him and inquired where the commander and officers were. The man,

a soldier with a sack over his shoulder, stopped, came close up to

Dlokhovs horse, touched it with his hand, and explained simply and in

a friendly way that the commander and the officers were higher up

the hill to the right in the courtyard of the farm, as he called the

landowners house.



Having ridden up the road, on both sides of which French talk could be

heard around the campfires, Dlokhov turned into the courtyard of the

landowners house. Having ridden in, he dismounted and approached a

big blazing campfire, around which sat several men talking noisily.

Something was boiling in a small cauldron at the edge of the fire and

a soldier in a peaked cap and blue overcoat, lit up by the fire, was

kneeling beside it stirring its contents with a ramrod.



Oh, hes a hard nut to crack, said one of the officers who was sitting

in the shadow at the other side of the fire.



Hell make them get a move on, those fellows! said another, laughing.



Both fell silent, peering out through the darkness at the sound of

Dlokhovs and Ptyas steps as they advanced to the fire leading their

horses.



Bonjour, messieurs! * said Dlokhov loudly and clearly.



    * Good day, gentlemen.





There was a stir among the officers in the shadow beyond the fire,

and one tall, long-necked officer, walking round the fire, came up to

Dlokhov.



Is that you, Clment? he asked. Where the devil...? But, noticing

his mistake, he broke off short and, with a frown, greeted Dlokhov as a

stranger, asking what he could do for him.



Dlokhov said that he and his companion were trying to overtake their

regiment, and addressing the company in general asked whether they knew

anything of the 6th Regiment. None of them knew anything, and Ptya

thought the officers were beginning to look at him and Dlokhov with

hostility and suspicion. For some seconds all were silent.



If you were counting on the evening soup, you have come too late, said

a voice from behind the fire with a repressed laugh.



Dlokhov replied that they were not hungry and must push on farther that

night.



He handed the horses over to the soldier who was stirring the pot and

squatted down on his heels by the fire beside the officer with the long

neck. That officer did not take his eyes from Dlokhov and again asked

to what regiment he belonged. Dlokhov, as if he had not heard the

question, did not reply, but lighting a short French pipe which he took

from his pocket began asking the officer in how far the road before them

was safe from Cossacks.



Those brigands are everywhere, replied an officer from behind the

fire.



Dlokhov remarked that the Cossacks were a danger only to stragglers

such as his companion and himself, but probably they would not dare to

attack large detachments? he added inquiringly. No one replied.



Well, now hell come away, Ptya thought every moment as he stood by

the campfire listening to the talk.



But Dlokhov restarted the conversation which had dropped and began

putting direct questions as to how many men there were in the battalion,

how many battalions, and how many prisoners. Asking about the Russian

prisoners with that detachment, Dlokhov said



A horrid business dragging these corpses about with one! It would be

better to shoot such rabble, and burst into loud laughter, so strange

that Ptya thought the French would immediately detect their disguise,

and involuntarily took a step back from the campfire.



No one replied a word to Dlokhovs laughter, and a French officer whom

they could not see (he lay wrapped in a greatcoat) rose and whispered

something to a companion. Dlokhov got up and called to the soldier who

was holding their horses.



Will they bring our horses or not? thought Ptya, instinctively

drawing nearer to Dlokhov.



The horses were brought.



Good evening, gentlemen, said Dlokhov.



Ptya wished to say Good night but could not utter a word. The

officers were whispering together. Dlokhov was a long time mounting

his horse which would not stand still, then he rode out of the yard at a

footpace. Ptya rode beside him, longing to look round to see whether or

not the French were running after them, but not daring to.



Coming out onto the road Dlokhov did not ride back across the open

country, but through the village. At one spot he stopped and listened.

Do you hear? he asked. Ptya recognized the sound of Russian voices

and saw the dark figures of Russian prisoners round their campfires.

When they had descended to the bridge Ptya and Dlokhov rode past the

sentinel, who without saying a word paced morosely up and down it, then

they descended into the hollow where the Cossacks awaited them.



Well now, good-by. Tell Densov, at the first shot at daybreak, said

Dlokhov and was about to ride away, but Ptya seized hold of him.



Really! he cried, you are such a hero! Oh, how fine, how splendid!

How I love you!



All right, all right! said Dlokhov. But Ptya did not let go of him

and Dlokhov saw through the gloom that Ptya was bending toward him and

wanted to kiss him. Dlokhov kissed him, laughed, turned his horse, and

vanished into the darkness.











CHAPTER X



Having returned to the watchmans hut, Ptya found Densov in the

passage. He was awaiting Ptyas 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

Ptyas rapturous account. But, devil take you, I havent slept because

of you! Well, thank God. Now lie down. We can still get a nap before

morning.



But... no, said Ptya, I dont want to sleep yet. Besides I know

myself, if I fall asleep its finished. And then I am used to not

sleeping before a battle.



He sat awhile in the hut joyfully recalling the details of his

expedition and vividly picturing to himself what would happen next day.



Then, noticing that Densov was asleep, he rose and went out of doors.



It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but drops were still

falling from the trees. Near the watchmans hut the black shapes of the

Cossacks shanties and of horses tethered together could be seen. Behind

the hut the dark shapes of the two wagons with their horses beside them

were discernible, and in the hollow the dying campfire gleamed red.

Not all the Cossacks and hussars were asleep here and there, amid the

sounds of falling drops and the munching of the horses near by, could be

heard low voices which seemed to be whispering.



Ptya came out, peered into the darkness, and went up to the wagons.

Someone was snoring under them, and around them stood saddled horses

munching their oats. In the dark Ptya recognized his own horse, which

he called Karabkh though it was of Ukranian breed, and went up to it.



Well, Karabkh! Well do some service tomorrow, said he, sniffing its

nostrils and kissing it.



Why arent you asleep, sir? said a Cossack who was sitting under a

wagon.



No, ah... Likhachvisnt that your name? Do you know I have only just

come back! Weve been into the French camp.



And Ptya gave the Cossack a detailed account not only of his ride but

also of his object, and why he considered it better to risk his life

than to act just anyhow.



Well, you should get some sleep now, said the Cossack.



No, I am used to this, said Ptya. I say, arent the flints in your

pistols worn out? I brought some with me. Dont you want any? You can

have some.



The Cossack bent forward from under the wagon to get a closer look at

Ptya.



Because I am accustomed to doing everything accurately, said Ptya.

Some fellows do things just anyhow, without preparation, and then

theyre sorry for it afterwards. I dont like that.



Just so, said the Cossack.



Oh yes, another thing! Please, my dear fellow, will you sharpen my

saber for me? Its got bl... (Ptya feared to tell a lie, and the saber

never had been sharpened.) Can you do it?



Of course I can.



Likhachv got up, rummaged in his pack, and soon Ptya heard the warlike

sound of steel on whetstone. He climbed onto the wagon and sat on its

edge. The Cossack was sharpening the saber under the wagon.



I say! Are the lads asleep? asked Ptya.



Some are, and some arentlike us.



Well, and that boy?



Vesnny? Oh, hes thrown himself down there in the passage. Fast asleep

after his fright. He was that glad!



After that Ptya remained silent for a long time, listening to the

sounds. He heard footsteps in the darkness and a black figure appeared.



What are you sharpening? asked a man coming up to the wagon.



Why, this gentlemans saber.



Thats right, said the man, whom Ptya 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.



Ptya ought to have known that he was in a forest with Densovs

guerrilla band, less than a mile from the road, sitting on a wagon

captured from the French beside which horses were tethered, that under

it Likhachv was sitting sharpening a saber for him, that the big dark

blotch to the right was the watchmans hut, and the red blotch below to

the left was the dying embers of a campfire, that the man who had come

for the cup was an hussar who wanted a drink but he neither knew nor

waited to know anything of all this. He was in a fairy kingdom where

nothing resembled reality. The big dark blotch might really be the

watchmans hut or it might be a cavern leading to the very depths of

the earth. Perhaps the red spot was a fire, or it might be the eye of an

enormous monster. Perhaps he was really sitting on a wagon, but it might

very well be that he was not sitting on a wagon but on a terribly high

tower from which, if he fell, he would have to fall for a whole day or a

whole month, or go on falling and never reach the bottom. Perhaps it

was just the Cossack, Likhachv, who was sitting under the wagon, but it

might be the kindest, bravest, most wonderful, most splendid man in the

world, whom no one knew of. It might really have been that the hussar

came for water and went back into the hollow, but perhaps he had simply

vanisheddisappeared altogether and dissolved into nothingness.



Nothing Ptya could have seen now would have surprised him. He was in a

fairy kingdom where everything was possible.



He looked up at the sky. And the sky was a fairy realm like the earth.

It was clearing, and over the tops of the trees clouds were swiftly

sailing as if unveiling the stars. Sometimes it looked as if the clouds

were passing, and a clear black sky appeared. Sometimes it seemed as

if the black spaces were clouds. Sometimes the sky seemed to be rising

high, high overhead, and then it seemed to sink so low that one could

touch it with ones hand.



Ptyas eyes began to close and he swayed a little.



The trees were dripping. Quiet talking was heard. The horses neighed and

jostled one another. Someone snored.



Ozheg-zheg, Ozheg-zheg... hissed the saber against the whetstone,

and suddenly Ptya heard an harmonious orchestra playing some unknown,

sweetly solemn hymn. Ptya was as musical as Natsha and more so than

Nicholas, but had never learned music or thought about it, and so the

melody that unexpectedly came to his mind seemed to him particularly

fresh and attractive. The music became more and more audible. The melody

grew and passed from one instrument to another. And what was played was

a fuguethough Ptya had not the least conception of what a fugue is.

Each instrumentnow resembling a violin and now a horn, but better

and clearer than violin or hornplayed its own part, and before it had

finished the melody merged with another instrument that began almost the

same air, and then with a third and a fourth and they all blended into

one and again became separate and again blended, now into solemn church

music, now into something dazzlingly brilliant and triumphant.



Ohwhy, that was in a dream! Ptya said to himself, as he lurched

forward. Its in my ears. But perhaps its music of my own. Well, go

on, my music! Now!...



He closed his eyes, and, from all sides as if from a distance, sounds

fluttered, grew into harmonies, separated, blended, and again all

mingled into the same sweet and solemn hymn. Oh, this is delightful!

As much as I like and as I like! said Ptya to himself. He tried to

conduct that enormous orchestra.



Now softly, softly die away! and the sounds obeyed him. Now fuller,

more joyful. Still more and more joyful! And from an unknown depth rose

increasingly triumphant sounds. Now voices join in! ordered Ptya. And

at first from afar he heard mens voices and then womens. The voices

grew in harmonious triumphant strength, and Ptya listened to their

surpassing beauty in awe and joy.



With a solemn triumphal march there mingled a song, the drip from the

trees, and the hissing of the saber, Ozheg-zheg-zheg... and again the

horses jostled one another and neighed, not disturbing the choir but

joining in it.



Ptya did not know how long this lasted he enjoyed himself all the

time, wondered at his enjoyment and regretted that there was no one to

share it. He was awakened by Likhachvs kindly voice.



Its ready, your honor you can split a Frenchman in half with it!



Ptya woke up.



Its getting light, its really getting light! he exclaimed.



The horses that had previously been invisible could now be seen to their

very tails, and a watery light showed itself through the bare branches.

Ptya shook himself, jumped up, took a ruble from his pocket and gave it

to Likhachv then he flourished the saber, tested it, and sheathed

it. The Cossacks were untying their horses and tightening their saddle

girths.



And heres the commander, said Likhachv.



Densov came out of the watchmans hut and, having called Ptya, gave

orders to get ready.











CHAPTER XI



The men rapidly picked out their horses in the semidarkness, tightened

their saddle girths, and formed companies. Densov stood by the

watchmans hut giving final orders. The infantry of the detachment

passed along the road and quickly disappeared amid the trees in the mist

of early dawn, hundreds of feet splashing through the mud. The esaul

gave some orders to his men. Ptya held his horse by the bridle,

impatiently awaiting the order to mount. His face, having been bathed

in cold water, was all aglow, and his eyes were particularly brilliant.

Cold shivers ran down his spine and his whole body pulsed rhythmically.



Well, is evwything weady? asked Densov. Bwing the horses.



The horses were brought. Densov was angry with the Cossack because the

saddle girths were too slack, reproved him, and mounted. Ptya put his

foot in the stirrup. His horse by habit made as if to nip his leg, but

Ptya leaped quickly into the saddle unconscious of his own weight and,

turning to look at the hussars starting in the darkness behind him, rode

up to Densov.



Vasli Dmtrich, entrust me with some commission! Please... for Gods

sake...! said he.



Densov seemed to have forgotten Ptyas very existence. He turned to

glance at him.



I ask one thing of you, he said sternly, to obey me and not shove

yourself forward anywhere.



He did not say another word to Ptya but rode in silence all the way.

When they had come to the edge of the forest it was noticeably growing

light over the field. Densov talked in whispers with the esaul and

the Cossacks rode past Ptya and Densov. When they had all ridden by,

Densov touched his horse and rode down the hill. Slipping onto their

haunches and sliding, the horses descended with their riders into the

ravine. Ptya rode beside Densov, the pulsation of his body constantly

increasing. It was getting lighter and lighter, but the mist still hid

distant objects. Having reached the valley, Densov looked back and

nodded to a Cossack beside him.



The signal! said he.



The Cossack raised his arm and a shot rang out. In an instant the tramp

of horses galloping forward was heard, shouts came from various sides,

and then more shots.



At the first sound of trampling hoofs and shouting, Ptya lashed his

horse and loosening his rein galloped forward, not heeding Densov who

shouted at him. It seemed to Ptya that at the moment the shot was

fired it suddenly became as bright as noon. He galloped to the bridge.

Cossacks were galloping along the road in front of him. On the bridge

he collided with a Cossack who had fallen behind, but he galloped on.

In front of him soldiers, probably Frenchmen, were running from right

to left across the road. One of them fell in the mud under his horses

feet.



Cossacks were crowding about a hut, busy with something. From the midst

of that crowd terrible screams arose. Ptya galloped up, and the

first thing he saw was the pale face and trembling jaw of a Frenchman,

clutching the handle of a lance that had been aimed at him.



Hurrah!... Lads!... ours! shouted Ptya, and giving rein to his

excited horse he galloped forward along the village street.



He could hear shooting ahead of him. Cossacks, hussars, and ragged

Russian prisoners, who had come running from both sides of the road,

were shouting something loudly and incoherently. A gallant-looking

Frenchman, in a blue overcoat, capless, and with a frowning red face,

had been defending himself against the hussars. When Ptya galloped

up the Frenchman had already fallen. Too late again! flashed through

Ptyas mind and he galloped on to the place from which the rapid firing

could be heard. The shots came from the yard of the landowners house

he had visited the night before with Dlokhov. The French were making

a stand there behind a wattle fence in a garden thickly overgrown with

bushes and were firing at the Cossacks who crowded at the gateway.

Through the smoke, as he approached the gate, Ptya saw Dlokhov, whose

face was of a pale-greenish tint, shouting to his men. Go round! Wait

for the infantry! he exclaimed as Ptya rode up to him.



Wait?... Hurrah-ah-ah! shouted Ptya, and without pausing a moment

galloped to the place whence came the sounds of firing and where the

smoke was thickest.



A volley was heard, and some bullets whistled past, while others plashed

against something. The Cossacks and Dlokhov galloped after Ptya into

the gateway of the courtyard. In the dense wavering smoke some of the

French threw down their arms and ran out of the bushes to meet the

Cossacks, while others ran down the hill toward the pond. Ptya was

galloping along the courtyard, but instead of holding the reins he waved

both his arms about rapidly and strangely, slipping farther and farther

to one side in his saddle. His horse, having galloped up to a campfire

that was smoldering in the morning light, stopped suddenly, and Ptya

fell heavily on to the wet ground. The Cossacks saw that his arms and

legs jerked rapidly though his head was quite motionless. A bullet had

pierced his skull.



After speaking to the senior French officer, who came out of the house

with a white handkerchief tied to his sword and announced that

they surrendered, Dlokhov dismounted and went up to Ptya, who lay

motionless with outstretched arms.



Done for! he said with a frown, and went to the gate to meet Densov

who was riding toward him.



Killed? cried Densov, recognizing from a distance the unmistakably

lifeless attitudevery familiar to himin which Ptyas body was lying.



Done for! repeated Dlokhov as if the utterance of these words

afforded him pleasure, and he went quickly up to the prisoners, who

were surrounded by Cossacks who had hurried up. We wont take them! he

called out to Densov.



Densov did not reply he rode up to Ptya, dismounted, and with

trembling hands turned toward himself the bloodstained, mud-bespattered

face which had already gone white.



I am used to something sweet. Raisins, fine ones... take them all! he

recalled Ptyas words. And the Cossacks looked round in surprise at the

sound, like the yelp of a dog, with which Densov turned away, walked to

the wattle fence, and seized hold of it.



Among the Russian prisoners rescued by Densov and Dlokhov was Pierre

Bezkhov.











CHAPTER XII



During the whole of their march from Moscow no fresh orders had been

issued by the French authorities concerning the party of prisoners

among whom was Pierre. On the twenty-second of October that party was

no longer with the same troops and baggage trains with which it had left

Moscow. Half the wagons laden with hardtack that had traveled the first

stages with them had been captured by Cossacks, the other half had gone

on ahead. Not one of those dismounted cavalrymen who had marched in

front of the prisoners was left they had all disappeared. The artillery

the prisoners had seen in front of them during the first days was

now replaced by Marshal Junots enormous baggage train, convoyed by

Westphalians. Behind the prisoners came a cavalry baggage train.



From Vyzma onwards the French army, which had till then moved in three

columns, went on as a single group. The symptoms of disorder that Pierre

had noticed at their first halting place after leaving Moscow had now

reached the utmost limit.



The road along which they moved was bordered on both sides by dead

horses ragged men who had fallen behind from various regiments

continually changed about, now joining the moving column, now again

lagging behind it.



Several times during the march false alarms had been given and the

soldiers of the escort had raised their muskets, fired, and run

headlong, crushing one another, but had afterwards reassembled and

abused each other for their causeless panic.



These three groups traveling togetherthe cavalry stores, the convoy of

prisoners, and Junots baggage trainstill constituted a separate and

united whole, though each of the groups was rapidly melting away.



Of the artillery baggage train which had consisted of a hundred and

twenty wagons, not more than sixty now remained the rest had been

captured or left behind. Some of Junots wagons also had been captured

or abandoned. Three wagons had been raided and robbed by stragglers

from Davouts corps. From the talk of the Germans Pierre learned that

a larger guard had been allotted to that baggage train than to the

prisoners, and that one of their comrades, a German soldier, had been

shot by the marshals own order because a silver spoon belonging to the

marshal had been found in his possession.



The group of prisoners had melted away most of all. Of the three hundred

and thirty men who had set out from Moscow fewer than a hundred now

remained. The prisoners were more burdensome to the escort than even the

cavalry saddles or Junots baggage. They understood that the saddles and

Junots spoon might be of some use, but that cold and hungry soldiers

should have to stand and guard equally cold and hungry Russians who

froze and lagged behind on the road (in which case the order was to

shoot them) was not merely incomprehensible but revolting. And the

escort, as if afraid, in the grievous condition they themselves were in,

of giving way to the pity they felt for the prisoners and so rendering

their own plight still worse, treated them with particular moroseness

and severity.



At Dorogobzh while the soldiers of the convoy, after locking the

prisoners in a stable, had gone off to pillage their own stores, several

of the soldier prisoners tunneled under the wall and ran away, but were

recaptured by the French and shot.



The arrangement adopted when they started, that the officer prisoners

should be kept separate from the rest, had long since been abandoned.

All who could walk went together, and after the third stage Pierre had

rejoined Karatev and the gray-blue bandy-legged dog that had chosen

Karatev for its master.



On the third day after leaving Moscow Karatev again fell ill with the

fever he had suffered from in the hospital in Moscow, and as he grew

gradually weaker Pierre kept away from him. Pierre did not know why, but

since Karatev had begun to grow weaker it had cost him an effort to

go near him. When he did so and heard the subdued moaning with which

Karatev generally lay down at the halting places, and when he smelled

the odor emanating from him which was now stronger than before, Pierre

moved farther away and did not think about him.



While imprisoned in the shed Pierre had learned not with his intellect

but with his whole being, by life itself, that man is created for

happiness, that happiness is within him, in the satisfaction of simple

human needs, and that all unhappiness arises not from privation but from

superfluity. And now during these last three weeks of the march he had

learned still another new, consolatory truththat nothing in this world

is terrible. He had learned that as there is no condition in which man

can be happy and entirely free, so there is no condition in which he

need be unhappy and lack freedom. He learned that suffering and freedom

have their limits and that those limits are very near together that the

person in a bed of roses with one crumpled petal suffered as keenly as

he now, sleeping on the bare damp earth with one side growing chilled

while the other was warming and that when he had put on tight dancing

shoes he had suffered just as he did now when he walked with bare feet

that were covered with soreshis footgear having long since fallen to

pieces. He discovered that when he had married his wifeof his own free

will as it had seemed to himhe had been no more free than now when they

locked him up at night in a stable. Of all that he himself subsequently

termed his sufferings, but which at the time he scarcely felt, the worst

was the state of his bare, raw, and scab-covered feet. (The horseflesh

was appetizing and nourishing, the saltpeter flavor of the gunpowder

they used instead of salt was even pleasant there was no great cold,

it was always warm walking in the daytime, and at night there were the

campfires the lice that devoured him warmed his body.) The one thing

that was at first hard to bear was his feet.



After the second days march Pierre, having examined his feet by the

campfire, thought it would be impossible to walk on them but when

everybody got up he went along, limping, and, when he had warmed up,

walked without feeling the pain, though at night his feet were more

terrible to look at than before. However, he did not look at them now,

but thought of other things.



Only now did Pierre realize the full strength of life in man and the

saving power he has of transferring his attention from one thing

to another, which is like the safety valve of a boiler that allows

superfluous steam to blow off when the pressure exceeds a certain limit.



He did not see and did not hear how they shot the prisoners who lagged

behind, though more than a hundred perished in that way. He did not

think of Karatev who grew weaker every day and evidently would soon

have to share that fate. Still less did Pierre think about himself. The

harder his position became and the more terrible the future, the more

independent of that position in which he found himself were the joyful

and comforting thoughts, memories, and imaginings that came to him.











CHAPTER XIII



At midday on the twenty-second of October Pierre was going uphill along

the muddy, slippery road, looking at his feet and at the roughness of

the way. Occasionally he glanced at the familiar crowd around him and

then again at his feet. The former and the latter were alike familiar

and his own. The blue-gray bandy legged dog ran merrily along the side

of the road, sometimes in proof of its agility and self-satisfaction

lifting one hind leg and hopping along on three, and then again going on

all four and rushing to bark at the crows that sat on the carrion. The

dog was merrier and sleeker than it had been in Moscow. All around lay

the flesh of different animalsfrom men to horsesin various stages of

decomposition and as the wolves were kept off by the passing men the

dog could eat all it wanted.



It had been raining since morning and had seemed as if at any moment it

might cease and the sky clear, but after a short break it began raining

harder than before. The saturated road no longer absorbed the water,

which ran along the ruts in streams.



Pierre walked along, looking from side to side, counting his steps in

threes, and reckoning them off on his fingers. Mentally addressing the

rain, he repeated Now then, now then, go on! Pelt harder!



It seemed to him that he was thinking of nothing, but far down and

deep within him his soul was occupied with something important and

comforting. This something was a most subtle spiritual deduction from a

conversation with Karatev the day before.



At their yesterdays halting place, feeling chilly by a dying campfire,

Pierre had got up and gone to the next one, which was burning better.

There Platn Karatev was sitting covered uphead and allwith his

greatcoat as if it were a vestment, telling the soldiers in his

effective and pleasant though now feeble voice a story Pierre knew. It

was already past midnight, the hour when Karatev was usually free of

his fever and particularly lively. When Pierre reached the fire and

heard Platns voice enfeebled by illness, and saw his pathetic face

brightly lit up by the blaze, he felt a painful prick at his heart. His

feeling of pity for this man frightened him and he wished to go away,

but there was no other fire, and Pierre sat down, trying not to look at

Platn.



Well, how are you? he asked.



How am I? If we grumble at sickness, God wont grant us death, replied

Platn, and at once resumed the story he had begun.



And so, brother, he continued, with a smile on his pale emaciated face

and a particularly happy light in his eyes, you see, brother...



Pierre had long been familiar with that story. Karatev had told it

to him alone some half-dozen times and always with a specially joyful

emotion. But well as he knew it, Pierre now listened to that tale as to

something new, and the quiet rapture Karatev evidently felt as he told

it communicated itself also to Pierre. The story was of an old merchant

who lived a good and God-fearing life with his family, and who went once

to the Nzhni fair with a companiona rich merchant.



Having put up at an inn they both went to sleep, and next morning his

companion was found robbed and with his throat cut. A bloodstained knife

was found under the old merchants pillow. He was tried, knouted, and

his nostrils having been torn off, all in due form as Karatev put it,

he was sent to hard labor in Siberia.



And so, brother (it was at this point that Pierre came up), ten years

or more passed by. The old man was living as a convict, submitting as

he should and doing no wrong. Only he prayed to God for death. Well, one

night the convicts were gathered just as we are, with the old man among

them. And they began telling what each was suffering for, and how they

had sinned against God. One told how he had taken a life, another had

taken two, a third had set a house on fire, while another had simply

been a vagrant and had done nothing. So they asked the old man What

are you being punished for, Daddy?I, my dear brothers, said he, am

being punished for my own and other mens sins. But I have not killed

anyone or taken anything that was not mine, but have only helped my

poorer brothers. I was a merchant, my dear brothers, and had much

property. And he went on to tell them all about it in due order. I

dont grieve for myself, he says, God, it seems, has chastened me.

Only I am sorry for my old wife and the children, and the old man began

to weep. Now it happened that in the group was the very man who had

killed the other merchant. Where did it happen, Daddy? he said. When,

and in what month? He asked all about it and his heart began to ache.

So he comes up to the old man like this, and falls down at his feet!

You are perishing because of me, Daddy, he says. Its quite true,

lads, that this man, he says, is being tortured innocently and for

nothing! I, he says, did that deed, and I put the knife under your

head while you were asleep. Forgive me, Daddy, he says, for Christs

sake!



Karatev paused, smiling joyously as he gazed into the fire, and he drew

the logs together.



And the old man said, God will forgive you, we are all sinners in His

sight. I suffer for my own sins, and he wept bitter tears. Well,

and what do you think, dear friends? Karatev continued, his face

brightening more and more with a rapturous smile as if what he now had

to tell contained the chief charm and the whole meaning of his story

What do you think, dear fellows? That murderer confessed to the

authorities. I have taken six lives, he says (he was a great sinner),

but what I am most sorry for is this old man. Dont let him suffer

because of me. So he confessed and it was all written down and the

papers sent off in due form. The place was a long way off, and while

they were judging, what with one thing and another, filling in the

papers all in due formthe authorities I meantime passed. The affair

reached the Tsar. After a while the Tsars decree came to set the

merchant free and give him a compensation that had been awarded. The

paper arrived and they began to look for the old man. Where is the old

man who has been suffering innocently and in vain? A paper has come from

the Tsar! so they began looking for him, here Karatevs lower jaw

trembled, but God had already forgiven himhe was dead! Thats how it

was, dear fellows! Karatev concluded and sat for a long time silent,

gazing before him with a smile.



And Pierres soul was dimly but joyfully filled not by the story itself

but by its mysterious significance by the rapturous joy that lit up

Karatevs face as he told it, and the mystic significance of that joy.











CHAPTER XIV



 vos places! * suddenly cried a voice.



    * To your places.





A pleasant feeling of excitement and an expectation of something

joyful and solemn was aroused among the soldiers of the convoy and the

prisoners. From all sides came shouts of command, and from the left came

smartly dressed cavalrymen on good horses, passing the prisoners at a

trot. The expression on all faces showed the tension people feel at the

approach of those in authority. The prisoners thronged together and were

pushed off the road. The convoy formed up.



The Emperor! The Emperor! The Marshal! The Duke! and hardly had the

sleek cavalry passed, before a carriage drawn by six gray horses rattled

by. Pierre caught a glimpse of a man in a three-cornered hat with a

tranquil look on his handsome, plump, white face. It was one of the

marshals. His eye fell on Pierres large and striking figure, and in

the expression with which he frowned and looked away Pierre thought he

detected sympathy and a desire to conceal that sympathy.



The general in charge of the stores galloped after the carriage with a

red and frightened face, whipping up his skinny horse. Several officers

formed a group and some soldiers crowded round them. Their faces all

looked excited and worried.



What did he say? What did he say? Pierre heard them ask.



While the marshal was passing, the prisoners had huddled together in a

crowd, and Pierre saw Karatev whom he had not yet seen that morning.

He sat in his short overcoat leaning against a birch tree. On his face,

besides the look of joyful emotion it had worn yesterday while telling

the tale of the merchant who suffered innocently, there was now an

expression of quiet solemnity.



Karatev looked at Pierre with his kindly round eyes now filled with

tears, evidently wishing him to come near that he might say something to

him. But Pierre was not sufficiently sure of himself. He made as if he

did not notice that look and moved hastily away.



When the prisoners again went forward Pierre looked round. Karatev

was still sitting at the side of the road under the birch tree and two

Frenchmen were talking over his head. Pierre did not look round again

but went limping up the hill.



From behind, where Karatev had been sitting, came the sound of a shot.

Pierre heard it plainly, but at that moment he remembered that he

had not yet finished reckoning up how many stages still remained to

Smolnska calculation he had begun before the marshal went by. And he

again started reckoning. Two French soldiers ran past Pierre, one of

whom carried a lowered and smoking gun. They both looked pale, and

in the expression on their facesone of them glanced timidly at

Pierrethere was something resembling what he had seen on the face of

the young soldier at the execution. Pierre looked at the soldier and

remembered that, two days before, that man had burned his shirt while

drying it at the fire and how they had laughed at him.



Behind him, where Karatev had been sitting, the dog began to howl.

What a stupid beast! Why is it howling? thought Pierre.



His comrades, the prisoner soldiers walking beside him, avoided looking

back at the place where the shot had been fired and the dog was howling,

just as Pierre did, but there was a set look on all their faces.











CHAPTER XV



The stores, the prisoners, and the marshals baggage train stopped at

the village of Shmshevo. The men crowded together round the campfires.

Pierre went up to the fire, ate some roast horseflesh, lay down with his

back to the fire, and immediately fell asleep. He again slept as he had

done at Mozhysk after the battle of Borodin.



Again real events mingled with dreams and again someone, he or another,

gave expression to his thoughts, and even to the same thoughts that had

been expressed in his dream at Mozhysk.



Life is everything. Life is God. Everything changes and moves and that

movement is God. And while there is life there is joy in consciousness

of the divine. To love life is to love God. Harder and more blessed

than all else is to love this life in ones sufferings, in innocent

sufferings.



Karatev! came to Pierres mind.



And suddenly he saw vividly before him a long-forgotten, kindly old man

who had given him geography lessons in Switzerland. Wait a bit, said

the old man, and showed Pierre a globe. This globe was alivea vibrating

ball without fixed dimensions. Its whole surface consisted of drops

closely pressed together, and all these drops moved and changed places,

sometimes several of them merging into one, sometimes one dividing

into many. Each drop tried to spread out and occupy as much space as

possible, but others striving to do the same compressed it, sometimes

destroyed it, and sometimes merged with it.



That is life, said the old teacher.



How simple and clear it is, thought Pierre. How is it I did not know

it before?



God is in the midst, and each drop tries to expand so as to reflect

Him to the greatest extent. And it grows, merges, disappears from the

surface, sinks to the depths, and again emerges. There now, Karatev

has spread out and disappeared. Do you understand, my child? said the

teacher.



Do you understand, damn you? shouted a voice, and Pierre woke up.



He lifted himself and sat up. A Frenchman who had just pushed a Russian

soldier away was squatting by the fire, engaged in roasting a piece

of meat stuck on a ramrod. His sleeves were rolled up and his sinewy,

hairy, red hands with their short fingers deftly turned the ramrod. His

brown morose face with frowning brows was clearly visible by the glow of

the charcoal.



Its all the same to him, he muttered, turning quickly to a soldier

who stood behind him. Brigand! Get away!



And twisting the ramrod he looked gloomily at Pierre, who turned

away and gazed into the darkness. A prisoner, the Russian soldier the

Frenchman had pushed away, was sitting near the fire patting something

with his hand. Looking more closely Pierre recognized the blue-gray dog,

sitting beside the soldier, wagging its tail.



Ah, hes come? said Pierre. And Plat he began, but did not finish.



Suddenly and simultaneously a crowd of memories awoke in his fancyof

the look Platn had given him as he sat under the tree, of the shot

heard from that spot, of the dogs howl, of the guilty faces of the two

Frenchmen as they ran past him, of the lowered and smoking gun, and of

Karatevs absence at this haltand he was on the point of realizing

that Karatev had been killed, but just at that instant, he knew not

why, the recollection came to his mind of a summer evening he had spent

with a beautiful Polish lady on the veranda of his house in Kiev. And

without linking up the events of the day or drawing a conclusion

from them, Pierre closed his eyes, seeing a vision of the country in

summertime mingled with memories of bathing and of the liquid, vibrating

globe, and he sank into water so that it closed over his head.



Before sunrise he was awakened by shouts and loud and rapid firing.

French soldiers were running past him.



The Cossacks! one of them shouted, and a moment later a crowd of

Russians surrounded Pierre.



For a long time he could not understand what was happening to him. All

around he heard his comrades sobbing with joy.



Brothers! Dear fellows! Darlings! old soldiers exclaimed, weeping, as

they embraced Cossacks and hussars.



The hussars and Cossacks crowded round the prisoners one offered them

clothes, another boots, and a third bread. Pierre sobbed as he sat

among them and could not utter a word. He hugged the first soldier who

approached him, and kissed him, weeping.



Dlokhov stood at the gate of the ruined house, letting a crowd

of disarmed Frenchmen pass by. The French, excited by all that had

happened, were talking loudly among themselves, but as they passed

Dlokhov who gently switched his boots with his whip and watched them

with cold glassy eyes that boded no good, they became silent. On the

opposite side stood Dlokhovs Cossack, counting the prisoners and

marking off each hundred with a chalk line on the gate.



How many? Dlokhov asked the Cossack.



The second hundred, replied the Cossack.



Filez, filez! * Dlokhov kept saying, having adopted this expression

from the French, and when his eyes met those of the prisoners they

flashed with a cruel light.



    * Get along, get along!





Densov, bareheaded and with a gloomy face, walked behind some Cossacks

who were carrying the body of Ptya Rostv to a hole that had been dug

in the garden.











CHAPTER XVI



After the twenty-eighth of October when the frosts began, the flight of

the French assumed a still more tragic character, with men freezing,

or roasting themselves to death at the campfires, while carriages

with people dressed in furs continued to drive past, carrying away the

property that had been stolen by the Emperor, kings, and dukes but

the process of the flight and disintegration of the French army went on

essentially as before.



From Moscow to Vyzma the French army of seventy-three thousand men not

reckoning the Guards (who did nothing during the whole war but pillage)

was reduced to thirty-six thousand, though not more than five thousand

had fallen in battle. From this beginning the succeeding terms of the

progression could be determined mathematically. The French army melted

away and perished at the same rate from Moscow to Vyzma, from Vyzma

to Smolnsk, from Smolnsk to the Berzina, and from the Berzina to

Vlnaindependently of the greater or lesser intensity of the cold, the

pursuit, the barring of the way, or any other particular conditions.

Beyond Vyzma the French army instead of moving in three columns huddled

together into one mass, and so went on to the end. Berthier wrote to his

Emperor (we know how far commanding officers allow themselves to diverge

from the truth in describing the condition of an army) and this is what

he said





I deem it my duty to report to Your Majesty the condition of the various

corps I have had occasion to observe during different stages of the last

two or three days march. They are almost disbanded. Scarcely a quarter

of the soldiers remain with the standards of their regiments, the others

go off by themselves in different directions hoping to find food and

escape discipline. In general they regard Smolnsk as the place where

they hope to recover. During the last few days many of the men have been

seen to throw away their cartridges and their arms. In such a state

of affairs, whatever your ultimate plans may be, the interest of Your

Majestys service demands that the army should be rallied at Smolnsk

and should first of all be freed from ineffectives, such as dismounted

cavalry, unnecessary baggage, and artillery material that is no longer

in proportion to the present forces. The soldiers, who are worn out with

hunger and fatigue, need these supplies as well as a few days rest.

Many have died these last days on the road or at the bivouacs. This

state of things is continually becoming worse and makes one fear that

unless a prompt remedy is applied the troops will no longer be under

control in case of an engagement.



November 9 twenty miles from Smolnsk.





After staggering into Smolnsk which seemed to them a promised land, the

French, searching for food, killed one another, sacked their own stores,

and when everything had been plundered fled farther.



They all went without knowing whither or why they were going. Still less

did that genius, Napoleon, know it, for no one issued any orders to

him. But still he and those about him retained their old habits wrote

commands, letters, reports, and orders of the day called one another

sire, mon cousin, prince dEckmhl, roi de Naples, and so on. But these

orders and reports were only on paper, nothing in them was acted upon

for they could not be carried out, and though they entitled one

another Majesties, Highnesses, or Cousins, they all felt that they were

miserable wretches who had done much evil for which they had now to

pay. And though they pretended to be concerned about the army, each

was thinking only of himself and of how to get away quickly and save

himself.











CHAPTER XVII



The movements of the Russian and French armies during the campaign

from Moscow back to the Niemen were like those in a game of Russian

blindmans buff, in which two players are blindfolded and one of

them occasionally rings a little bell to inform the catcher of his

whereabouts. First he rings his bell fearlessly, but when he gets into

a tight place he runs away as quietly as he can, and often thinking to

escape runs straight into his opponents arms.



At first while they were still moving along the Kalga road, Napoleons

armies made their presence known, but later when they reached the

Smolnsk road they ran holding the clapper of their bell tightand often

thinking they were escaping ran right into the Russians.



Owing to the rapidity of the French flight and the Russian pursuit

and the consequent exhaustion of the horses, the chief means of

approximately ascertaining the enemys positionby cavalry scoutingwas

not available. Besides, as a result of the frequent and rapid change of

position by each army, even what information was obtained could not be

delivered in time. If news was received one day that the enemy had been

in a certain position the day before, by the third day when something

could have been done, that army was already two days march farther on

and in quite another position.



One army fled and the other pursued. Beyond Smolnsk there were several

different roads available for the French, and one would have thought

that during their stay of four days they might have learned where

the enemy was, might have arranged some more advantageous plan and

undertaken something new. But after a four days halt the mob, with no

maneuvers or plans, again began running along the beaten track, neither

to the right nor to the left but along the oldthe worstroad, through

Krsnoe and Orsh.



Expecting the enemy from behind and not in front, the French separated

in their flight and spread out over a distance of twenty-four hours. In

front of them all fled the Emperor, then the kings, then the dukes. The

Russian army, expecting Napoleon to take the road to the right beyond

the Dnieperwhich was the only reasonable thing for him to dothemselves

turned to the right and came out onto the highroad at Krsnoe. And here

as in a game of blindmans buff the French ran into our vanguard. Seeing

their enemy unexpectedly the French fell into confusion and stopped

short from the sudden fright, but then they resumed their flight,

abandoning their comrades who were farther behind. Then for three days

separate portions of the French armyfirst Murats (the vice-kings),

then Davouts, and then Neysran, as it were, the gauntlet of the

Russian army. They abandoned one another, abandoned all their heavy

baggage, their artillery, and half their men, and fled, getting past the

Russians by night by making semicircles to the right.



Ney, who came last, had been busying himself blowing up the walls of

Smolnsk which were in nobodys way, because despite the unfortunate

plight of the French or because of it, they wished to punish the floor

against which they had hurt themselves. Ney, who had had a corps of ten

thousand men, reached Napoleon at Orsh with only one thousand men left,

having abandoned all the rest and all his cannon, and having crossed the

Dnieper at night by stealth at a wooded spot.



From Orsh they fled farther along the road to Vlna, still playing

at blindmans buff with the pursuing army. At the Berzina they again

became disorganized, many were drowned and many surrendered, but those

who got across the river fled farther. Their supreme chief donned a

fur coat and, having seated himself in a sleigh, galloped on alone,

abandoning his companions. The others who could do so drove away too,

leaving those who could not to surrender or die.











CHAPTER XVIII



This campaign consisted in a flight of the French during which they did

all they could to destroy themselves. From the time they turned onto

the Kalga road to the day their leader fled from the army, none of the

movements of the crowd had any sense. So one might have thought that

regarding this period of the campaign the historians, who attributed

the actions of the mass to the will of one man, would have found it

impossible to make the story of the retreat fit their theory. But

no! Mountains of books have been written by the historians about this

campaign, and everywhere are described Napoleons arrangements, the

maneuvers, and his profound plans which guided the army, as well as the

military genius shown by his marshals.



The retreat from Mlo-Yaroslvets when he had a free road into a

well-supplied district and the parallel road was open to him along

which Kutzov afterwards pursued himthis unnecessary retreat along

a devastated roadis explained to us as being due to profound

considerations. Similarly profound considerations are given for

his retreat from Smolnsk to Orsh. Then his heroism at Krsnoe is

described, where he is reported to have been prepared to accept battle

and take personal command, and to have walked about with a birch stick

and said



Jai assez fait lempereur il est temps de faire le gnral, * but

nevertheless immediately ran away again, abandoning to its fate the

scattered fragments of the army he left behind.



     * I have acted the Emperor long enough it is time to act

     the general.





Then we are told of the greatness of soul of the marshals, especially

of Neya greatness of soul consisting in this that he made his way by

night around through the forest and across the Dnieper and escaped to

Orsh, abandoning standards, artillery, and nine tenths of his men.



And lastly, the final departure of the great Emperor from his heroic

army is presented to us by the historians as something great and

characteristic of genius. Even that final running away, described in

ordinary language as the lowest depth of baseness which every child

is taught to be ashamed ofeven that act finds justification in the

historians language.



When it is impossible to stretch the very elastic threads of historical

ratiocination any farther, when actions are clearly contrary to all

that humanity calls right or even just, the historians produce a saving

conception of greatness. Greatness, it seems, excludes the standards

of right and wrong. For the great man nothing is wrong, there is no

atrocity for which a great man can be blamed.



Cest grand! * say the historians, and there no longer exists either

good or evil but only grand and not grand. Grand is good, not

grand is bad. Grand is the characteristic, in their conception, of some

special animals called heroes. And Napoleon, escaping home in a warm

fur coat and leaving to perish those who were not merely his comrades

but were (in his opinion) men he had brought there, feels que cest

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 ny

a quun pas, * said he. And the whole world for fifty years has been

repeating Sublime! Grand! Napolon le Grand! Du sublime au ridicule

il ny a quun pas.



    * From the sublime to the ridiculous is but a step.





And it occurs to no one that to admit a greatness not commensurable with

the standard of right and wrong is merely to admit ones own nothingness

and immeasurable meanness.



For us with the standard of good and evil given us by Christ, no human

actions are incommensurable. And there is no greatness where simplicity,

goodness, and truth are absent.











CHAPTER XIX



What Russian, reading the account of the last part of the campaign

of 1812, has not experienced an uncomfortable feeling of regret,

dissatisfaction, and perplexity? Who has not asked himself how it is

that the French were not all captured or destroyed when our three armies

surrounded them in superior numbers, when the disordered French, hungry

and freezing, surrendered in crowds, and when (as the historians relate)

the aim of the Russians was to stop the French, to cut them off, and

capture them all?



How was it that the Russian army, which when numerically weaker than the

French had given battle at Borodin, did not achieve its purpose when it

had surrounded the French on three sides and when its aim was to capture

them? Can the French be so enormously superior to us that when we had

surrounded them with superior forces we could not beat them? How could

that happen?



History (or what is called by that name) replying to these questions

says that this occurred because Kutzov and Tormsov and Chichagv, and

this man and that man, did not execute such and such maneuvers....



But why did they not execute those maneuvers? And why if they were

guilty of not carrying out a prearranged plan were they not tried and

punished? But even if we admitted that Kutzov, Chichagv, and others

were the cause of the Russian failures, it is still incomprehensible

why, the position of the Russian army being what it was at Krsnoe and

at the Berzina (in both cases we had superior forces), the French army

with its marshals, kings, and Emperor was not captured, if that was what

the Russians aimed at.



The explanation of this strange fact given by Russian military

historians (to the effect that Kutzov hindered an attack) is unfounded,

for we know that he could not restrain the troops from attacking at

Vyzma and Tartino.



Why was the Russian armywhich with inferior forces had withstood the

enemy in full strength at Borodindefeated at Krsnoe and the Berzina

by the disorganized crowds of the French when it was numerically

superior?



If the aim of the Russians consisted in cutting off and capturing

Napoleon and his marshalsand that aim was not merely frustrated but all

attempts to attain it were most shamefully baffledthen this last period

of the campaign is quite rightly considered by the French to be a

series of victories, and quite wrongly considered victorious by Russian

historians.



The Russian military historians in so far as they submit to claims

of logic must admit that conclusion, and in spite of their lyrical

rhapsodies about valor, devotion, and so forth, must reluctantly admit

that the French retreat from Moscow was a series of victories for

Napoleon and defeats for Kutzov.



But putting national vanity entirely aside one feels that such a

conclusion involves a contradiction, since the series of French

victories brought the French complete destruction, while the series

of Russian defeats led to the total destruction of their enemy and the

liberation of their country.



The source of this contradiction lies in the fact that the historians

studying the events from the letters of the sovereigns and the generals,

from memoirs, reports, projects, and so forth, have attributed to this

last period of the war of 1812 an aim that never existed, namely that of

cutting off and capturing Napoleon with his marshals and his army.



There never was or could have been such an aim, for it would have been

senseless and its attainment quite impossible.



It would have been senseless, first because Napoleons disorganized

army was flying from Russia with all possible speed, that is to say, was

doing just what every Russian desired. So what was the use of performing

various operations on the French who were running away as fast as they

possibly could?



Secondly, it would have been senseless to block the passage of men whose

whole energy was directed to flight.



Thirdly, it would have been senseless to sacrifice ones own troops in

order to destroy the French army, which without external interference

was destroying itself at such a rate that, though its path was not

blocked, it could not carry across the frontier more than it actually

did in December, namely a hundredth part of the original army.



Fourthly, it would have been senseless to wish to take captive the

Emperor, kings, and dukeswhose capture would have been in the highest

degree embarrassing for the Russians, as the most adroit diplomatists of

the time (Joseph de Maistre and others) recognized. Still more senseless

would have been the wish to capture army corps of the French, when our

own army had melted away to half before reaching Krsnoe and a whole

division would have been needed to convoy the corps of prisoners, and

when our men were not always getting full rations and the prisoners

already taken were perishing of hunger.



All the profound plans about cutting off and capturing Napoleon and his

army were like the plan of a market gardener who, when driving out of

his garden a cow that had trampled down the beds he had planted, should

run to the gate and hit the cow on the head. The only thing to be said

in excuse of that gardener would be that he was very angry. But not even

that could be said for those who drew up this project, for it was not

they who had suffered from the trampled beds.



But besides the fact that cutting off Napoleon with his army would have

been senseless, it was impossible.



It was impossible first becauseas experience shows that a three-mile

movement of columns on a battlefield never coincides with the plansthe

probability of Chichagv, Kutzov, and Wittgenstein effecting a junction

on time at an appointed place was so remote as to be tantamount to

impossibility, as in fact thought Kutzov, who when he received the plan

remarked that diversions planned over great distances do not yield the

desired results.



Secondly it was impossible, because to paralyze the momentum with which

Napoleons army was retiring, incomparably greater forces than the

Russians possessed would have been required.



Thirdly it was impossible, because the military term to cut off has no

meaning. One can cut off a slice of bread, but not an army. To cut off

an armyto bar its roadis quite impossible, for there is always plenty

of room to avoid capture and there is the night when nothing can be

seen, as the military scientists might convince themselves by the

example of Krsnoe and of the Berzina. It is only possible to capture

prisoners if they agree to be captured, just as it is only possible

to catch a swallow if it settles on ones hand. Men can only be taken

prisoners if they surrender according to the rules of strategy and

tactics, as the Germans did. But the French troops quite rightly did not

consider that this suited them, since death by hunger and cold awaited

them in flight or captivity alike.



Fourthly and chiefly it was impossible, because never since the world

began has a war been fought under such conditions as those that obtained

in 1812, and the Russian army in its pursuit of the French strained its

strength to the utmost and could not have done more without destroying

itself.



During the movement of the Russian army from Tartino to Krsnoe it

lost fifty thousand sick or stragglers, that is a number equal to the

population of a large provincial town. Half the men fell out of the army

without a battle.



And it is of this period of the campaignwhen the army lacked boots

and sheepskin coats, was short of provisions and without vodka, and

was camping out at night for months in the snow with fifteen degrees

of frost, when there were only seven or eight hours of daylight and

the rest was night in which the influence of discipline cannot be

maintained, when men were taken into that region of death where

discipline fails, not for a few hours only as in a battle, but for

months, where they were every moment fighting death from hunger and

cold, when half the army perished in a single monthit is of this period

of the campaign that the historians tell us how Milordovich should have

made a flank march to such and such a place, Tormsov to another place,

and Chichagv should have crossed (more than knee-deep in snow) to

somewhere else, and how so-and-so routed and cut off the French and

so on and so on.



The Russians, half of whom died, did all that could and should have been

done to attain an end worthy of the nation, and they are not to blame

because other Russians, sitting in warm rooms, proposed that they should

do what was impossible.



All that strange contradiction now difficult to understand between the

facts and the historical accounts only arises because the historians

dealing with the matter have written the history of the beautiful words

and sentiments of various generals, and not the history of the events.



To them the words of Milordovich seem very interesting, and so do their

surmises and the rewards this or that general received but the question

of those fifty thousand men who were left in hospitals and in graves

does not even interest them, for it does not come within the range of

their investigation.



Yet one need only discard the study of the reports and general plans and

consider the movement of those hundreds of thousands of men who took a

direct part in the events, and all the questions that seemed insoluble

easily and simply receive an immediate and certain solution.



The aim of cutting off Napoleon and his army never existed except in

the imaginations of a dozen people. It could not exist because it was

senseless and unattainable.



The people had a single aim to free their land from invasion. That aim

was attained in the first place of itself, as the French ran away,

and so it was only necessary not to stop their flight. Secondly it was

attained by the guerrilla warfare which was destroying the French, and

thirdly by the fact that a large Russian army was following the French,

ready to use its strength in case their movement stopped.



The Russian army had to act like a whip to a running animal. And the

experienced driver knew it was better to hold the whip raised as a

menace than to strike the running animal on the head.











BOOK FIFTEEN 1812 - 13











CHAPTER I



When seeing a dying animal a man feels a sense of horror substance

similar to his own is perishing before his eyes. But when it is a

beloved and intimate human being that is dying, besides this horror at

the extinction of life there is a severance, a spiritual wound, which

like a physical wound is sometimes fatal and sometimes heals, but always

aches and shrinks at any external irritating touch.



After Prince Andrews death Natsha and Princess Mary alike felt this.

Drooping in spirit and closing their eyes before the menacing cloud of

death that overhung them, they dared not look life in the face. They

carefully guarded their open wounds from any rough and painful contact.

Everything a carriage passing rapidly in the street, a summons to

dinner, the maids inquiry what dress to prepare, or worse still any

word of insincere or feeble sympathy, seemed an insult, painfully

irritated the wound, interrupting that necessary quiet in which

they both tried to listen to the stern and dreadful choir that still

resounded in their imagination, and hindered their gazing into those

mysterious limitless vistas that for an instant had opened out before

them.



Only when alone together were they free from such outrage and pain.

They spoke little even to one another, and when they did it was of very

unimportant matters.



Both avoided any allusion to the future. To admit the possibility of

a future seemed to them to insult his memory. Still more carefully did

they avoid anything relating to him who was dead. It seemed to them that

what they had lived through and experienced could not be expressed in

words, and that any reference to the details of his life infringed the

majesty and sacredness of the mystery that had been accomplished before

their eyes.



Continued abstention from speech, and constant avoidance of everything

that might lead up to the subjectthis halting on all sides at the

boundary of what they might not mentionbrought before their minds with

still greater purity and clearness what they were both feeling.



But pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy.

Princess Mary, in her position as absolute and independent arbiter of

her own fate and guardian and instructor of her nephew, was the first to

be called back to life from that realm of sorrow in which she had dwelt

for the first fortnight. She received letters from her relations to

which she had to reply the room in which little Nicholas had been put

was damp and he began to cough Alptych came to Yaroslvl with reports

on the state of their affairs and with advice and suggestions that they

should return to Moscow to the house on the Vozdvzhenka Street, which

had remained uninjured and needed only slight repairs. Life did not

stand still and it was necessary to live. Hard as it was for Princess

Mary to emerge from the realm of secluded contemplation in which she

had lived till then, and sorry and almost ashamed as she felt to leave

Natsha alone, yet the cares of life demanded her attention and she

involuntarily yielded to them. She went through the accounts with

Alptych, conferred with Dessalles about her nephew, and gave orders and

made preparations for the journey to Moscow.



Natsha remained alone and, from the time Princess Mary began making

preparations for departure, held aloof from her too.



Princess Mary asked the countess to let Natsha go with her to Moscow,

and both parents gladly accepted this offer, for they saw their daughter

losing strength every day and thought that a change of scene and the

advice of Moscow doctors would be good for her.



I am not going anywhere, Natsha replied when this was proposed to

her. Do please just leave me alone! And she ran out of the room, with

difficulty refraining from tears of vexation and irritation rather than

of sorrow.



After she felt herself deserted by Princes Mary and alone in her grief,

Natsha spent most of the time in her room by herself, sitting huddled

up feet and all in the corner of the sofa, tearing and twisting

something with her slender nervous fingers and gazing intently and

fixedly at whatever her eyes chanced to fall on. This solitude exhausted

and tormented her but she was in absolute need of it. As soon as anyone

entered she got up quickly, changed her position and expression, and

picked up a book or some sewing, evidently waiting impatiently for the

intruder to go.



She felt all the time as if she might at any moment penetrate that

on whichwith a terrible questioning too great for her strengthher

spiritual gaze was fixed.



One day toward the end of December Natsha, pale and thin, dressed in a

black woolen gown, her plaited hair negligently twisted into a knot, was

crouched feet and all in the corner of her sofa, nervously crumpling and

smoothing out the end of her sash while she looked at a corner of the

door.



She was gazing in the direction in which he had goneto the other side

of life. And that other side of life, of which she had never before

thought and which had formerly seemed to her so far away and improbable,

was now nearer and more akin and more comprehensible than this side of

life, where everything was either emptiness and desolation or suffering

and indignity.



She was gazing where she knew him to be but she could not imagine him

otherwise than as he had been here. She now saw him again as he had been

at Mytshchi, at Tritsa, and at Yaroslvl.



She saw his face, heard his voice, repeated his words and her own, and

sometimes devised other words they might have spoken.



There he is lying back in an armchair in his velvet cloak, leaning

his head on his thin pale hand. His chest is dreadfully hollow and his

shoulders raised. His lips are firmly closed, his eyes glitter, and a

wrinkle comes and goes on his pale forehead. One of his legs twitches

just perceptibly, but rapidly. Natsha knows that he is struggling with

terrible pain. What is that pain like? Why does he have that pain? What

does he feel? How does it hurt him? thought Natsha. He noticed her

watching him, raised his eyes, and began to speak seriously



One thing would be terrible, said he to bind oneself forever to a

suffering man. It would be continual torture. And he looked searchingly

at her. Natsha as usual answered before she had time to think what she

would say. She said This cant go onit wont. You will get wellquite

well.



She now saw him from the commencement of that scene and relived what she

had then felt. She recalled his long sad and severe look at those words

and understood the meaning of the rebuke and despair in that protracted

gaze.



I agreed, Natsha now said to herself, that it would be dreadful if

he always continued to suffer. I said it then only because it would have

been dreadful for him, but he understood it differently. He thought it

would be dreadful for me. He then still wished to live and feared death.

And I said it so awkwardly and stupidly! I did not say what I meant.

I thought quite differently. Had I said what I thought, I should have

said even if he had to go on dying, to die continually before my eyes,

I should have been happy compared with what I am now. Now there is

nothing... nobody. Did he know that? No, he did not and never will know

it. And now it will never, never be possible to put it right. And

now he again seemed to be saying the same words to her, only in her

imagination Natsha this time gave him a different answer. She stopped

him and said Terrible for you, but not for me! You know that for me

there is nothing in life but you, and to suffer with you is the greatest

happiness for me, and he took her hand and pressed it as he had

pressed it that terrible evening four days before his death. And in her

imagination she said other tender and loving words which she might have

said then but only spoke now I love thee!... thee! I love, love...

she said, convulsively pressing her hands and setting her teeth with a

desperate effort....



She was overcome by sweet sorrow and tears were already rising in her

eyes then she suddenly asked herself to whom she was saying this.

Again everything was shrouded in hard, dry perplexity, and again with a

strained frown she peered toward the world where he was. And now, now

it seemed to her she was penetrating the mystery.... But at the instant

when it seemed that the incomprehensible was revealing itself to her a

loud rattle of the door handle struck painfully on her ears. Dunysha,

her maid, entered the room quickly and abruptly with a frightened look

on her face and showing no concern for her mistress.



Come to your Papa at once, please! said she with a strange, excited

look. A misfortune... about Peter Ilnich... a letter, she finished

with a sob.











CHAPTER II



Besides a feeling of aloofness from everybody Natsha was feeling a

special estrangement from the members of her own family. All of

themher father, mother, and Snyawere so near to her, so familiar, so

commonplace, that all their words and feelings seemed an insult to the

world in which she had been living of late, and she felt not merely

indifferent to them but regarded them with hostility. She heard

Dunyshas words about Peter Ilnich and a misfortune, but did not grasp

them.



What misfortune? What misfortune can happen to them? They just live

their own old, quiet, and commonplace life, thought Natsha.



As she entered the ballroom her father was hurriedly coming out of

her mothers room. His face was puckered up and wet with tears. He

had evidently run out of that room to give vent to the sobs that were

choking him. When he saw Natsha he waved his arms despairingly and

burst into convulsively painful sobs that distorted his soft round face.



Pe... Ptya... Go, go, she... is calling... and weeping like a child

and quickly shuffling on his feeble legs to a chair, he almost fell into

it, covering his face with his hands.



Suddenly an electric shock seemed to run through Natshas whole being.

Terrible anguish struck her heart, she felt a dreadful ache as if

something was being torn inside her and she were dying. But the pain

was immediately followed by a feeling of release from the oppressive

constraint that had prevented her taking part in life. The sight of her

father, the terribly wild cries of her mother that she heard through the

door, made her immediately forget herself and her own grief.



She ran to her father, but he feebly waved his arm, pointing to her

mothers door. Princess Mary, pale and with quivering chin, came out

from that room and taking Natsha by the arm said something to her.

Natsha neither saw nor heard her. She went in with rapid steps, pausing

at the door for an instant as if struggling with herself, and then ran

to her mother.



The countess was lying in an armchair in a strange and awkward position,

stretching out and beating her head against the wall. Snya and the

maids were holding her arms.



Natsha! Natsha!... cried the countess. Its not true... its not

true... Hes lying... Natsha! she shrieked, pushing those around her

away. Go away, all of you its not true! Killed!... ha, ha, ha!...

Its not true!



Natsha put one knee on the armchair, stooped over her mother, embraced

her, and with unexpected strength raised her, turned her face toward

herself, and clung to her.



Mummy!... darling!... I am here, my dearest Mummy, she kept on

whispering, not pausing an instant.



She did not let go of her mother but struggled tenderly with her,

demanded a pillow and hot water, and unfastened and tore open her

mothers dress.



My dearest darling... Mummy, my precious!... she whispered

incessantly, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling her own

irrepressible and streaming tears tickling her nose and cheeks.



The countess pressed her daughters hand, closed her eyes, and became

quiet for a moment. Suddenly she sat up with unaccustomed swiftness,

glanced vacantly around her, and seeing Natsha began to press her

daughters head with all her strength. Then she turned toward her

daughters face which was wincing with pain and gazed long at it.



Natsha, you love me? she said in a soft trustful whisper. Natsha,

you would not deceive me? Youll tell me the whole truth?



Natsha looked at her with eyes full of tears and in her look there was

nothing but love and an entreaty for forgiveness.



My darling Mummy! she repeated, straining all the power of her love to

find some way of taking on herself the excess of grief that crushed her

mother.



And again in a futile struggle with reality her mother, refusing to

believe that she could live when her beloved boy was killed in the bloom

of life, escaped from reality into a world of delirium.



Natsha did not remember how that day passed nor that night, nor the

next day and night. She did not sleep and did not leave her mother. Her

persevering and patient love seemed completely to surround the countess

every moment, not explaining or consoling, but recalling her to life.



During the third night the countess kept very quiet for a few minutes,

and Natsha rested her head on the arm of her chair and closed her eyes,

but opened them again on hearing the bedstead creak. The countess was

sitting up in bed and speaking softly.



How glad I am you have come. You are tired. Wont you have some tea?

Natsha went up to her. You have improved in looks and grown more

manly, continued the countess, taking her daughters hand.



Mamma! What are you saying...



Natsha, he is no more, no more!



And embracing her daughter, the countess began to weep for the first

time.











CHAPTER III



Princess Mary postponed her departure. Snya and the count tried to

replace Natsha but could not. They saw that she alone was able to

restrain her mother from unreasoning despair. For three weeks Natsha

remained constantly at her mothers side, sleeping on a lounge chair

in her room, making her eat and drink, and talking to her incessantly

because the mere sound of her tender, caressing tones soothed her

mother.



The mothers wounded spirit could not heal. Ptyas death had torn from

her half her life. When the news of Ptyas death had come she had been

a fresh and vigorous woman of fifty, but a month later she left her room

a listless old woman taking no interest in life. But the same blow that

almost killed the countess, this second blow, restored Natsha to life.



A spiritual wound produced by a rending of the spiritual body is like

a physical wound and, strange as it may seem, just as a deep wound may

heal and its edges join, physical and spiritual wounds alike can yet

heal completely only as the result of a vital force from within.



Natshas wound healed in that way. She thought her life was ended,

but her love for her mother unexpectedly showed her that the essence of

lifelovewas still active within her. Love awoke and so did life.



Prince Andrews last days had bound Princess Mary and Natsha together

this new sorrow brought them still closer to one another. Princess Mary

put off her departure, and for three weeks looked after Natsha as if

she had been a sick child. The last weeks passed in her mothers bedroom

had strained Natshas physical strength.



One afternoon noticing Natsha shivering with fever, Princess Mary took

her to her own room and made her lie down on the bed. Natsha lay down,

but when Princess Mary had drawn the blinds and was going away she

called her back.



I dont want to sleep, Mary, sit by me a little.



You are tiredtry 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.



Natsha lay on the bed and in the semidarkness of the room scanned

Princess Marys face.



Is she like him? thought Natsha. Yes, like and yet not like. But she

is quite original, strange, new, and unknown. And she loves me. What

is in her heart? All that is good. But how? What is her mind like? What

does she think about me? Yes, she is splendid!



Mary, she said timidly, drawing Princess Marys hand to herself,

Mary, you mustnt think me wicked. No? Mary darling, how I love you!

Let us be quite, quite friends.



And Natsha, embracing her, began kissing her face and hands, making

Princess Mary feel shy but happy by this demonstration of her feelings.



From that day a tender and passionate friendship such as exists only

between women was established between Princess Mary and Natsha. They

were continually kissing and saying tender things to one another and

spent most of their time together. When one went out the other became

restless and hastened to rejoin her. Together they felt more in harmony

with one another than either of them felt with herself when alone. A

feeling stronger than friendship sprang up between them an exclusive

feeling of life being possible only in each others presence.



Sometimes they were silent for hours sometimes after they were already

in bed they would begin talking and go on till morning. They spoke most

of what was long past. Princess Mary spoke of her childhood, of her

mother, her father, and her daydreams and Natsha, who with a passive

lack of understanding had formerly turned away from that life of

devotion, submission, and the poetry of Christian self-sacrifice, now

feeling herself bound to Princess Mary by affection, learned to love her

past too and to understand a side of life previously incomprehensible to

her. She did not think of applying submission and self-abnegation to her

own life, for she was accustomed to seek other joys, but she understood

and loved in another those previously incomprehensible virtues. For

Princess Mary, listening to Natshas tales of childhood and early

youth, there also opened out a new and hitherto uncomprehended side of

life belief in life and its enjoyment.



Just as before, they never mentioned him so as not to lower (as they

thought) their exalted feelings by words but this silence about him had

the effect of making them gradually begin to forget him without being

conscious of it.



Natsha had grown thin and pale and physically so weak that they all

talked about her health, and this pleased her. But sometimes she was

suddenly overcome by fear not only of death but of sickness, weakness,

and loss of good looks, and involuntarily she examined her bare arm

carefully, surprised at its thinness, and in the morning noticed her

drawn and, as it seemed to her, piteous face in her glass. It seemed to

her that things must be so, and yet it was dreadfully sad.



One day she went quickly upstairs and found herself out of breath.

Unconsciously she immediately invented a reason for going down, and

then, testing her strength, ran upstairs again, observing the result.



Another time when she called Dunysha her voice trembled, so she called

againthough she could hear Dunysha comingcalled her in the deep chest

tones in which she had been wont to sing, and listened attentively to

herself.



She did not know and would not have believed it, but beneath the layer

of slime that covered her soul and seemed to her impenetrable, delicate

young shoots of grass were already sprouting, which taking root would so

cover with their living verdure the grief that weighed her down that

it would soon no longer be seen or noticed. The wound had begun to heal

from within.



At the end of January Princess Mary left for Moscow, and the count

insisted on Natshas going with her to consult the doctors.











CHAPTER IV



After the encounter at Vyzma, where Kutzov had been unable to hold

back his troops in their anxiety to overwhelm and cut off the enemy and

so on, the farther movement of the fleeing French, and of the Russians

who pursued them, continued as far as Krsnoe without a battle. The

flight was so rapid that the Russian army pursuing the French could

not keep up with them cavalry and artillery horses broke down, and the

information received of the movements of the French was never reliable.



The men in the Russian army were so worn out by this continuous marching

at the rate of twenty-seven miles a day that they could not go any

faster.



To realize the degree of exhaustion of the Russian army it is only

necessary to grasp clearly the meaning of the fact that, while not

losing more than five thousand killed and wounded after Tartino and

less than a hundred prisoners, the Russian army which left that place a

hundred thousand strong reached Krsnoe with only fifty thousand.



The rapidity of the Russian pursuit was just as destructive to our army

as the flight of the French was to theirs. The only difference was that

the Russian army moved voluntarily, with no such threat of destruction

as hung over the French, and that the sick Frenchmen were left behind

in enemy hands while the sick Russians left behind were among their

own people. The chief cause of the wastage of Napoleons army was

the rapidity of its movement, and a convincing proof of this is the

corresponding decrease of the Russian army.



Kutzov as far as was in his power, instead of trying to check the

movement of the French as was desired in Petersburg and by the Russian

army generals, directed his whole activity here, as he had done at

Tartino and Vyzma, to hastening it on while easing the movement of our

army.



But besides this, since the exhaustion and enormous diminution of the

army caused by the rapidity of the advance had become evident, another

reason for slackening the pace and delaying presented itself to Kutzov.

The aim of the Russian army was to pursue the French. The road the

French would take was unknown, and so the closer our troops trod on

their heels the greater distance they had to cover. Only by following

at some distance could one cut across the zigzag path of the French. All

the artful maneuvers suggested by our generals meant fresh movements of

the army and a lengthening of its marches, whereas the only reasonable

aim was to shorten those marches. To that end Kutzovs activity was

directed during the whole campaign from Moscow to Vlnanot casually or

intermittently but so consistently that he never once deviated from it.



Kutzov felt and knewnot by reasoning or science but with the whole of

his Russian beingwhat every Russian soldier felt that the French were

beaten, that the enemy was flying and must be driven out but at the

same time he like the soldiers realized all the hardship of this march,

the rapidity of which was unparalleled for such a time of the year.



But to the generals, especially the foreign ones in the Russian army,

who wished to distinguish themselves, to astonish somebody, and for some

reason to capture a king or a dukeit seemed that nowwhen any battle

must be horrible and senselesswas the very time to fight and conquer

somebody. Kutzov merely shrugged his shoulders when one after

another they presented projects of maneuvers to be made with those

soldiersill-shod, insufficiently clad, and half starvedwho within a

month and without fighting a battle had dwindled to half their number,

and who at the best if the flight continued would have to go a greater

distance than they had already traversed, before they reached the

frontier.



This longing to distinguish themselves, to maneuver, to overthrow, and

to cut off showed itself particularly whenever the Russians stumbled on

the French army.



So it was at Krsnoe, where they expected to find one of the three

French columns and stumbled instead on Napoleon himself with sixteen

thousand men. Despite all Kutzovs efforts to avoid that ruinous

encounter and to preserve his troops, the massacre of the broken mob

of French soldiers by worn-out Russians continued at Krsnoe for three

days.



Toll wrote a disposition The first column will march to so and so,

etc. And as usual nothing happened in accord with the disposition.

Prince Eugne of Wrttemberg fired from a hill over the French crowds

that were running past, and demanded reinforcements which did not

arrive. The French, avoiding the Russians, dispersed and hid themselves

in the forest by night, making their way round as best they could, and

continued their flight.



Milordovich, who said he did not want to know anything about the

commissariat affairs of his detachment, and could never be found when

he was wantedthat chevalier sans peur et sans reproche * as he styled

himselfwho was fond of parleys with the French, sent envoys demanding

their surrender, wasted time, and did not do what he was ordered to do.



    * Knight without fear and without reproach.



I give you that column, lads, he said, riding up to the troops and

pointing out the French to the cavalry.



And the cavalry, with spurs and sabers urging on horses that could

scarcely move, trotted with much effort to the column presented

to themthat is to say, to a crowd of Frenchmen stark with cold,

frost-bitten, and starvingand the column that had been presented to

them threw down its arms and surrendered as it had long been anxious to

do.



At Krsnoe they took twenty-six thousand prisoners, several hundred

cannon, and a stick called a marshals staff, and disputed as to who

had distinguished himself and were pleased with their achievementthough

they much regretted not having taken Napoleon, or at least a marshal or

a hero of some sort, and reproached one another and especially Kutzov

for having failed to do so.



These men, carried away by their passions, were but blind tools of the

most melancholy law of necessity, but considered themselves heroes and

imagined that they were accomplishing a most noble and honorable

deed. They blamed Kutzov and said that from the very beginning of the

campaign he had prevented their vanquishing Napoleon, that he thought of

nothing but satisfying his passions and would not advance from the Linen

Factories because he was comfortable there, that at Krsnoe he checked

the advance because on learning that Napoleon was there he had quite

lost his head, and that it was probable that he had an understanding

with Napoleon and had been bribed by him, and so on, and so on.



Not only did his contemporaries, carried away by their passions, talk

in this way, but posterity and history have acclaimed Napoleon as grand,

while Kutzov is described by foreigners as a crafty, dissolute, weak

old courtier, and by Russians as something indefinitea sort of puppet

useful only because he had a Russian name.











CHAPTER V



In 1812 and 1813 Kutzov was openly accused of blundering. The Emperor

was dissatisfied with him. And in a history recently written by order

of the Highest Authorities it is said that Kutzov was a cunning court

liar, frightened of the name of Napoleon, and that by his blunders at

Krsnoe and the Berzina he deprived the Russian army of the glory of

complete victory over the French. *



     * History of the year 1812. The character of Kutzov and

     reflections on the unsatisfactory results of the battles at

     Krsnoe, by Bogdnovich.



Such is the fate not of great men (grands hommes) whom the Russian mind

does not acknowledge, but of those rare and always solitary individuals

who, discerning the will of Providence, submit their personal will to

it. The hatred and contempt of the crowd punish such men for discerning

the higher laws.



For Russian historians, strange and terrible to say, Napoleonthat most

insignificant tool of history who never anywhere, even in exile, showed

human dignityNapoleon is the object of adulation and enthusiasm he

is grand. But Kutzovthe man who from the beginning to the end of his

activity in 1812, never once swerving by word or deed from Borodin to

Vlna, presented an example exceptional in history of self-sacrifice

and a present consciousness of the future importance of what was

happeningKutzov seems to them something indefinite and pitiful, and

when speaking of him and of the year 1812 they always seem a little

ashamed.



And yet it is difficult to imagine an historical character whose

activity was so unswervingly directed to a single aim and it would be

difficult to imagine any aim more worthy or more consonant with the

will of the whole people. Still more difficult would it be to find

an instance in history of the aim of an historical personage being so

completely accomplished as that to which all Kutzovs efforts were

directed in 1812.



Kutzov never talked of forty centuries looking down from the

Pyramids, of the sacrifices he offered for the fatherland, or of

what he intended to accomplish or had accomplished in general he

said nothing about himself, adopted no pose, always appeared to be

the simplest and most ordinary of men, and said the simplest and most

ordinary things. He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame de

Stal, read novels, liked the society of pretty women, jested with

generals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted those who tried

to prove anything to him. When Count Rostopchn at the Yaza bridge

galloped up to Kutzov with personal reproaches for having caused the

destruction of Moscow, and said How was it you promised not to abandon

Moscow without a battle? Kutzov replied And I shall not abandon

Moscow without a battle, though Moscow was then already abandoned. When

Arakchev, coming to him from the Emperor, said that Ermlov ought to

be appointed chief of the artillery, Kutzov replied Yes, I was

just saying so myself, though a moment before he had said quite the

contrary. What did it matter to himwho then alone amid a senseless

crowd understood the whole tremendous significance of what was

happeningwhat did it matter to him whether Rostopchn attributed the

calamities of Moscow to him or to himself? Still less could it matter to

him who was appointed chief of the artillery.



Not merely in these cases but continually did that old manwho by

experience of life had reached the conviction that thoughts and the

words serving as their expression are not what move peopleuse quite

meaningless words that happened to enter his head.



But that man, so heedless of his words, did not once during the whole

time of his activity utter one word inconsistent with the single aim

toward which he moved throughout the whole war. Obviously in spite of

himself, in very diverse circumstances, he repeatedly expressed his real

thoughts with the bitter conviction that he would not be understood.

Beginning with the battle of Borodin, from which time his disagreement

with those about him began, he alone said that the battle of Borodin

was a victory, and repeated this both verbally and in his dispatches

and reports up to the time of his death. He alone said that the loss of

Moscow is not the loss of Russia. In reply to Lauristons proposal of

peace, he said There can be no peace, for such is the peoples will. He

alone during the retreat of the French said that all our maneuvers are

useless, everything is being accomplished of itself better than we could

desire that the enemy must be offered a golden bridge that neither

the Tartino, the Vyzma, nor the Krsnoe battles were necessary that

we must keep some force to reach the frontier with, and that he would

not sacrifice a single Russian for ten Frenchmen.



And this courtier, as he is described to us, who lies to Arakchev

to please the Emperor, he aloneincurring thereby the Emperors

displeasuresaid in Vlna that to carry the war beyond the frontier is

useless and harmful.



Nor do words alone prove that only he understood the meaning of the

events. His actionswithout the smallest deviationwere all directed

to one and the same threefold end (1) to brace all his strength for

conflict with the French, (2) to defeat them, and (3) to drive them out

of Russia, minimizing as far as possible the sufferings of our people

and of our army.



This procrastinator Kutzov, whose motto was Patience and Time,

this enemy of decisive action, gave battle at Borodin, investing the

preparations for it with unparalleled solemnity. This Kutzov who before

the battle of Austerlitz began said that it would be lost, he alone, in

contradiction to everyone else, declared till his death that Borodin

was a victory, despite the assurance of generals that the battle was

lost and despite the fact that for an army to have to retire after

winning a battle was unprecedented. He alone during the whole retreat

insisted that battles, which were useless then, should not be fought,

and that a new war should not be begun nor the frontiers of Russia

crossed.



It is easy now to understand the significance of these eventsif only we

abstain from attributing to the activity of the mass aims that existed

only in the heads of a dozen individualsfor the events and results now

lie before us.



But how did that old man, alone, in opposition to the general opinion,

so truly discern the importance of the peoples view of the events that

in all his activity he was never once untrue to it?



The source of that extraordinary power of penetrating the meaning of the

events then occuring lay in the national feeling which he possessed in

full purity and strength.



Only the recognition of the fact that he possessed this feeling caused

the people in so strange a manner, contrary to the Tsars wish, to

select himan old man in disfavorto be their representative in the

national war. And only that feeling placed him on that highest human

pedestal from which he, the commander in chief, devoted all his powers

not to slaying and destroying men but to saving and showing pity on

them.



That simple, modest, and therefore truly great, figure could not be

cast in the false mold of a European herothe supposed ruler of menthat

history has invented.



To a lackey no man can be great, for a lackey has his own conception of

greatness.











CHAPTER VI



The fifth of November was the first day of what is called the battle of

Krsnoe. Toward eveningafter much disputing and many mistakes made by

generals who did not go to their proper places, and after adjutants had

been sent about with counterorderswhen it had become plain that the

enemy was everywhere in flight and that there could and would be no

battle, Kutzov left Krsnoe and went to Dbroe whither his headquarters

had that day been transferred.



The day was clear and frosty. Kutzov rode to Dbroe on his plump little

white horse, followed by an enormous suite of discontented generals who

whispered among themselves behind his back. All along the road groups of

French prisoners captured that day (there were seven thousand of them)

were crowding to warm themselves at campfires. Near Dbroe an immense

crowd of tattered prisoners, buzzing with talk and wrapped and bandaged

in anything they had been able to get hold of, were standing in the road

beside a long row of unharnessed French guns. At the approach of the

commander in chief the buzz of talk ceased and all eyes were fixed on

Kutzov who, wearing a white cap with a red band and a padded overcoat

that bulged on his round shoulders, moved slowly along the road on his

white horse. One of the generals was reporting to him where the guns and

prisoners had been captured.



Kutzov seemed preoccupied and did not listen to what the general was

saying. He screwed up his eyes with a dissatisfied look as he gazed

attentively and fixedly at these prisoners, who presented a specially

wretched appearance. Most of them were disfigured by frost-bitten noses

and cheeks, and nearly all had red, swollen and festering eyes.



One group of the French stood close to the road, and two of them, one of

whom had his face covered with sores, were tearing a piece of raw

flesh with their hands. There was something horrible and bestial in

the fleeting glance they threw at the riders and in the malevolent

expression with which, after a glance at Kutzov, the soldier with the

sores immediately turned away and went on with what he was doing.



Kutzov looked long and intently at these two soldiers. He puckered his

face, screwed up his eyes, and pensively swayed his head. At another

spot he noticed a Russian soldier laughingly patting a Frenchman on the

shoulder, saying something to him in a friendly manner, and Kutzov with

the same expression on his face again swayed his head.



What were you saying? he asked the general, who continuing his report

directed the commander in chiefs attention to some standards captured

from the French and standing in front of the Preobrazhnsk regiment.



Ah, the standards! said Kutzov, evidently detaching himself with

difficulty from the thoughts that preoccupied him.



He looked about him absently. Thousands of eyes were looking at him from

all sides awaiting a word from him.



He stopped in front of the Preobrazhnsk regiment, sighed deeply, and

closed his eyes. One of his suite beckoned to the soldiers carrying

the standards to advance and surround the commander in chief with them.

Kutzov was silent for a few seconds and then, submitting with evident

reluctance to the duty imposed by his position, raised his head

and began to speak. A throng of officers surrounded him. He looked

attentively around at the circle of officers, recognizing several of

them.



I thank you all! he said, addressing the soldiers and then again the

officers. In the stillness around him his slowly uttered words were

distinctly heard. I thank you all for your hard and faithful service.

The victory is complete and Russia will not forget you! Honor to you

forever.



He paused and looked around.



Lower its head, lower it! he said to a soldier who had accidentally

lowered the French eagle he was holding before the Preobrazhnsk

standards. Lower, lower, thats it. Hurrah lads! he added, addressing

the men with a rapid movement of his chin.



Hur-r-rah! roared thousands of voices.



While the soldiers were shouting Kutzov leaned forward in his saddle

and bowed his head, and his eye lit up with a mild and apparently ironic

gleam.



You see, brothers... said he when the shouts had ceased... and all at

once his voice and the expression of his face changed. It was no longer

the commander in chief speaking but an ordinary old man who wanted to

tell his comrades something very important.



There was a stir among the throng of officers and in the ranks of the

soldiers, who moved that they might hear better what he was going to

say.



You see, brothers, I know its hard for you, but it cant be helped!

Bear up it wont be for long now! Well see our visitors off and then

well rest. The Tsar wont forget your service. It is hard for you, but

still you are at home while theyyou see what they have come to, said

he, pointing to the prisoners. Worse off than our poorest beggars.

While they were strong we didnt spare ourselves, but now we may even

pity them. They are human beings too. Isnt it so, lads?



He looked around, and in the direct, respectful, wondering gaze fixed

upon him he read sympathy with what he had said. His face grew brighter

and brighter with an old mans mild smile, which drew the corners of his

lips and eyes into a cluster of wrinkles. He ceased speaking and bowed

his head as if in perplexity.



But after all who asked them here? Serves them right, the bloody

bastards! he cried, suddenly lifting his head.



And flourishing his whip he rode off at a gallop for the first time

during the whole campaign, and left the broken ranks of the soldiers

laughing joyfully and shouting Hurrah!



Kutzovs words were hardly understood by the troops. No one could have

repeated the field marshals address, begun solemnly and then changing

into an old mans simplehearted talk but the hearty sincerity of that

speech, the feeling of majestic triumph combined with pity for the foe

and consciousness of the justice of our cause, exactly expressed by that

old mans good-natured expletives, was not merely understood but lay

in the soul of every soldier and found expression in their joyous and

long-sustained shouts. Afterwards when one of the generals addressed

Kutzov asking whether he wished his calche to be sent for, Kutzov in

answering unexpectedly gave a sob, being evidently greatly moved.











CHAPTER VII



When the troops reached their nights halting place on the eighth of

November, the last day of the Krsnoe battles, it was already growing

dusk. All day it had been calm and frosty with occasional lightly

falling snow and toward evening it began to clear. Through the falling

snow a purple-black and starry sky showed itself and the frost grew

keener.



An infantry regiment which had left Tartino three thousand strong but

now numbered only nine hundred was one of the first to arrive that night

at its halting placea village on the highroad. The quartermasters who

met the regiment announced that all the huts were full of sick and dead

Frenchmen, cavalrymen, and members of the staff. There was only one hut

available for the regimental commander.



The commander rode up to his hut. The regiment passed through the

village and stacked its arms in front of the last huts.



Like some huge many-limbed animal, the regiment began to prepare its

lair and its food. One part of it dispersed and waded knee-deep

through the snow into a birch forest to the right of the village, and

immediately the sound of axes and swords, the crashing of branches,

and merry voices could be heard from there. Another section amid the

regimental wagons and horses which were standing in a group was busy

getting out caldrons and rye biscuit, and feeding the horses. A third

section scattered through the village arranging quarters for the staff

officers, carrying out the French corpses that were in the huts, and

dragging away boards, dry wood, and thatch from the roofs, for the

campfires, or wattle fences to serve for shelter.



Some fifteen men with merry shouts were shaking down the high wattle

wall of a shed, the roof of which had already been removed.



Now then, all togethershove! cried the voices, and the huge surface

of the wall, sprinkled with snow and creaking with frost, was seen

swaying in the gloom of the night. The lower stakes cracked more and

more and at last the wall fell, and with it the men who had been pushing

it. Loud, coarse laughter and joyous shouts ensued.



Now then, catch hold in twos! Hand up the lever! Thats it.... Where

are you shoving to?



Now, all together! But wait a moment, boys... With a song!



All stood silent, and a soft, pleasant velvety voice began to sing. At

the end of the third verse as the last note died away, twenty voices

roared out at once Oo-oo-oo-oo! Thats it. All together! Heave away,

boys!... but despite their united efforts the wattle hardly moved, and

in the silence that followed the heavy breathing of the men was audible.



Here, you of the Sixth Company! Devils that you are! Lend a hand...

will you? You may want us one of these days.



Some twenty men of the Sixth Company who were on their way into the

village joined the haulers, and the wattle wall, which was about

thirty-five feet long and seven feet high, moved forward along the

village street, swaying, pressing upon and cutting the shoulders of the

gasping men.



Get along... Falling? What are you stopping for? There now....



Merry senseless words of abuse flowed freely.



What are you up to? suddenly came the authoritative voice of a

sergeant major who came upon the men who were hauling their burden.

There are gentry here the general himself is in that hut, and you

foul-mouthed devils, you brutes, Ill give it to you! shouted he,

hitting the first man who came in his way a swinging blow on the back.

Cant you make less noise?



The men became silent. The soldier who had been struck groaned and wiped

his face, which had been scratched till it bled by his falling against

the wattle.



There, how that devil hits out! Hes made my face all bloody, said he

in a frightened whisper when the sergeant major had passed on.



Dont you like it? said a laughing voice, and moderating their tones

the men moved forward.



When they were out of the village they began talking again as loud as

before, interlarding their talk with the same aimless expletives.



In the hut which the men had passed, the chief officers had gathered and

were in animated talk over their tea about the events of the day and the

maneuvers suggested for tomorrow. It was proposed to make a flank march

to the left, cut off the Vice-King (Murat) and capture him.



By the time the soldiers had dragged the wattle fence to its place

the campfires were blazing on all sides ready for cooking, the wood

crackled, the snow was melting, and black shadows of soldiers flitted

to and fro all over the occupied space where the snow had been trodden

down.



Axes and choppers were plied all around. Everything was done without any

orders being given. Stores of wood were brought for the night, shelters

were rigged up for the officers, caldrons were being boiled, and muskets

and accouterments put in order.



The wattle wall the men had brought was set up in a semicircle by the

Eighth Company as a shelter from the north, propped up by musket rests,

and a campfire was built before it. They beat the tattoo, called the

roll, had supper, and settled down round the fires for the nightsome

repairing their footgear, some smoking pipes, and some stripping

themselves naked to steam the lice out of their shirts.











CHAPTER VIII



One would have thought that under the almost incredibly wretched

conditions the Russian soldiers were in at that timelacking warm boots

and sheepskin coats, without a roof over their heads, in the snow

with eighteen degrees of frost, and without even full rations (the

commissariat did not always keep up with the troops)they would have

presented a very sad and depressing spectacle.



On the contrary, the army had never under the best material conditions

presented a more cheerful and animated aspect. This was because all who

began to grow depressed or who lost strength were sifted out of the army

day by day. All the physically or morally weak had long since been left

behind and only the flower of the armyphysically and mentallyremained.



More men collected behind the wattle fence of the Eighth Company than

anywhere else. Two sergeants major were sitting with them and their

campfire blazed brighter than others. For leave to sit by their wattle

they demanded contributions of fuel.



Eh, Makev! What has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are you lost or

have the wolves eaten you? Fetch some more wood! shouted a red-haired

and red-faced man, screwing up his eyes and blinking because of the

smoke but not moving back from the fire. And you, Jackdaw, go and fetch

some wood! said he to another soldier.



This red-haired man was neither a sergeant nor a corporal, but being

robust he ordered about those weaker than himself. The soldier

they called Jackdaw, a thin little fellow with a sharp nose, rose

obediently and was about to go but at that instant there came into

the light of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldier

carrying a load of wood.



Bring it herethats fine!



They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it with

their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats, making

the flames hiss and crackle. The men drew nearer and lit their pipes.

The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood, setting his arms

akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly and deftly on the spot

where he stood.



Mother! The dew is cold but clear.... Its well that Im a

musketeer... he sang, pretending to hiccough after each syllable.



Look out, your soles will fly off! shouted the red-haired man,

noticing that the sole of the dancers boot was hanging loose. What a

fellow you are for dancing!



The dancer stopped, pulled off the loose piece of leather, and threw it

on the fire.



Right enough, friend, said he, and, having sat down, took out of his

knapsack a scrap of blue French cloth, and wrapped it round his foot.

Its the steam that spoils them, he added, stretching out his feet

toward the fire.



Theyll soon be issuing us new ones. They say that when weve finished

hammering them, were to receive double kits!



And that son of a bitch Petrv has lagged behind after all, it seems,

said one sergeant major.



Ive had an eye on him this long while, said the other.



Well, hes a poor sort of soldier....



But in the Third Company they say nine men were missing yesterday.



Yes, its all very well, but when a mans feet are frozen how can he

walk?



Eh? Dont talk nonsense! said a sergeant major.



Do you want to be doing the same? said an old soldier, turning

reproachfully to the man who had spoken of frozen feet.



Well, you know, said the sharp-nosed man they called Jackdaw in a

squeaky and unsteady voice, raising himself at the other side of the

fire, a plump man gets thin, but for a thin one its death. Take

me, now! Ive got no strength left, he added, with sudden resolution

turning to the sergeant major. Tell them to send me to hospital Im

aching all over anyway I shant be able to keep up.



Thatll do, thatll do! replied the sergeant major quietly.



The soldier said no more and the talk went on.



What a lot of those Frenchies were taken today, and the fact is that

not one of them had what you might call real boots on, said a soldier,

starting a new theme. They were no more than make-believes.



The Cossacks have taken their boots. They were clearing the hut for the

colonel and carried them out. It was pitiful to see them, boys, put in

the dancer. As they turned them over one seemed still alive and, would

you believe it, he jabbered something in their lingo.



But theyre a clean folk, lads, the first man went on he was

whiteas white as birchbarkand some of them are such fine fellows, you

might think they were nobles.



Well, what do you think? They make soldiers of all classes there.



But they dont understand our talk at all, said the dancer with a

puzzled smile. I asked him whose subject he was, and he jabbered in his

own way. A queer lot!



But its strange, friends, continued the man who had wondered at their

whiteness, the peasants at Mozhysk were saying that when they began

burying the deadwhere the battle was you knowwell, those dead had been

lying there for nearly a month, and says the peasant, they lie as white

as paper, clean, and not as much smell as a puff of powder smoke.



Was it from the cold? asked someone.



Youre a clever fellow! From the cold indeed! Why, it was hot. If it

had been from the cold, ours would not have rotted either. But, he

says, go up to ours and they are all rotten and maggoty. So, he says,

we tie our faces up with kerchiefs and turn our heads away as we drag

them off we can hardly do it. But theirs, he says, are white as paper

and not so much smell as a whiff of gunpowder.



All were silent.



It must be from their food, said the sergeant major. They used to

gobble the same food as the gentry.



No one contradicted him.



That peasant near Mozhysk where the battle was said the men were all

called up from ten villages around and they carted for twenty days and

still didnt finish carting the dead away. And as for the wolves, he

says...



That was a real battle, said an old soldier. Its the only one worth

remembering but since that... its only been tormenting folk.



And do you know, Daddy, the day before yesterday we ran at them and,

my word, they didnt let us get near before they just threw down their

muskets and went on their knees. Pardon! they say. Thats only one

case. They say Pltov took Poleon himself twice. But he didnt know

the right charm. He catches him and catches himno good! He turns into

a bird in his hands and flies away. And theres no way of killing him

either.



Youre a first-class liar, Kiselv, when I come to look at you!



Liar, indeed! Its the real truth.



If he fell into my hands, when Id caught him Id bury him in the

ground with an aspen stake to fix him down. What a lot of men hes

ruined!



Well, anyhow were going to end it. He wont come here again, remarked

the old soldier, yawning.



The conversation flagged, and the soldiers began settling down to sleep.



Look at the stars. Its wonderful how they shine! You would think the

women had spread out their linen, said one of the men, gazing with

admiration at the Milky Way.



Thats a sign of a good harvest next year.



We shall want some more wood.



You warm your back and your belly gets frozen. Thats queer.



O Lord!



What are you pushing for? Is the fire only for you? Look how hes

sprawling!



In the silence that ensued, the snoring of those who had fallen asleep

could be heard. Others turned over and warmed themselves, now and again

exchanging a few words. From a campfire a hundred paces off came a sound

of general, merry laughter.



Hark at them roaring there in the Fifth Company! said one of the

soldiers, and what a lot of them there are!



One of the men got up and went over to the Fifth Company.



Theyre having such fun, said he, coming back. Two Frenchies have

turned up. Ones quite frozen and the others an awful swaggerer. Hes

singing songs....



Oh, Ill go across and have a look....



And several of the men went over to the Fifth Company.











CHAPTER IX



The fifth company was bivouacking at the very edge of the forest. A huge

campfire was blazing brightly in the midst of the snow, lighting up the

branches of trees heavy with hoarfrost.



About midnight they heard the sound of steps in the snow of the forest,

and the crackling of dry branches.



A bear, lads, said one of the men.



They all raised their heads to listen, and out of the forest into the

bright firelight stepped two strangely clad human figures clinging to

one another.



These were two Frenchmen who had been hiding in the forest. They came up

to the fire, hoarsely uttering something in a language our soldiers did

not understand. One was taller than the other he wore an officers hat

and seemed quite exhausted. On approaching the fire he had been going to

sit down, but fell. The other, a short sturdy soldier with a shawl

tied round his head, was stronger. He raised his companion and said

something, pointing to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen,

spread a greatcoat on the ground for the sick man, and brought some

buckwheat porridge and vodka for both of them.



The exhausted French officer was Ramballe and the man with his head

wrapped in the shawl was Morel, his orderly.



When Morel had drunk some vodka and finished his bowl of porridge he

suddenly became unnaturally merry and chattered incessantly to the

soldiers, who could not understand him. Ramballe refused food and

resting his head on his elbow lay silent beside the campfire, looking at

the Russian soldiers with red and vacant eyes. Occasionally he emitted

a long-drawn groan and then again became silent. Morel, pointing to his

shoulders, tried to impress on the soldiers the fact that Ramballe was

an officer and ought to be warmed. A Russian officer who had come up

to the fire sent to ask his colonel whether he would not take a French

officer into his hut to warm him, and when the messenger returned and

said that the colonel wished the officer to be brought to him, Ramballe

was told to go. He rose and tried to walk, but staggered and would have

fallen had not a soldier standing by held him up.



You wont do it again, eh? said one of the soldiers, winking and

turning mockingly to Ramballe.



Oh, you fool! Why talk rubbish, lout that you area real peasant! came

rebukes from all sides addressed to the jesting soldier.



They surrounded Ramballe, lifted him on the crossed arms of two

soldiers, and carried him to the hut. Ramballe put his arms around their

necks while they carried him and began wailing plaintively



Oh, you fine fellows, my kind, kind friends! These are men! Oh, my

brave, kind friends, and he leaned his head against the shoulder of one

of the men like a child.



Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best place by the fire, surrounded by

the soldiers.



Morel, a short sturdy Frenchman with inflamed and streaming eyes, was

wearing a womans cloak and had a shawl tied woman fashion round his

head over his cap. He was evidently tipsy, and was singing a French song

in a hoarse broken voice, with an arm thrown round the nearest soldier.

The soldiers simply held their sides as they watched him.



Now then, now then, teach us how it goes! Ill soon pick it up. How is

it? said the mana singer and a wagwhom Morel was embracing.



Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi valiant! sang Morel, winking. Ce

diable  quatre... *



     * Long live Henry the Fourth, that valiant king! That rowdy

     devil.





Vivarika! Vif-seruvaru! Sedyablyaka! repeated the soldier, flourishing

his arm and really catching the tune.



Bravo! Ha, ha, ha! rose their rough, joyous laughter from all sides.



Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too.



Well, go on, go on!



    Qui eut le triple talent,

    De boire, de battre,

    Et dtre 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, Zaletev!



Ke... Zaletev, brought out with effort ke-e-e-e, he drawled,

laboriously pursing his lips, le-trip-ta-la-de-bu-de-ba, e

de-tra-va-ga-la he sang.



Fine! Just like the Frenchie! Oh, ho ho! Do you want some more to eat?



Give him some porridge it takes a long time to get filled up after

starving.



They gave him some more porridge and Morel with a laugh set to work on

his third bowl. All the young soldiers smiled gaily as they watched him.

The older men, who thought it undignified to amuse themselves with such

nonsense, continued to lie at the opposite side of the fire, but one

would occasionally raise himself on an elbow and glance at Morel with a

smile.



They are men too, said one of them as he wrapped himself up in his

coat. Even wormwood grows on its own root.



O Lord, O Lord! How starry it is! Tremendous! That means a hard

frost....



They all grew silent. The stars, as if knowing that no one was looking

at them, began to disport themselves in the dark sky now flaring

up, now vanishing, now trembling, they were busy whispering something

gladsome and mysterious to one another.











CHAPTER X



The French army melted away at the uniform rate of a mathematical

progression and that crossing of the Berzina about which so much has

been written was only one intermediate stage in its destruction, and

not at all the decisive episode of the campaign. If so much has been

and still is written about the Berzina, on the French side this is only

because at the broken bridge across that river the calamities their army

had been previously enduring were suddenly concentrated at one moment

into a tragic spectacle that remained in every memory, and on the

Russian side merely because in Petersburgfar from the seat of wara

plan (again one of Pfuels) had been devised to catch Napoleon in a

strategic trap at the Berzina River. Everyone assured himself that all

would happen according to plan, and therefore insisted that it was just

the crossing of the Berzina that destroyed the French army. In reality

the results of the crossing were much less disastrous to the Frenchin

guns and men lostthan Krsnoe had been, as the figures show.



The sole importance of the crossing of the Berzina lies in the fact

that it plainly and indubitably proved the fallacy of all the plans for

cutting off the enemys retreat and the soundness of the only possible

line of actionthe one Kutzov and the general mass of the army

demandednamely, simply to follow the enemy up. The French crowd fled

at a continually increasing speed and all its energy was directed to

reaching its goal. It fled like a wounded animal and it was impossible

to block its path. This was shown not so much by the arrangements it

made for crossing as by what took place at the bridges. When the bridges

broke down, unarmed soldiers, people from Moscow and women with

children who were with the French transport, allcarried on by vis

inertipressed forward into boats and into the ice-covered water and

did not surrender.



That impulse was reasonable. The condition of fugitives and of pursuers

was equally bad. As long as they remained with their own people each

might hope for help from his fellows and the definite place he held

among them. But those who surrendered, while remaining in the same

pitiful plight, would be on a lower level to claim a share in the

necessities of life. The French did not need to be informed of the fact

that half the prisonerswith whom the Russians did not know what to

doperished of cold and hunger despite their captors desire to save

them they felt that it could not be otherwise. The most compassionate

Russian commanders, those favorable to the Frenchand even the Frenchmen

in the Russian servicecould do nothing for the prisoners. The French

perished from the conditions to which the Russian army was itself

exposed. It was impossible to take bread and clothes from our hungry and

indispensable soldiers to give to the French who, though not harmful, or

hated, or guilty, were simply unnecessary. Some Russians even did that,

but they were exceptions.



Certain destruction lay behind the French but in front there was hope.

Their ships had been burned, there was no salvation save in collective

flight, and on that the whole strength of the French was concentrated.



The farther they fled the more wretched became the plight of the

remnant, especially after the Berzina, on which (in consequence of the

Petersburg plan) special hopes had been placed by the Russians, and

the keener grew the passions of the Russian commanders, who blamed one

another and Kutzov most of all. Anticipation that the failure of

the Petersburg Berzina plan would be attributed to Kutzov led

to dissatisfaction, contempt, and ridicule, more and more strongly

expressed. The ridicule and contempt were of course expressed in a

respectful form, making it impossible for him to ask wherein he was

to blame. They did not talk seriously to him when reporting to him or

asking for his sanction they appeared to be fulfilling a regrettable

formality, but they winked behind his back and tried to mislead him at

every turn.



Because they could not understand him all these people assumed that

it was useless to talk to the old man that he would never grasp the

profundity of their plans, that he would answer with his phrases (which

they thought were mere phrases) about a golden bridge, about the

impossibility of crossing the frontier with a crowd of tatterdemalions,

and so forth. They had heard all that before. And all he saidthat it

was necessary to await provisions, or that the men had no bootswas so

simple, while what they proposed was so complicated and clever, that

it was evident that he was old and stupid and that they, though not in

power, were commanders of genius.



After the junction with the army of the brilliant admiral and Petersburg

hero Wittgenstein, this mood and the gossip of the staff reached their

maximum. Kutzov saw this and merely sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

Only once, after the affair of the Berzina, did he get angry and write

to Bennigsen (who reported separately to the Emperor) the following

letter



On account of your spells of ill health, will your excellency please

be so good as to set off for Kalga on receipt of this, and there await

further commands and appointments from His Imperial Majesty.



But after Bennigsens departure, the Grand Duke Tsarvich Constantine

Pvlovich joined the army. He had taken part in the beginning of the

campaign but had subsequently been removed from the army by Kutzov.

Now having come to the army, he informed Kutzov of the Emperors

displeasure at the poor success of our forces and the slowness of their

advance. The Emperor intended to join the army personally in a few days

time.



The old man, experienced in court as well as in military affairsthis

same Kutzov who in August had been chosen commander in chief

against the sovereigns wishes and who had removed the Grand Duke and

heir-apparent from the armywho on his own authority and contrary to the

Emperors will had decided on the abandonment of Moscow, now realized at

once that his day was over, that his part was played, and that the power

he was supposed to hold was no longer his. And he understood this not

merely from the attitude of the court. He saw on the one hand that the

military business in which he had played his part was ended and felt

that his mission was accomplished and at the same time he began to

be conscious of the physical weariness of his aged body and of the

necessity of physical rest.



On the twenty-ninth of November Kutzov entered Vlnahis dear Vlna

as he called it. Twice during his career Kutzov had been governor of

Vlna. In that wealthy town, which had not been injured, he found old

friends and associations, besides the comforts of life of which he had

so long been deprived. And he suddenly turned from the cares of army

and state and, as far as the passions that seethed around him allowed,

immersed himself in the quiet life to which he had formerly been

accustomed, as if all that was taking place and all that had still to be

done in the realm of history did not concern him at all.



Chichagv, one of the most zealous cutters-off and breakers-up, who

had first wanted to effect a diversion in Greece and then in Warsaw but

never wished to go where he was sent Chichagv, noted for the boldness

with which he spoke to the Emperor, and who considered Kutzov to be

under an obligation to him because when he was sent to make peace

with Turkey in 1811 independently of Kutzov, and found that peace had

already been concluded, he admitted to the Emperor that the merit of

securing that peace was really Kutzovs this Chichagv was the first

to meet Kutzov at the castle where the latter was to stay. In undress

naval uniform, with a dirk, and holding his cap under his arm, he handed

Kutzov a garrison report and the keys of the town. The contemptuously

respectful attitude of the younger men to the old man in his dotage was

expressed in the highest degree by the behavior of Chichagv, who knew

of the accusations that were being directed against Kutzov.



When speaking to Chichagv, Kutzov incidentally mentioned that the

vehicles packed with china that had been captured from him at Borsov

had been recovered and would be restored to him.



You mean to imply that I have nothing to eat out of.... On the

contrary, I can supply you with everything even if you want to give

dinner parties, warmly replied Chichagv, who tried by every word he

spoke to prove his own rectitude and therefore imagined Kutzov to be

animated by the same desire.



Kutzov, shrugging his shoulders, replied with his subtle penetrating

smile I meant merely to say what I said.



Contrary to the Emperors wish Kutzov detained the greater part of the

army at Vlna. Those about him said that he became extraordinarily slack

and physically feeble during his stay in that town. He attended to army

affairs reluctantly, left everything to his generals, and while awaiting

the Emperors arrival led a dissipated life.



Having left Petersburg on the seventh of December with his suiteCount

Tolsty, Prince Volknski, Arakchev, and othersthe Emperor reached

Vlna on the eleventh, and in his traveling sleigh drove straight to

the castle. In spite of the severe frost some hundred generals and staff

officers in full parade uniform stood in front of the castle, as well as

a guard of honor of the Semnov regiment.



A courier who galloped to the castle in advance, in a troyka with three

foam-flecked horses, shouted Coming! and Konovntsyn rushed into the

vestibule to inform Kutzov, who was waiting in the hall porters little

lodge.



A minute later the old mans large stout figure in full-dress uniform,

his chest covered with orders and a scarf drawn round his stomach,

waddled out into the porch. He put on his hat with its peaks to the

sides and, holding his gloves in his hand and walking with an effort

sideways down the steps to the level of the street, took in his hand the

report he had prepared for the Emperor.



There was running to and fro and whispering another troyka flew

furiously up, and then all eyes were turned on an approaching sleigh

in which the figures of the Emperor and Volknski could already be

descried.



From the habit of fifty years all this had a physically agitating effect

on the old general. He carefully and hastily felt himself all over,

readjusted his hat, and pulling himself together drew himself up and,

at the very moment when the Emperor, having alighted from the sleigh,

lifted his eyes to him, handed him the report and began speaking in his

smooth, ingratiating voice.



The Emperor with a rapid glance scanned Kutzov from head to foot,

frowned for an instant, but immediately mastering himself went up to the

old man, extended his arms and embraced him. And this embrace too, owing

to a long-standing impression related to his innermost feelings, had its

usual effect on Kutzov and he gave a sob.



The Emperor greeted the officers and the Semnov guard, and again

pressing the old mans hand went with him into the castle.



When alone with the field marshal the Emperor expressed his

dissatisfaction at the slowness of the pursuit and at the mistakes made

at Krsnoe and the Berzina, and informed him of his intentions for a

future campaign abroad. Kutzov made no rejoinder or remark. The same

submissive, expressionless look with which he had listened to the

Emperors commands on the field of Austerlitz seven years before settled

on his face now.



When Kutzov came out of the study and with lowered head was crossing

the ballroom with his heavy waddling gait, he was arrested by someones

voice saying



Your Serene Highness!



Kutzov raised his head and looked for a long while into the eyes of

Count Tolsty, who stood before him holding a silver salver on which lay

a small object. Kutzov seemed not to understand what was expected of

him.



Suddenly he seemed to remember a scarcely perceptible smile flashed

across his puffy face, and bowing low and respectfully he took the

object that lay on the salver. It was the Order of St. George of the

First Class.











CHAPTER XI



Next day the field marshal gave a dinner and ball which the Emperor

honored by his presence. Kutzov had received the Order of St. George

of the First Class and the Emperor showed him the highest honors, but

everyone knew of the imperial dissatisfaction with him. The proprieties

were observed and the Emperor was the first to set that example,

but everybody understood that the old man was blameworthy and

good-for-nothing. When Kutzov, conforming to a custom of Catherines

day, ordered the standards that had been captured to be lowered at the

Emperors feet on his entering the ballroom, the Emperor made a wry face

and muttered something in which some people caught the words, the old

comedian.



The Emperors displeasure with Kutzov was specially increased at Vlna

by the fact that Kutzov evidently could not or would not understand the

importance of the coming campaign.



When on the following morning the Emperor said to the officers assembled

about him You have not only saved Russia, you have saved Europe! they

all understood that the war was not ended.



Kutzov alone would not see this and openly expressed his opinion that

no fresh war could improve the position or add to the glory of Russia,

but could only spoil and lower the glorious position that Russia had

gained. He tried to prove to the Emperor the impossibility of levying

fresh troops, spoke of the hardships already endured by the people, of

the possibility of failure and so forth.



This being the field marshals frame of mind he was naturally regarded

as merely a hindrance and obstacle to the impending war.



To avoid unpleasant encounters with the old man, the natural method was

to do what had been done with him at Austerlitz and with Barclay at

the beginning of the Russian campaignto transfer the authority to the

Emperor himself, thus cutting the ground from under the commander in

chiefs feet without upsetting the old man by informing him of the

change.



With this object his staff was gradually reconstructed and its real

strength removed and transferred to the Emperor. Toll, Konovntsyn, and

Ermlov received fresh appointments. Everyone spoke loudly of the field

marshals great weakness and failing health.



His health had to be bad for his place to be taken away and given to

another. And in fact his health was poor.



So naturally, simply, and graduallyjust as he had come from Turkey to

the Treasury in Petersburg to recruit the militia, and then to the army

when he was needed therenow when his part was played out, Kutzovs

place was taken by a new and necessary performer.



The war of 1812, besides its national significance dear to every Russian

heart, was now to assume another, a European, significance.



The movement of peoples from west to east was to be succeeded by a

movement of peoples from east to west, and for this fresh war another

leader was necessary, having qualities and views differing from

Kutzovs and animated by different motives.



Alexander I was as necessary for the movement of the peoples from east

to west and for the refixing of national frontiers as Kutzov had been

for the salvation and glory of Russia.



Kutzov did not understand what Europe, the balance of power, or

Napoleon meant. He could not understand it. For the representative of

the Russian people, after the enemy had been destroyed and Russia had

been liberated and raised to the summit of her glory, there was nothing

left to do as a Russian. Nothing remained for the representative of the

national war but to die, and Kutzov died.











CHAPTER XII



As generally happens, Pierre did not feel the full effects of the

physical privation and strain he had suffered as prisoner until after

they were over. After his liberation he reached Orl, and on the third

day there, when preparing to go to Kiev, he fell ill and was laid up

for three months. He had what the doctors termed bilious fever. But

despite the fact that the doctors treated him, bled him, and gave him

medicines to drink, he recovered.



Scarcely any impression was left on Pierres mind by all that happened

to him from the time of his rescue till his illness. He remembered

only the dull gray weather now rainy and now snowy, internal physical

distress, and pains in his feet and side. He remembered a general

impression of the misfortunes and sufferings of people and of being

worried by the curiosity of officers and generals who questioned him, he

also remembered his difficulty in procuring a conveyance and horses, and

above all he remembered his incapacity to think and feel all that time.

On the day of his rescue he had seen the body of Ptya Rostv. That same

day he had learned that Prince Andrew, after surviving the battle of

Borodin for more than a month had recently died in the Rostvs house

at Yaroslvl, and Densov who told him this news also mentioned Hlnes

death, supposing that Pierre had heard of it long before. All this at

the time seemed merely strange to Pierre he felt he could not grasp its

significance. Just then he was only anxious to get away as quickly as

possible from places where people were killing one another, to some

peaceful refuge where he could recover himself, rest, and think over

all the strange new facts he had learned but on reaching Orl he

immediately fell ill. When he came to himself after his illness he saw

in attendance on him two of his servants, Ternty and Vska, who had

come from Moscow and also his cousin the eldest princess, who had been

living on his estate at Elts and hearing of his rescue and illness had

come to look after him.



It was only gradually during his convalescence that Pierre lost the

impressions he had become accustomed to during the last few months

and got used to the idea that no one would oblige him to go anywhere

tomorrow, that no one would deprive him of his warm bed, and that he

would be sure to get his dinner, tea, and supper. But for a long time in

his dreams he still saw himself in the conditions of captivity. In the

same way little by little he came to understand the news he had been

told after his rescue, about the death of Prince Andrew, the death of

his wife, and the destruction of the French.



A joyous feeling of freedomthat complete inalienable freedom natural

to man which he had first experienced at the first halt outside

Moscowfilled Pierres soul during his convalescence. He was surprised

to find that this inner freedom, which was independent of external

conditions, now had as it were an additional setting of external

liberty. He was alone in a strange town, without acquaintances. No one

demanded anything of him or sent him anywhere. He had all he wanted

the thought of his wife which had been a continual torment to him was no

longer there, since she was no more.



Oh, how good! How splendid! said he to himself when a cleanly laid

table was moved up to him with savory beef tea, or when he lay down for

the night on a soft clean bed, or when he remembered that the French had

gone and that his wife was no more. Oh, how good, how splendid!



And by old habit he asked himself the question Well, and what then?

What am I going to do? And he immediately gave himself the answer

Well, I shall live. Ah, how splendid!



The very question that had formerly tormented him, the thing he had

continually sought to findthe aim of lifeno longer existed for

him now. That search for the aim of life had not merely disappeared

temporarilyhe felt that it no longer existed for him and could not

present itself again. And this very absence of an aim gave him the

complete, joyous sense of freedom which constituted his happiness at

this time.



He could not see an aim, for he now had faithnot faith in any kind of

rule, or words, or ideas, but faith in an ever-living, ever-manifest

God. Formerly he had sought Him in aims he set himself. That search for

an aim had been simply a search for God, and suddenly in his captivity

he had learned not by words or reasoning but by direct feeling what his

nurse had told him long ago that God is here and everywhere. In his

captivity he had learned that in Karatev God was greater, more infinite

and unfathomable than in the Architect of the Universe recognized by the

Freemasons. He felt like a man who after straining his eyes to see into

the far distance finds what he sought at his very feet. All his life

he had looked over the heads of the men around him, when he should have

merely looked in front of him without straining his eyes.



In the past he had never been able to find that great inscrutable

infinite something. He had only felt that it must exist somewhere and

had looked for it. In everything near and comprehensible he had seen

only what was limited, petty, commonplace, and senseless. He had

equipped himself with a mental telescope and looked into remote space,

where petty worldliness hiding itself in misty distance had seemed to

him great and infinite merely because it was not clearly seen. And such

had European life, politics, Freemasonry, philosophy, and philanthropy

seemed to him. But even then, at moments of weakness as he had accounted

them, his mind had penetrated to those distances and he had there seen

the same pettiness, worldliness, and senselessness. Now, however, he

had learned to see the great, eternal, and infinite in everything, and

thereforeto see it and enjoy its contemplationhe naturally threw away

the telescope through which he had till now gazed over mens heads, and

gladly regarded the ever-changing, eternally great, unfathomable, and

infinite life around him. And the closer he looked the more tranquil and

happy he became. That dreadful question, What for? which had formerly

destroyed all his mental edifices, no longer existed for him. To that

question, What for? a simple answer was now always ready in his soul

Because there is a God, that God without whose will not one hair falls

from a mans head.











CHAPTER XIII



In external ways Pierre had hardly changed at all. In appearance he

was just what he used to be. As before he was absent-minded and seemed

occupied not with what was before his eyes but with something special

of his own. The difference between his former and present self was that

formerly when he did not grasp what lay before him or was said to

him, he had puckered his forehead painfully as if vainly seeking to

distinguish something at a distance. At present he still forgot what was

said to him and still did not see what was before his eyes, but he now

looked with a scarcely perceptible and seemingly ironic smile at what

was before him and listened to what was said, though evidently seeing

and hearing something quite different. Formerly he had appeared to be

a kindhearted but unhappy man, and so people had been inclined to avoid

him. Now a smile at the joy of life always played round his lips, and

sympathy for others shone in his eyes with a questioning look as to

whether they were as contented as he was, and people felt pleased by his

presence.



Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when he talked, and

seldom listened now he was seldom carried away in conversation and

knew how to listen so that people readily told him their most intimate

secrets.



The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had been particularly

hostile to him since she had felt herself under obligations to him after

the old counts death, now after staying a short time in Orlwhere she

had come intending to show Pierre that in spite of his ingratitude she

considered it her duty to nurse himfelt to her surprise and vexation

that she had become fond of him. Pierre did not in any way seek her

approval, he merely studied her with interest. Formerly she had felt

that he regarded her with indifference and irony, and so had shrunk into

herself as she did with others and had shown him only the combative side

of her nature but now he seemed to be trying to understand the most

intimate places of her heart, and, mistrustfully at first but afterwards

gratefully, she let him see the hidden, kindly sides of her character.



The most cunning man could not have crept into her confidence more

successfully, evoking memories of the best times of her youth and

showing sympathy with them. Yet Pierres cunning consisted simply in

finding pleasure in drawing out the human qualities of the embittered,

hard, and (in her own way) proud princess.



Yes, he is a very, very kind man when he is not under the influence of

bad people but of people such as myself, thought she.



His servants tooTernty and Vskain their own way noticed the change

that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he had become much

simpler. Ternty, when he had helped him undress and wished him good

night, often lingered with his masters boots in his hands and clothes

over his arm, to see whether he would not start a talk. And Pierre,

noticing that Ternty wanted a chat, generally kept him there.



Well, tell me... now, how did you get food? he would ask.



And Ternty would begin talking of the destruction of Moscow, and of

the old count, and would stand for a long time holding the clothes and

talking, or sometimes listening to Pierres stories, and then would go

out into the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his master and

affection for him.



The doctor who attended Pierre and visited him every day, though he

considered it his duty as a doctor to pose as a man whose every moment

was of value to suffering humanity, would sit for hours with Pierre

telling him his favorite anecdotes and his observations on the

characters of his patients in general, and especially of the ladies.



Its a pleasure to talk to a man like that he is not like our

provincials, he would say.



There were several prisoners from the French army in Orl, and the

doctor brought one of them, a young Italian, to see Pierre.



This officer began visiting Pierre, and the princess used to make fun of

the tenderness the Italian expressed for him.



The Italian seemed happy only when he could come to see Pierre, talk

with him, tell him about his past, his life at home, and his love,

and pour out to him his indignation against the French and especially

against Napoleon.



If all Russians are in the least like you, it is sacrilege to fight

such a nation, he said to Pierre. You, who have suffered so from the

French, do not even feel animosity toward them.



Pierre had evoked the passionate affection of the Italian merely by

evoking the best side of his nature and taking a pleasure in so doing.



During the last days of Pierres stay in Orl his old Masonic

acquaintance Count Willarski, who had introduced him to the lodge in

1807, came to see him. Willarski was married to a Russian heiress who

had a large estate in Orl province, and he occupied a temporary post in

the commissariat department in that town.



Hearing that Bezkhov was in Orl, Willarski, though they had never been

intimate, came to him with the professions of friendship and intimacy

that people who meet in a desert generally express for one another.

Willarski felt dull in Orl and was pleased to meet a man of his own

circle and, as he supposed, of similar interests.



But to his surprise Willarski soon noticed that Pierre had lagged much

behind the times, and had sunk, as he expressed it to himself, into

apathy and egotism.



You are letting yourself go, my dear fellow, he said.



But for all that Willarski found it pleasanter now than it had been

formerly to be with Pierre, and came to see him every day. To Pierre as

he looked at and listened to Willarski, it seemed strange to think that

he had been like that himself but a short time before.



Willarski was a married man with a family, busy with his family affairs,

his wifes affairs, and his official duties. He regarded all these

occupations as hindrances to life, and considered that they were all

contemptible because their aim was the welfare of himself and his

family. Military, administrative, political, and Masonic interests

continually absorbed his attention. And Pierre, without trying to

change the others 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 Pierres relations with Willarski, with the

princess, with the doctor, and with all the people he now met, which

gained for him the general good will. This was his acknowledgment of

the impossibility of changing a mans convictions by words, and his

recognition of the possibility of everyone thinking, feeling, and seeing

things each from his own point of view. This legitimate peculiarity of

each individual which used to excite and irritate Pierre now became a

basis of the sympathy he felt for, and the interest he took in, other

people. The difference, and sometimes complete contradiction, between

mens opinions and their lives, and between one man and another, pleased

him and drew from him an amused and gentle smile.



In practical matters Pierre unexpectedly felt within himself a center

of gravity he had previously lacked. Formerly all pecuniary questions,

especially requests for money to which, as an extremely wealthy man,

he was very exposed, produced in him a state of hopeless agitation and

perplexity. To give or not to give? he had asked himself. I have

it and he needs it. But someone else needs it still more. Who needs it

most? And perhaps they are both impostors? In the old days he had been

unable to find a way out of all these surmises and had given to all

who asked as long as he had anything to give. Formerly he had been in a

similar state of perplexity with regard to every question concerning his

property, when one person advised one thing and another something else.



Now to his surprise he found that he no longer felt either doubt or

perplexity about these questions. There was now within him a judge who

by some rule unknown to him decided what should or should not be done.



He was as indifferent as heretofore to money matters, but now he felt

certain of what ought and what ought not to be done. The first time he

had recourse to his new judge was when a French prisoner, a colonel,

came to him and, after talking a great deal about his exploits,

concluded by making what amounted to a demand that Pierre should give

him four thousand francs to send to his wife and children. Pierre

refused without the least difficulty or effort, and was afterwards

surprised how simple and easy had been what used to appear so

insurmountably difficult. At the same time that he refused the colonels

demand he made up his mind that he must have recourse to artifice when

leaving Orl, to induce the Italian officer to accept some money of

which he was evidently in need. A further proof to Pierre of his own

more settled outlook on practical matters was furnished by his decision

with regard to his wifes debts and to the rebuilding of his houses in

and near Moscow.



His head steward came to him at Orl and Pierre reckoned up with him his

diminished income. The burning of Moscow had cost him, according to the

head stewards calculation, about two million rubles.



To console Pierre for these losses the head steward gave him an estimate

showing that despite these losses his income would not be diminished but

would even be increased if he refused to pay his wifes debts which he

was under no obligation to meet, and did not rebuild his Moscow house

and the country house on his Moscow estate, which had cost him eighty

thousand rubles a year and brought in nothing.



Yes, of course thats true, said Pierre with a cheerful smile. I

dont need all that at all. By being ruined I have become much richer.



But in January Savlich came from Moscow and gave him an account of the

state of things there, and spoke of the estimate an architect had made

of the cost of rebuilding the town and country houses, speaking of this

as of a settled matter. About the same time he received letters from

Prince Vasli and other Petersburg acquaintances speaking of his wifes

debts. And Pierre decided that the stewards proposals which had so

pleased him were wrong and that he must go to Petersburg and settle his

wifes affairs and must rebuild in Moscow. Why this was necessary he

did not know, but he knew for certain that it was necessary. His income

would be reduced by three fourths, but he felt it must be done.



Willarski was going to Moscow and they agreed to travel together.



During the whole time of his convalescence in Orl Pierre had

experienced a feeling of joy, freedom, and life but when during his

journey he found himself in the open world and saw hundreds of new

faces, that feeling was intensified. Throughout his journey he felt like

a schoolboy on holiday. Everyonethe stagecoach driver, the post-house

overseers, the peasants on the roads and in the villageshad a new

significance for him. The presence and remarks of Willarski who

continually deplored the ignorance and poverty of Russia and its

backwardness compared with Europe only heightened Pierres pleasure.

Where Willarski saw deadness Pierre saw an extraordinary strength and

vitalitythe strength which in that vast space amid the snows maintained

the life of this original, peculiar, and unique people. He did not

contradict Willarski and even seemed to agree with himan apparent

agreement being the simplest way to avoid discussions that could lead to

nothingand he smiled joyfully as he listened to him.











CHAPTER XIV



It would be difficult to explain why and whither ants whose heap

has been destroyed are hurrying some from the heap dragging bits of

rubbish, larvae, and corpses, others back to the heap, or why they

jostle, overtake one another, and fight, and it would be equally

difficult to explain what caused the Russians after the departure of the

French to throng to the place that had formerly been Moscow. But when

we watch the ants round their ruined heap, the tenacity, energy, and

immense number of the delving insects prove that despite the destruction

of the heap, something indestructible, which though intangible is the

real strength of the colony, still exists and similarly, though in

Moscow in the month of October there was no government and no churches,

shrines, riches, or housesit was still the Moscow it had been in

August. All was destroyed, except something intangible yet powerful and

indestructible.



The motives of those who thronged from all sides to Moscow after it had

been cleared of the enemy were most diverse and personal, and at first

for the most part savage and brutal. One motive only they all had in

common a desire to get to the place that had been called Moscow, to

apply their activities there.



Within a week Moscow already had fifteen thousand inhabitants, in a

fortnight twenty-five thousand, and so on. By the autumn of 1813 the

number, ever increasing and increasing, exceeded what it had been in

1812.



The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks of Wintzingerodes

detachment, peasants from the adjacent villages, and residents who had

fled from Moscow and had been hiding in its vicinity. The Russians who

entered Moscow, finding it plundered, plundered it in their turn. They

continued what the French had begun. Trains of peasant carts came to

Moscow to carry off to the villages what had been abandoned in the

ruined houses and the streets. The Cossacks carried off what they could

to their camps, and the householders seized all they could find in other

houses and moved it to their own, pretending that it was their property.



But the first plunderers were followed by a second and a third

contingent, and with increasing numbers plundering became more and more

difficult and assumed more definite forms.



The French found Moscow abandoned but with all the organizations of

regular life, with diverse branches of commerce and craftsmanship, with

luxury, and governmental and religious institutions. These forms were

lifeless but still existed. There were bazaars, shops, warehouses,

market stalls, granariesfor the most part still stocked with goodsand

there were factories and workshops, palaces and wealthy houses filled

with luxuries, hospitals, prisons, government offices, churches, and

cathedrals. The longer the French remained the more these forms of town

life perished, until finally all was merged into one confused, lifeless

scene of plunder.



The more the plundering by the French continued, the more both the

wealth of Moscow and the strength of its plunderers was destroyed. But

plundering by the Russians, with which the reoccupation of the city

began, had an opposite effect the longer it continued and the greater

the number of people taking part in it the more rapidly was the wealth

of the city and its regular life restored.



Besides the plunderers, very various people, some drawn by curiosity,

some by official duties, some by self-interesthouse owners, clergy,

officials of all kinds, tradesmen, artisans, and peasantsstreamed into

Moscow as blood flows to the heart.



Within a week the peasants who came with empty carts to carry off

plunder were stopped by the authorities and made to cart the corpses

out of the town. Other peasants, having heard of their comrades

discomfiture, came to town bringing rye, oats, and hay, and beat down

one anothers prices to below what they had been in former days. Gangs

of carpenters hoping for high pay arrived in Moscow every day, and on

all sides logs were being hewn, new houses built, and old, charred ones

repaired. Tradesmen began trading in booths. Cookshops and taverns were

opened in partially burned houses. The clergy resumed the services

in many churches that had not been burned. Donors contributed

Church property that had been stolen. Government clerks set up their

baize-covered tables and their pigeonholes of documents in small rooms.

The higher authorities and the police organized the distribution of

goods left behind by the French. The owners of houses in which much

property had been left, brought there from other houses, complained of

the injustice of taking everything to the Faceted Palace in the Krmlin

others insisted that as the French had gathered things from different

houses into this or that house, it would be unfair to allow its owner to

keep all that was found there. They abused the police and bribed them,

made out estimates at ten times their value for government stores that

had perished in the fire, and demanded relief. And Count Rostopchn

wrote proclamations.











CHAPTER XV



At the end of January Pierre went to Moscow and stayed in an annex of

his house which had not been burned. He called on Count Rostopchn and

on some acquaintances who were back in Moscow, and he intended to leave

for Petersburg two days later. Everybody was celebrating the victory,

everything was bubbling with life in the ruined but reviving city.

Everyone was pleased to see Pierre, everyone wished to meet him, and

everyone questioned him about what he had seen. Pierre felt particularly

well disposed toward them all, but was now instinctively on his

guard for fear of binding himself in any way. To all questions put to

himwhether important or quite triflingsuch as Where would he live?

Was he going to rebuild? When was he going to Petersburg and would he

mind taking a parcel for someone?he replied Yes, perhaps, or, I

think so, and so on.



He had heard that the Rostvs were at Kostrom but the thought of

Natsha seldom occurred to him. If it did it was only as a pleasant

memory of the distant past. He felt himself not only free from social

obligations but also from that feeling which, it seemed to him, he had

aroused in himself.



On the third day after his arrival he heard from the Drubetskys that

Princess Mary was in Moscow. The death, sufferings, and last days of

Prince Andrew had often occupied Pierres thoughts and now recurred to

him with fresh vividness. Having heard at dinner that Princess Mary

was in Moscow and living in her housewhich had not been burnedin

Vozdvzhenka Street, he drove that same evening to see her.



On his way to the house Pierre kept thinking of Prince Andrew, of their

friendship, of his various meetings with him, and especially of the last

one at Borodin.



Is it possible that he died in the bitter frame of mind he was then in?

Is it possible that the meaning of life was not disclosed to him

before he died? thought Pierre. He recalled Karatev and his death and

involuntarily began to compare these two men, so different, and yet so

similar in that they had both lived and both died and in the love he

felt for both of them.



Pierre drove up to the house of the old prince in a most serious mood.

The house had escaped the fire it showed signs of damage but its

general aspect was unchanged. The old footman, who met Pierre with a

stern face as if wishing to make the visitor feel that the absence

of the old prince had not disturbed the order of things in the house,

informed him that the princess had gone to her own apartments, and that

she received on Sundays.



Announce me. Perhaps she will see me, said Pierre.



Yes, sir, said the man. Please step into the portrait gallery.



A few minutes later the footman returned with Dessalles, who brought

word from the princess that she would be very glad to see Pierre if he

would excuse her want of ceremony and come upstairs to her apartment.



In a rather low room lit by one candle sat the princess and with her

another person dressed in black. Pierre remembered that the princess

always had lady companions, but who they were and what they were like

he never knew or remembered. This must be one of her companions, he

thought, glancing at the lady in the black dress.



The princess rose quickly to meet him and held out her hand.



Yes, she said, looking at his altered face after he had kissed her

hand, so this is how we meet again. He spoke of you even at the very

last, she went on, turning her eyes from Pierre to her companion with a

shyness that surprised him for an instant.



I was so glad to hear of your safety. It was the first piece of good

news we had received for a long time.



Again the princess glanced round at her companion with even more

uneasiness in her manner and was about to add something, but Pierre

interrupted her.



Just imagineI knew nothing about him! said he. I thought he had been

killed. All I know I heard at second hand from others. I only know that

he fell in with the Rostvs.... What a strange coincidence!



Pierre spoke rapidly and with animation. He glanced once at the

companions face, saw her attentive and kindly gaze fixed on him, and,

as often happens when one is talking, felt somehow that this companion

in the black dress was a good, kind, excellent creature who would not

hinder his conversing freely with Princess Mary.



But when he mentioned the Rostvs, Princess Marys face expressed still

greater embarrassment. She again glanced rapidly from Pierres face to

that of the lady in the black dress and said



Do you really not recognize her?



Pierre looked again at the companions pale, delicate face with its

black eyes and peculiar mouth, and something near to him, long forgotten

and more than sweet, looked at him from those attentive eyes.



But no, it cant be! he thought. This stern, thin, pale face that

looks so much older! It cannot be she. It merely reminds me of her.

But at that moment Princess Mary said, Natsha! And with difficulty,

effort, and stress, like the opening of a door grown rusty on its

hinges, a smile appeared on the face with the attentive eyes, and from

that opening door came a breath of fragrance which suffused Pierre with

a happiness he had long forgotten and of which he had not even been

thinkingespecially at that moment. It suffused him, seized him, and

enveloped him completely. When she smiled doubt was no longer possible,

it was Natsha and he loved her.



At that moment Pierre involuntarily betrayed to her, to Princess Mary,

and above all to himself, a secret of which he himself had been unaware.

He flushed joyfully yet with painful distress. He tried to hide his

agitation. But the more he tried to hide it the more clearlyclearer

than any words could have donedid he betray to himself, to her, and to

Princess Mary that he loved her.



No, its only the unexpectedness of it, thought Pierre. But as soon as

he tried to continue the conversation he had begun with Princess Mary he

again glanced at Natsha, and a still-deeper flush suffused his face and

a still-stronger agitation of mingled joy and fear seized his soul. He

became confused in his speech and stopped in the middle of what he was

saying.



Pierre had failed to notice Natsha because he did not at all expect to

see her there, but he had failed to recognize her because the change in

her since he last saw her was immense. She had grown thin and pale, but

that was not what made her unrecognizable she was unrecognizable at the

moment he entered because on that face whose eyes had always shone with

a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when he first entered and

glanced at her there was not the least shadow of a smile only her eyes

were kindly attentive and sadly interrogative.



Pierres confusion was not reflected by any confusion on Natshas part,

but only by the pleasure that just perceptibly lit up her whole face.











CHAPTER XVI



She has come to stay with me, said Princess Mary. The count and

countess will be here in a few days. The countess is in a dreadful

state but it was necessary for Natsha herself to see a doctor. They

insisted on her coming with me.



Yes, is there a family free from sorrow now? said Pierre, addressing

Natsha. You know it happened the very day we were rescued. I saw him.

What a delightful boy he was!



Natsha looked at him, and by way of answer to his words her eyes

widened and lit up.



What can one say or think of as a consolation? said Pierre. Nothing!

Why had such a splendid boy, so full of life, to die?



Yes, in these days it would be hard to live without faith... remarked

Princess Mary.



Yes, yes, that is really true, Pierre hastily interrupted her.



Why is it true? Natsha asked, looking attentively into Pierres eyes.



How can you ask why? said Princess Mary. The thought alone of what

awaits...



Natsha without waiting for Princess Mary to finish again looked

inquiringly at Pierre.



And because, Pierre continued, only one who believes that there is a

God ruling us can bear a loss such as hers and... yours.



Natsha had already opened her mouth to speak but suddenly stopped.

Pierre hurriedly turned away from her and again addressed Princess Mary,

asking about his friends last days.



Pierres confusion had now almost vanished, but at the same time he felt

that his freedom had also completely gone. He felt that there was now a

judge of his every word and action whose judgment mattered more to

him than that of all the rest of the world. As he spoke now he was

considering what impression his words would make on Natsha. He did

not purposely say things to please her, but whatever he was saying he

regarded from her standpoint.



Princess Maryreluctantly as is usual in such casesbegan telling of

the condition in which she had found Prince Andrew. But Pierres face

quivering with emotion, his questions and his eager restless expression,

gradually compelled her to go into details which she feared to recall

for her own sake.



Yes, yes, and so...? Pierre kept saying as he leaned toward her with

his whole body and eagerly listened to her story. Yes, yes... so he

grew tranquil and softened? With all his soul he had always sought

one thingto be perfectly goodso he could not be afraid of death. The

faults he hadif he had anywere not of his making. So he did soften?...

What a happy thing that he saw you again, he added, suddenly turning to

Natsha and looking at her with eyes full of tears.



Natshas face twitched. She frowned and lowered her eyes for a moment.

She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not.



Yes, that was happiness, she then said in her quiet voice with its

deep chest notes. For me it certainly was happiness. She paused. And

he... he... he said he was wishing for it at the very moment I entered

the room....



Natshas voice broke. She blushed, pressed her clasped hands on her

knees, and then controlling herself with an evident effort lifted her

head and began to speak rapidly.



We knew nothing of it when we started from Moscow. I did not dare to

ask about him. Then suddenly Snya told me he was traveling with us. I

had no idea and could not imagine what state he was in, all I wanted was

to see him and be with him, she said, trembling, and breathing quickly.



And not letting them interrupt her she went on to tell what she had

never yet mentioned to anyoneall she had lived through during those

three weeks of their journey and life at Yaroslvl.



Pierre listened to her with lips parted and eyes fixed upon her full of

tears. As he listened he did not think of Prince Andrew, nor of death,

nor of what she was telling. He listened to her and felt only pity for

her, for what she was suffering now while she was speaking.



Princess Mary, frowning in her effort to hold back her tears, sat beside

Natsha, and heard for the first time the story of those last days of

her brothers and Natshas love.



Evidently Natsha needed to tell that painful yet joyful tale.



She spoke, mingling most trifling details with the intimate secrets of

her soul, and it seemed as if she could never finish. Several times she

repeated the same thing twice.



Dessalles voice was heard outside the door asking whether little

Nicholas might come in to say good night.



Well, thats alleverything, said Natsha.



She got up quickly just as Nicholas entered, almost ran to the door

which was hidden by curtains, struck her head against it, and rushed

from the room with a moan either of pain or sorrow.



Pierre gazed at the door through which she had disappeared and did not

understand why he suddenly felt all alone in the world.



Princess Mary roused him from his abstraction by drawing his attention

to her nephew who had entered the room.



At that moment of emotional tenderness young Nicholas face, which

resembled his fathers, affected Pierre so much that when he had kissed

the boy he got up quickly, took out his handkerchief, and went to the

window. He wished to take leave of Princess Mary, but she would not let

him go.



No, Natsha and I sometimes dont go to sleep till after two, so please

dont go. I will order supper. Go downstairs, we will come immediately.



Before Pierre left the room Princess Mary told him This is the first

time she has talked of him like that.











CHAPTER XVII



Pierre was shown into the large, brightly lit dining room a few minutes

later he heard footsteps and Princess Mary entered with Natsha. Natsha

was calm, though a severe and grave expression had again settled on her

face. They all three of them now experienced that feeling of awkwardness

which usually follows after a serious and heartfelt talk. It is

impossible to go back to the same conversation, to talk of trifles is

awkward, and yet the desire to speak is there and silence seems like

affectation. They went silently to table. The footmen drew back the

chairs and pushed them up again. Pierre unfolded his cold table napkin

and, resolving to break the silence, looked at Natsha and at Princess

Mary. They had evidently both formed the same resolution the eyes of

both shone with satisfaction and a confession that besides sorrow life

also has joy.



Do you take vodka, Count? asked Princess Mary, and those words

suddenly banished the shadows of the past. Now tell us about yourself,

said she. One hears such improbable wonders about you.



Yes, replied Pierre with the smile of mild irony now habitual to him.

They even tell me wonders I myself never dreamed of! Mary Abrmovna

invited me to her house and kept telling me what had happened, or ought

to have happened, to me. Stepn Stepnych also instructed me how I ought

to tell of my experiences. In general I have noticed that it is very

easy to be an interesting man (I am an interesting man now) people

invite me out and tell me all about myself.



Natsha smiled and was on the point of speaking.



We have been told, Princess Mary interrupted her, that you lost two

millions in Moscow. Is that true?



But I am three times as rich as before, returned Pierre.



Though the position was now altered by his decision to pay his wifes

debts and to rebuild his houses, Pierre still maintained that he had

become three times as rich as before.



What I have certainly gained is freedom, he began seriously, but did

not continue, noticing that this theme was too egotistic.



And are you building?



Yes. Savlich says I must!



Tell me, you did not know of the countess death when you decided to

remain in Moscow? asked Princess Mary and immediately blushed, noticing

that her question, following his mention of freedom, ascribed to his

words a meaning he had perhaps not intended.



No, answered Pierre, evidently not considering awkward the meaning

Princess Mary had given to his words. I heard of it in Orl and you

cannot imagine how it shocked me. We were not an exemplary couple, he

added quickly, glancing at Natsha and noticing on her face curiosity as

to how he would speak of his wife, but her death shocked me terribly.

When two people quarrel they are always both in fault, and ones own

guilt suddenly becomes terribly serious when the other is no longer

alive. And then such a death... without friends and without consolation!

I am very, very sorry for her, he concluded, and was pleased to notice

a look of glad approval on Natshas face.



Yes, and so you are once more an eligible bachelor, said Princess

Mary.



Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a long time tried not to look

at Natsha. When he ventured to glance her way again her face was cold,

stern, and he fancied even contemptuous.



And did you really see and speak to Napoleon, as we have been told?

said Princess Mary.



Pierre laughed.



No, not once! Everybody seems to imagine that being taken prisoner

means being Napoleons guest. Not only did I never see him but I heard

nothing about himI was in much lower company!



Supper was over, and Pierre who at first declined to speak about his

captivity was gradually led on to do so.



But its true that you remained in Moscow to kill Napoleon? Natsha

asked with a slight smile. I guessed it then when we met at the

Skharev tower, do you remember?



Pierre admitted that it was true, and from that was gradually led by

Princess Marys questions and especially by Natshas into giving a

detailed account of his adventures.



At first he spoke with the amused and mild irony now customary with

him toward everybody and especially toward himself, but when he came

to describe the horrors and sufferings he had witnessed he was

unconsciously carried away and began speaking with the suppressed

emotion of a man re-experiencing in recollection strong impressions he

has lived through.



Princess Mary with a gentle smile looked now at Pierre and now at

Natsha. In the whole narrative she saw only Pierre and his goodness.

Natsha, leaning on her elbow, the expression of her face constantly

changing with the narrative, watched Pierre with an attention that never

wanderedevidently herself experiencing all that he described. Not only

her look, but her exclamations and the brief questions she put, showed

Pierre that she understood just what he wished to convey. It was clear

that she understood not only what he said but also what he wished to,

but could not, express in words. The account Pierre gave of the incident

with the child and the woman for protecting whom he was arrested was

this It was an awful sightchildren abandoned, some in the flames...

One was snatched out before my eyes... and there were women who had

their things snatched off and their earrings torn out... he flushed and

grew confused. Then a patrol arrived and all the menall those who were

not looting, that iswere arrested, and I among them.



I am sure youre not telling us everything I am sure you did

something... said Natsha and pausing added, something fine?



Pierre continued. When he spoke of the execution he wanted to pass

over the horrible details, but Natsha insisted that he should not omit

anything.



Pierre began to tell about Karatev, but paused. By this time he had

risen from the table and was pacing the room, Natsha following him with

her eyes. Then he added



No, you cant understand what I learned from that illiterate manthat

simple fellow.



Yes, yes, go on! said Natsha. Where is he?



They killed him almost before my eyes.



And Pierre, his voice trembling continually, went on to tell of the last

days of their retreat, of Karatevs illness and his death.



He told of his adventures as he had never yet recalled them. He now, as

it were, saw a new meaning in all he had gone through. Now that he was

telling it all to Natsha he experienced that pleasure which a man has

when women listen to himnot clever women who when listening either try

to remember what they hear to enrich their minds and when opportunity

offers to retell it, or who wish to adopt it to some thought of their

own and promptly contribute their own clever comments prepared in their

little mental workshopbut the pleasure given by real women gifted with

a capacity to select and absorb the very best a man shows of himself.

Natsha without knowing it was all attention she did not lose a word,

no single quiver in Pierres voice, no look, no twitch of a muscle in

his face, nor a single gesture. She caught the unfinished word in its

flight and took it straight into her open heart, divining the secret

meaning of all Pierres mental travail.



Princess Mary understood his story and sympathized with him, but she

now saw something else that absorbed all her attention. She saw the

possibility of love and happiness between Natsha and Pierre, and the

first thought of this filled her heart with gladness.



It was three oclock in the morning. The footmen came in with sad and

stern faces to change the candles, but no one noticed them.



Pierre finished his story. Natsha continued to look at him intently

with bright, attentive, and animated eyes, as if trying to understand

something more which he had perhaps left untold. Pierre in shamefaced

and happy confusion glanced occasionally at her, and tried to think what

to say next to introduce a fresh subject. Princess Mary was silent. It

occurred to none of them that it was three oclock and time to go to

bed.



People speak of misfortunes and sufferings, remarked Pierre, but if

at this moment I were asked Would you rather be what you were before

you were taken prisoner, or go through all this again? then for

heavens sake let me again have captivity and horseflesh! We imagine

that when we are thrown out of our usual ruts all is lost, but it is

only then that what is new and good begins. While there is life there is

happiness. There is much, much before us. I say this to you, he added,

turning to Natsha.



Yes, yes, she said, answering something quite different. I too should

wish nothing but to relive it all from the beginning.



Pierre looked intently at her.



Yes, and nothing more, said Natsha.



Its not true, not true! cried Pierre. I am not to blame for being

alive and wishing to livenor you either.



Suddenly Natsha bent her head, covered her face with her hands, and

began to cry.



What is it, Natsha? said Princess Mary.



Nothing, nothing. She smiled at Pierre through her tears. Good night!

It is time for bed.



Pierre rose and took his leave.





Princess Mary and Natsha met as usual in the bedroom. They talked of

what Pierre had told them. Princess Mary did not express her opinion of

Pierre nor did Natsha speak of him.



Well, good night, Mary! said Natsha. Do you know, I am often afraid

that by not speaking of him (she meant Prince Andrew) for fear of not

doing justice to our feelings, we forget him.



Princess Mary sighed deeply and thereby acknowledged the justice of

Natshas remark, but she did not express agreement in words.



Is it possible to forget? said she.



It did me so much good to tell all about it today. It was hard and

painful, but good, very good! said Natsha. I am sure he really loved

him. That is why I told him... Was it all right? she added, suddenly

blushing.



To tell Pierre? Oh, yes. What a splendid man he is! said Princess

Mary.



Do you know, Mary... Natsha suddenly said with a mischievous smile

such as Princess Mary had not seen on her face for a long time, he has

somehow grown so clean, smooth, and freshas if he had just come out of

a Russian bath do you understand? Out of a moral bath. Isnt it true?



Yes, replied Princess Mary. He has greatly improved.



With a short coat and his hair cropped just as if, well, just as if he

had come straight from the bath... Papa used to...



I understand why he (Prince Andrew) liked no one so much as him,

said Princess Mary.



Yes, and yet he is quite different. They say men are friends when they

are quite different. That must be true. Really he is quite unlike himin

everything.



Yes, but hes wonderful.



Well, good night, said Natsha.



And the same mischievous smile lingered for a long time on her face as

if it had been forgotten there.











CHAPTER XVIII



It was a long time before Pierre could fall asleep that night. He paced

up and down his room, now turning his thoughts on a difficult problem

and frowning, now suddenly shrugging his shoulders and wincing, and now

smiling happily.



He was thinking of Prince Andrew, of Natsha, and of their love, at one

moment jealous of her past, then reproaching himself for that feeling.

It was already six in the morning and he still paced up and down the

room.



Well, whats to be done if it cannot be avoided? Whats to be done?

Evidently it has to be so, said he to himself, and hastily undressing

he got into bed, happy and agitated but free from hesitation or

indecision.



Strange and impossible as such happiness seems, I must do everything

that she and I may be man and wife, he told himself.



A few days previously Pierre had decided to go to Petersburg on the

Friday. When he awoke on the Thursday, Savlich came to ask him about

packing for the journey.



What, to Petersburg? What is Petersburg? Who is there in Petersburg?

he asked involuntarily, though only to himself. Oh, yes, long ago

before this happened I did for some reason mean to go to Petersburg,

he reflected. Why? But perhaps I shall go. What a good fellow he is and

how attentive, and how he remembers everything, he thought, looking at

Savlichs old face, and what a pleasant smile he has!



Well, Savlich, do you still not wish to accept your freedom? Pierre

asked him.



Whats the good of freedom to me, your excellency? We lived under the

late countthe kingdom of heaven be his!and we have lived under you

too, without ever being wronged.



And your children?



The children will live just the same. With such masters one can live.



But what about my heirs? said Pierre. Supposing I suddenly marry...

it might happen, he added with an involuntary smile.



If I may take the liberty, your excellency, it would be a good thing.



How easy he thinks it, thought Pierre. He doesnt know how terrible

it is and how dangerous. Too soon or too late... it is terrible!



So what are your orders? Are you starting tomorrow? asked Savlich.



No, Ill put it off for a bit. Ill tell you later. You must forgive

the trouble I have put you to, said Pierre, and seeing Savlich smile,

he thought But how strange it is that he should not know that now

there is no Petersburg for me, and that that must be settled first of

all! But probably he knows it well enough and is only pretending. Shall

I have a talk with him and see what he thinks? Pierre reflected. No,

another time.



At breakfast Pierre told the princess, his cousin, that he had been to

see Princess Mary the day before and had there metWhom do you think?

Natsha Rostva!



The princess seemed to see nothing more extraordinary in that than if he

had seen Anna Semnovna.



Do you know her? asked Pierre.



I have seen the princess, she replied. I heard that they were

arranging a match for her with young Rostv. It would be a very good

thing for the Rostvs, they are said to be utterly ruined.



No I mean do you know Natsha Rostva?



I heard about that affair of hers at the time. It was a great pity.



No, she either doesnt understand or is pretending, thought Pierre.

Better not say anything to her either.



The princess too had prepared provisions for Pierres journey.



How kind they all are, thought Pierre. What is surprising is that

they should trouble about these things now when it can no longer be of

interest to them. And all for me!



On the same day the Chief of Police came to Pierre, inviting him to send

a representative to the Faceted Palace to recover things that were to be

returned to their owners that day.



And this man too, thought Pierre, looking into the face of the Chief

of Police. What a fine, good-looking officer and how kind. Fancy

bothering about such trifles now! And they actually say he is not honest

and takes bribes. What nonsense! Besides, why shouldnt he take bribes?

Thats the way he was brought up, and everybody does it. But what a

kind, pleasant face and how he smiles as he looks at me.



Pierre went to Princess Marys to dinner.



As he drove through the streets past the houses that had been burned

down, he was surprised by the beauty of those ruins. The picturesqueness

of the chimney stacks and tumble-down walls of the burned-out quarters

of the town, stretching out and concealing one another, reminded him of

the Rhine and the Colosseum. The cabmen he met and their passengers,

the carpenters cutting the timber for new houses with axes, the women

hawkers, and the shopkeepers, all looked at him with cheerful beaming

eyes that seemed to say Ah, there he is! Lets see what will come of

it!



At the entrance to Princess Marys house Pierre felt doubtful whether

he had really been there the night before and really seen Natsha and

talked to her. Perhaps I imagined it perhaps I shall go in and find

no one there. But he had hardly entered the room before he felt her

presence with his whole being by the loss of his sense of freedom. She

was in the same black dress with soft folds and her hair was done the

same way as the day before, yet she was quite different. Had she been

like this when he entered the day before he could not for a moment have

failed to recognize her.



She was as he had known her almost as a child and later on as Prince

Andrews fiance. A bright questioning light shone in her eyes, and on

her face was a friendly and strangely roguish expression.



Pierre dined with them and would have spent the whole evening there, but

Princess Mary was going to vespers and Pierre left the house with her.



Next day he came early, dined, and stayed the whole evening. Though

Princess Mary and Natsha were evidently glad to see their visitor and

though all Pierres interest was now centered in that house, by the

evening they had talked over everything and the conversation passed from

one trivial topic to another and repeatedly broke off. He stayed so long

that Princess Mary and Natsha exchanged glances, evidently wondering

when he would go. Pierre noticed this but could not go. He felt uneasy

and embarrassed, but sat on because he simply could not get up and take

his leave.



Princess Mary, foreseeing no end to this, rose first, and complaining of

a headache began to say good night.



So you are going to Petersburg tomorrow? she asked.



No, I am not going, Pierre replied hastily, in a surprised tone and as

though offended. Yes... no... to Petersburg? Tomorrowbut I wont say

good-by yet. I will call round in case you have any commissions for me,

said he, standing before Princess Mary and turning red, but not taking

his departure.



Natsha gave him her hand and went out. Princess Mary on the other hand

instead of going away sank into an armchair, and looked sternly and

intently at him with her deep, radiant eyes. The weariness she

had plainly shown before had now quite passed off. With a deep and

long-drawn sigh she seemed to be prepared for a lengthy talk.



When Natsha left the room Pierres confusion and awkwardness

immediately vanished and were replaced by eager excitement. He quickly

moved an armchair toward Princess Mary.



Yes, I wanted to tell you, said he, answering her look as if she had

spoken. Princess, help me! What am I to do? Can I hope? Princess, my

dear friend, listen! I know it all. I know I am not worthy of her, I

know its impossible to speak of it now. But I want to be a brother to

her. No, not that, I dont, I cant...



He paused and rubbed his face and eyes with his hands.



Well, he went on with an evident effort at self-control and coherence.

I dont know when I began to love her, but I have loved her and her

alone all my life, and I love her so that I cannot imagine life without

her. I cannot propose to her at present, but the thought that

perhaps she might someday be my wife and that I may be missing that

possibility... that possibility... is terrible. Tell me, can I hope?

Tell me what I am to do, dear princess! he added after a pause, and

touched her hand as she did not reply.



I am thinking of what you have told me, answered Princess Mary.

This is what I will say. You are right that to speak to her of love at

present...



Princess Mary stopped. She was going to say that to speak of love was

impossible, but she stopped because she had seen by the sudden change

in Natsha two days before that she would not only not be hurt if Pierre

spoke of his love, but that it was the very thing she wished for.



To speak to her now wouldnt 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 Marys eyes.



Well?... Well?... he said.



I know that she loves... will love you, Princess Mary corrected

herself.



Before her words were out, Pierre had sprung up and with a frightened

expression seized Princess Marys hand.



What makes you think so? You think I may hope? You think...?



Yes, I think so, said Princess Mary with a smile. Write to her

parents, and leave it to me. I will tell her when I can. I wish it to

happen and my heart tells me it will.



No, it cannot be! How happy I am! But it cant be.... How happy I am!

No, it cant be! Pierre kept saying as he kissed Princess Marys hands.



Go to Petersburg, that will be best. And I will write to you, she

said.



To Petersburg? Go there? Very well, Ill go. But I may come again

tomorrow?



Next day Pierre came to say good-by. Natsha was less animated than

she had been the day before but that day as he looked at her Pierre

sometimes felt as if he was vanishing and that neither he nor she

existed any longer, that nothing existed but happiness. Is it possible?

No, it cant be, he told himself at every look, gesture, and word that

filled his soul with joy.



When on saying good-by he took her thin, slender hand, he could not help

holding it a little longer in his own.



Is it possible that this hand, that face, those eyes, all this treasure

of feminine charm so strange to me now, is it possible that it will one

day be mine forever, as familiar to me as I am to myself?... No, thats

impossible!...



Good-by, Count, she said aloud. I shall look forward very much to

your return, she added in a whisper.



And these simple words, her look, and the expression on her face which

accompanied them, formed for two months the subject of inexhaustible

memories, interpretations, and happy meditations for Pierre. I shall

look forward very much to your return.... Yes, yes, how did she say it?

Yes, I shall look forward very much to your return. Oh, how happy I

am! What is happening to me? How happy I am! said Pierre to himself.











CHAPTER XIX



There was nothing in Pierres soul now at all like what had troubled it

during his courtship of Hlne.



He did not repeat to himself with a sickening feeling of shame the words

he had spoken, or say Oh, why did I not say that? and, Whatever made

me say Je vous aime? On the contrary, he now repeated in imagination

every word that he or Natsha had spoken and pictured every detail of

her face and smile, and did not wish to diminish or add anything, but

only to repeat it again and again. There was now not a shadow of doubt

in his mind as to whether what he had undertaken was right or wrong.

Only one terrible doubt sometimes crossed his mind Wasnt it all

a dream? Isnt Princess Mary mistaken? Am I not too conceited and

self-confident? I believe all thisand suddenly Princess Mary will tell

her, and she will be sure to smile and say How strange! He must be

deluding himself. Doesnt he know that he is a man, just a man, while

I...? I am something altogether different and higher.



That was the only doubt often troubling Pierre. He did not now make any

plans. The happiness before him appeared so inconceivable that if only

he could attain it, it would be the end of all things. Everything ended

with that.



A joyful, unexpected frenzy, of which he had thought himself incapable,

possessed him. The whole meaning of lifenot for him alone but for the

whole worldseemed to him centered in his love and the possibility of

being loved by her. At times everybody seemed to him to be occupied with

one thing onlyhis future happiness. Sometimes it seemed to him that

other people were all as pleased as he was himself and merely tried to

hide that pleasure by pretending to be busy with other interests. In

every word and gesture he saw allusions to his happiness. He often

surprised those he met by his significantly happy looks and smiles which

seemed to express a secret understanding between him and them. And when

he realized that people might not be aware of his happiness, he pitied

them with his whole heart and felt a desire somehow to explain to them

that all that occupied them was a mere frivolous trifle unworthy of

attention.



When it was suggested to him that he should enter the civil service,

or when the war or any general political affairs were discussed on the

assumption that everybodys welfare depended on this or that issue

of events, he would listen with a mild and pitying smile and surprise

people by his strange comments. But at this time he saw everybodyboth

those who, as he imagined, understood the real meaning of life (that

is, what he was feeling) and those unfortunates who evidently did not

understand itin the bright light of the emotion that shone within

himself, and at once without any effort saw in everyone he met

everything that was good and worthy of being loved.



When dealing with the affairs and papers of his dead wife, her memory

aroused in him no feeling but pity that she had not known the bliss he

now knew. Prince Vasli, who having obtained a new post and some

fresh decorations was particularly proud at this time, seemed to him a

pathetic, kindly old man much to be pitied.



Often in afterlife Pierre recalled this period of blissful insanity. All

the views he formed of men and circumstances at this time remained true

for him always. He not only did not renounce them subsequently, but when

he was in doubt or inwardly at variance, he referred to the views he had

held at this time of his madness and they always proved correct.



I may have appeared strange and queer then, he thought, but I was

not so mad as I seemed. On the contrary I was then wiser and had

more insight than at any other time, and understood all that is worth

understanding in life, because... because I was happy.



Pierres insanity consisted in not waiting, as he used to do, to

discover personal attributes which he termed good qualities in people

before loving them his heart was now overflowing with love, and by

loving people without cause he discovered indubitable causes for loving

them.











CHAPTER XX



After Pierres departure that first evening, when Natsha had said to

Princess Mary with a gaily mocking smile He looks just, yes, just as

if he had come out of a Russian bathin a short coat and with his hair

cropped, something hidden and unknown to herself, but irrepressible,

awoke in Natshas soul.



Everything her face, walk, look, and voice, was suddenly altered.

To her own surprise a power of life and hope of happiness rose to the

surface and demanded satisfaction. From that evening she seemed to have

forgotten all that had happened to her. She no longer complained of her

position, did not say a word about the past, and no longer feared to

make happy plans for the future. She spoke little of Pierre, but when

Princess Mary mentioned him a long-extinguished light once more kindled

in her eyes and her lips curved with a strange smile.



The change that took place in Natsha at first surprised Princess Mary

but when she understood its meaning it grieved her. Can she have loved

my brother so little as to be able to forget him so soon? she thought

when she reflected on the change. But when she was with Natsha she was

not vexed with her and did not reproach her. The reawakened power

of life that had seized Natsha was so evidently irrepressible and

unexpected by her that in her presence Princess Mary felt that she had

no right to reproach her even in her heart.



Natsha gave herself up so fully and frankly to this new feeling that

she did not try to hide the fact that she was no longer sad, but bright

and cheerful.



When Princess Mary returned to her room after her nocturnal talk with

Pierre, Natsha met her on the threshold.



He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken? she repeated.



And a joyful yet pathetic expression which seemed to beg forgiveness for

her joy settled on Natshas face.



I wanted to listen at the door, but I knew you would tell me.



Understandable and touching as the look with which Natsha gazed at

her seemed to Princess Mary, and sorry as she was to see her agitation,

these words pained her for a moment. She remembered her brother and his

love.



But whats to be done? She cant help it, thought the princess.



And with a sad and rather stern look she told Natsha all that Pierre

had said. On hearing that he was going to Petersburg Natsha was

astounded.



To Petersburg! she repeated as if unable to understand.



But noticing the grieved expression on Princess Marys face she guessed

the reason of that sadness and suddenly began to cry.



Mary, said she, tell me what I should do! I am afraid of being bad.

Whatever you tell me, I will do. Tell me....



You love him?



Yes, whispered Natsha.



Then why are you crying? I am happy for your sake, said Princess Mary,

who because of those tears quite forgave Natshas joy.



It wont be just yetsomeday. Think what fun it will be when I am his

wife and you marry Nicholas!



Natsha, I have asked you not to speak of that. Let us talk about you.



They were silent awhile.



But why go to Petersburg? Natsha suddenly asked, and hastily replied

to her own question. But no, no, he must... Yes, Mary, He must....











FIRST EPILOGUE 1813 - 20











CHAPTER I



Seven years had passed. The storm-tossed sea of European history had

subsided within its shores and seemed to have become calm. But the

mysterious forces that move humanity (mysterious because the laws of

their motion are unknown to us) continued to operate.



Though the surface of the sea of history seemed motionless, the movement

of humanity went on as unceasingly as the flow of time. Various groups

of people formed and dissolved, the coming formation and dissolution of

kingdoms and displacement of peoples was in course of preparation.



The sea of history was not driven spasmodically from shore to shore as

previously. It was seething in its depths. Historic figures were not

borne by the waves from one shore to another as before. They now seemed

to rotate on one spot. The historical figures at the head of armies,

who formerly reflected the movement of the masses by ordering wars,

campaigns, and battles, now reflected the restless movement by political

and diplomatic combinations, laws, and treaties.



The historians call this activity of the historical figures the

reaction.



In dealing with this period they sternly condemn the historical

personages who, in their opinion, caused what they describe as the

reaction. All the well-known people of that period, from Alexander and

Napoleon to Madame de Stal, Photius, Schelling, Fichte, Chateaubriand,

and the rest, pass before their stern judgment seat and are acquitted or

condemned according to whether they conduced to progress or to reaction.



According to their accounts a reaction took place at that time in Russia

also, and the chief culprit was Alexander I, the same man who according

to them was the chief cause of the liberal movement at the commencement

of his reign, being the savior of Russia.



There is no one in Russian literature now, from schoolboy essayist to

learned historian, who does not throw his little stone at Alexander for

things he did wrong at this period of his reign.



He ought to have acted in this way and in that way. In this case he did

well and in that case badly. He behaved admirably at the beginning of

his reign and during 1812, but acted badly by giving a constitution

to Poland, forming the Holy Alliance, entrusting power to Arakchev,

favoring Goltsyn and mysticism, and afterwards Shishkv and Photius.

He also acted badly by concerning himself with the active army and

disbanding the Semnov regiment.



It would take a dozen pages to enumerate all the reproaches the

historians address to him, based on their knowledge of what is good for

humanity.



What do these reproaches mean?



Do not the very actions for which the historians praise Alexander I

(the liberal attempts at the beginning of his reign, his struggle with

Napoleon, the firmness he displayed in 1812 and the campaign of 1813)

flow from the same sourcesthe circumstances of his birth, education,

and lifethat made his personality what it was and from which the

actions for which they blame him (the Holy Alliance, the restoration of

Poland, and the reaction of 1820 and later) also flowed?



In what does the substance of those reproaches lie?



It lies in the fact that an historic character like Alexander I,

standing on the highest possible pinnacle of human power with the

blinding light of history focused upon him a character exposed to those

strongest of all influences the intrigues, flattery, and self-deception

inseparable from power a character who at every moment of his life

felt a responsibility for all that was happening in Europe and not

a fictitious but a live character who like every man had his personal

habits, passions, and impulses toward goodness, beauty, and truththat

this characterthough not lacking in virtue (the historians do not

accuse him of that)had not the same conception of the welfare of

humanity fifty years ago as a present-day professor who from his

youth upwards has been occupied with learning that is, with books and

lectures and with taking notes from them.



But even if we assume that fifty years ago Alexander I was mistaken in

his view of what was good for the people, we must inevitably assume that

the historian who judges Alexander will also after the lapse of some

time turn out to be mistaken in his view of what is good for humanity.

This assumption is all the more natural and inevitable because, watching

the movement of history, we see that every year and with each new

writer, opinion as to what is good for mankind changes so that what

once seemed good, ten years later seems bad, and vice versa. And what is

more, we find at one and the same time quite contradictory views as to

what is bad and what is good in history some people regard giving a

constitution to Poland and forming the Holy Alliance as praiseworthy in

Alexander, while others regard it as blameworthy.



The activity of Alexander or of Napoleon cannot be called useful or

harmful, for it is impossible to say for what it was useful or harmful.

If that activity displeases somebody, this is only because it does

not agree with his limited understanding of what is good. Whether the

preservation of my fathers house in Moscow, or the glory of the Russian

arms, or the prosperity of the Petersburg and other universities, or the

freedom of Poland or the greatness of Russia, or the balance of power in

Europe, or a certain kind of European culture called progress appear

to me to be good or bad, I must admit that besides these things the

action of every historic character has other more general purposes

inaccessible to me.



But let us assume that what is called science can harmonize all

contradictions and possesses an unchanging standard of good and bad by

which to try historic characters and events let us say that Alexander

could have done everything differently let us say that with guidance

from those who blame him and who profess to know the ultimate aim of the

movement of humanity, he might have arranged matters according to

the program his present accusers would have given himof nationality,

freedom, equality, and progress (these, I think, cover the ground). Let

us assume that this program was possible and had then been formulated,

and that Alexander had acted on it. What would then have become of the

activity of all those who opposed the tendency that then prevailed in

the governmentan activity that in the opinion of the historians was

good and beneficent? Their activity would not have existed there would

have been no life, there would have been nothing.



If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, the possibility of

life is destroyed.











CHAPTER II



If we assume as the historians do that great men lead humanity to the

attainment of certain endsthe greatness of Russia or of France,

the balance of power in Europe, the diffusion of the ideas of the

Revolution, general progress, or anything elsethen it is impossible

to explain the facts of history without introducing the conceptions of

chance and genius.



If the aim of the European wars at the beginning of the nineteenth

century had been the aggrandizement of Russia, that aim might have been

accomplished without all the preceding wars and without the invasion. If

the aim was the aggrandizement of France, that might have been attained

without the Revolution and without the Empire. If the aim was the

dissemination of ideas, the printing press could have accomplished that

much better than warfare. If the aim was the progress of civilization,

it is easy to see that there are other ways of diffusing civilization

more expedient than by the destruction of wealth and of human lives.



Why did it happen in this and not in some other way?



Because it happened so! Chance created the situation genius utilized

it, says history.



But what is chance? What is genius?



The words chance and genius do not denote any really existing thing and

therefore cannot be defined. Those words only denote a certain stage of

understanding of phenomena. I do not know why a certain event occurs I

think that I cannot know it so I do not try to know it and I talk about

chance. I see a force producing effects beyond the scope of ordinary

human agencies I do not understand why this occurs and I talk of

genius.



To a herd of rams, the ram the herdsman drives each evening into a

special enclosure to feed and that becomes twice as fat as the others

must seem to be a genius. And it must appear an astonishing conjunction

of genius with a whole series of extraordinary chances that this ram,

who instead of getting into the general fold every evening goes into a

special enclosure where there are oatsthat this very ram, swelling with

fat, is killed for meat.



But the rams need only cease to suppose that all that happens to them

happens solely for the attainment of their sheepish aims they need only

admit that what happens to them may also have purposes beyond their ken,

and they will at once perceive a unity and coherence in what happened

to the ram that was fattened. Even if they do not know for what purpose

they are fattened, they will at least know that all that happened to the

ram did not happen accidentally, and will no longer need the conceptions

of chance or genius.



Only by renouncing our claim to discern a purpose immediately

intelligible to us, and admitting the ultimate purpose to be beyond our

ken, may we discern the sequence of experiences in the lives of

historic characters and perceive the cause of the effect they produce

(incommensurable with ordinary human capabilities), and then the words

chance and genius become superfluous.



We need only confess that we do not know the purpose of the European

convulsions and that we know only the factsthat is, the murders, first

in France, then in Italy, in Africa, in Prussia, in Austria, in Spain,

and in Russiaand that the movements from the west to the east and from

the east to the west form the essence and purpose of these events, and

not only shall we have no need to see exceptional ability and genius in

Napoleon and Alexander, but we shall be unable to consider them to

be anything but like other men, and we shall not be obliged to have

recourse to chance for an explanation of those small events which made

these people what they were, but it will be clear that all those small

events were inevitable.



By discarding a claim to knowledge of the ultimate purpose, we shall

clearly perceive that just as one cannot imagine a blossom or seed for

any single plant better suited to it than those it produces, so it is

impossible to imagine any two people more completely adapted down to the

smallest detail for the purpose they had to fulfill, than Napoleon and

Alexander with all their antecedents.











CHAPTER III



The fundamental and essential significance of the European events of the

beginning of the nineteenth century lies in the movement of the mass of

the European peoples from west to east and afterwards from east to west.

The commencement of that movement was the movement from west to east.

For the peoples of the west to be able to make their warlike movement

to Moscow it was necessary (1) that they should form themselves into

a military group of a size able to endure a collision with the warlike

military group of the east, (2) that they should abandon all established

traditions and customs, and (3) that during their military movement they

should have at their head a man who could justify to himself and to them

the deceptions, robberies, and murders which would have to be committed

during that movement.



And beginning with the French Revolution the old inadequately large

group was destroyed, as well as the old habits and traditions, and step

by step a group was formed of larger dimensions with new customs and

traditions, and a man was produced who would stand at the head of the

coming movement and bear the responsibility for all that had to be done.



A man without convictions, without habits, without traditions, without

a name, and not even a Frenchman, emergesby what seem the strangest

chancesfrom among all the seething French parties, and without joining

any one of them is borne forward to a prominent position.



The ignorance of his colleagues, the weakness and insignificance of

his opponents, the frankness of his falsehoods, and the dazzling and

self-confident limitations of this man raise him to the head of the

army. The brilliant qualities of the soldiers of the army sent to Italy,

his opponents reluctance to fight, and his own childish audacity and

self-confidence secure him military fame. Innumerable so-called chances

accompany him everywhere. The disfavor into which he falls with the

rulers of France turns to his advantage. His attempts to avoid his

predestined path are unsuccessful he is not received into the Russian

service, and the appointment he seeks in Turkey comes to nothing. During

the war in Italy he is several times on the verge of destruction and

each time is saved in an unexpected manner. Owing to various diplomatic

considerations the Russian armiesjust those which might have destroyed

his prestigedo not appear upon the scene till he is no longer there.



On his return from Italy he finds the government in Paris in a process

of dissolution in which all those who are in it are inevitably wiped

out and destroyed. And by chance an escape from this dangerous position

presents itself in the form of an aimless and senseless expedition

to Africa. Again so-called chance accompanies him. Impregnable Malta

surrenders without a shot his most reckless schemes are crowned with

success. The enemys fleet, which subsequently did not let a single boat

pass, allows his entire army to elude it. In Africa a whole series of

outrages are committed against the almost unarmed inhabitants. And the

men who commit these crimes, especially their leader, assure themselves

that this is admirable, this is gloryit resembles Caesar and Alexander

the Great and is therefore good.



This ideal of glory and grandeurwhich consists not merely in

considering nothing wrong that one does but in priding oneself on every

crime one commits, ascribing to it an incomprehensible supernatural

significancethat ideal, destined to guide this man and his associates,

had scope for its development in Africa. Whatever he does succeeds. The

plague does not touch him. The cruelty of murdering prisoners is not

imputed to him as a fault. His childishly rash, uncalled-for, and

ignoble departure from Africa, leaving his comrades in distress, is

set down to his credit, and again the enemys fleet twice lets him slip

past. When, intoxicated by the crimes he has committed so successfully,

he reaches Paris, the dissolution of the republican government, which a

year earlier might have ruined him, has reached its extreme limit, and

his presence there now as a newcomer free from party entanglements can

only serve to exalt himand though he himself has no plan, he is quite

ready for his new rle.



He had no plan, he was afraid of everything, but the parties snatched at

him and demanded his participation.



He alonewith his ideal of glory and grandeur developed in Italy and

Egypt, his insane self-adulation, his boldness in crime and frankness in

lyinghe alone could justify what had to be done.



He is needed for the place that awaits him, and so almost apart from

his will and despite his indecision, his lack of a plan, and all his

mistakes, he is drawn into a conspiracy that aims at seizing power and

the conspiracy is crowned with success.



He is pushed into a meeting of the legislature. In alarm he wishes to

flee, considering himself lost. He pretends to fall into a swoon and

says senseless things that should have ruined him. But the once proud

and shrewd rulers of France, feeling that their part is played out, are

even more bewildered than he, and do not say the words they should have

said to destroy him and retain their power.



Chance, millions of chances, give him power, and all men as if by

agreement co-operate to confirm that power. Chance forms the characters

of the rulers of France, who submit to him chance forms the character

of Paul I of Russia who recognizes his government chance contrives

a plot against him which not only fails to harm him but confirms his

power. Chance puts the Duc dEnghien in his hands and unexpectedly

causes him to kill himthereby convincing the mob more forcibly than

in any other way that he had the right, since he had the might.

Chance contrives that though he directs all his efforts to prepare an

expedition against England (which would inevitably have ruined him) he

never carries out that intention, but unexpectedly falls upon Mack and

the Austrians, who surrender without a battle. Chance and genius give

him the victory at Austerlitz and by chance all men, not only the

French but all Europeexcept England which does not take part in the

events about to happendespite their former horror and detestation of

his crimes, now recognize his authority, the title he has given

himself, and his ideal of grandeur and glory, which seems excellent and

reasonable to them all.



As if measuring themselves and preparing for the coming movement, the

western forces push toward the east several times in 1805, 1806, 1807,

and 1809, gaining strength and growing. In 1811 the group of people that

had formed in France unites into one group with the peoples of Central

Europe. The strength of the justification of the man who stands at the

head of the movement grows with the increased size of the group. During

the ten-year preparatory period this man had formed relations with all

the crowned heads of Europe. The discredited rulers of the world can

oppose no reasonable ideal to the insensate Napoleonic ideal of

glory and grandeur. One after another they hasten to display their

insignificance before him. The King of Prussia sends his wife to seek

the great mans mercy the Emperor of Austria considers it a favor that

this man receives a daughter of the Caesars into his bed the Pope, the

guardian of all that the nations hold sacred, utilizes religion for the

aggrandizement of the great man. It is not Napoleon who prepares himself

for the accomplishment of his role, so much as all those round him who

prepare him to take on himself the whole responsibility for what is

happening and has to happen. There is no step, no crime or petty fraud

he commits, which in the mouths of those around him is not at once

represented as a great deed. The most suitable fte the Germans can

devise for him is a celebration of Jena and Auerstdt. Not only is he

great, but so are his ancestors, his brothers, his stepsons, and his

brothers-in-law. Everything is done to deprive him of the remains of his

reason and to prepare him for his terrible part. And when he is ready so

too are the forces.



The invasion pushes eastward and reaches its final goalMoscow. That

city is taken the Russian army suffers heavier losses than the opposing

armies had suffered in the former war from Austerlitz to Wagram. But

suddenly instead of those chances and that genius which hitherto had

so consistently led him by an uninterrupted series of successes to the

predestined goal, an innumerable sequence of inverse chances occurfrom

the cold in his head at Borodin to the sparks which set Moscow on

fire, and the frostsand instead of genius, stupidity and immeasurable

baseness become evident.



The invaders flee, turn back, flee again, and all the chances are now

not for Napoleon but always against him.



A countermovement is then accomplished from east to west with a

remarkable resemblance to the preceding movement from west to east.

Attempted drives from east to westsimilar to the contrary movements of

1805, 1807, and 1809precede the great westward movement there is the

same coalescence into a group of enormous dimensions the same adhesion

of the people of Central Europe to the movement the same hesitation

midway, and the same increasing rapidity as the goal is approached.



Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached. The Napoleonic government and army

are destroyed. Napoleon himself is no longer of any account all his

actions are evidently pitiful and mean, but again an inexplicable chance

occurs. The allies detest Napoleon whom they regard as the cause of

their sufferings. Deprived of power and authority, his crimes and his

craft exposed, he should have appeared to them what he appeared ten

years previously and one year lateran outlawed brigand. But by some

strange chance no one perceives this. His part is not yet ended. The man

who ten years before and a year later was considered an outlawed brigand

is sent to an island two days sail from France, which for some reason

is presented to him as his dominion, and guards are given to him and

millions of money are paid him.











CHAPTER IV



The flood of nations begins to subside into its normal channels. The

waves of the great movement abate, and on the calm surface eddies are

formed in which float the diplomatists, who imagine that they have

caused the floods to abate.



But the smooth sea again suddenly becomes disturbed. The diplomatists

think that their disagreements are the cause of this fresh pressure

of natural forces they anticipate war between their sovereigns the

position seems to them insoluble. But the wave they feel to be rising

does not come from the quarter they expect. It rises again from the same

point as beforeParis. The last backwash of the movement from the west

occurs a backwash which serves to solve the apparently insuperable

diplomatic difficulties and ends the military movement of that period of

history.



The man who had devastated France returns to France alone, without any

conspiracy and without soldiers. Any guard might arrest him, but by

strange chance no one does so and all rapturously greet the man they

cursed the day before and will curse again a month later.



This man is still needed to justify the final collective act.



That act is performed.



The last rle is played. The actor is bidden to disrobe and wash off his

powder and paint he will not be wanted any more.



And some years pass during which he plays a pitiful comedy to himself

in solitude on his island, justifying his actions by intrigues and lies

when the justification is no longer needed, and displaying to the whole

world what it was that people had mistaken for strength as long as an

unseen hand directed his actions.



The manager having brought the drama to a close and stripped the actor

shows him to us.



See what you believed in! This is he! Do you now see that it was not he

but I who moved you?



But dazed by the force of the movement, it was long before people

understood this.



Still greater coherence and inevitability is seen in the life of

Alexander I, the man who stood at the head of the countermovement from

east to west.



What was needed for him who, overshadowing others, stood at the head of

that movement from east to west?



What was needed was a sense of justice and a sympathy with European

affairs, but a remote sympathy not dulled by petty interests a moral

superiority over those sovereigns of the day who co-operated with him

a mild and attractive personality and a personal grievance against

Napoleon. And all this was found in Alexander I all this had been

prepared by innumerable so-called chances in his life his education,

his early liberalism, the advisers who surrounded him, and by

Austerlitz, and Tilsit, and Erfurt.



During the national war he was inactive because he was not needed. But

as soon as the necessity for a general European war presented itself he

appeared in his place at the given moment and, uniting the nations of

Europe, led them to the goal.



The goal is reached. After the final war of 1815 Alexander possesses all

possible power. How does he use it?



Alexander Ithe pacifier of Europe, the man who from his early years

had striven only for his peoples welfare, the originator of the liberal

innovations in his fatherlandnow that he seemed to possess the utmost

power and therefore to have the possibility of bringing about the

welfare of his peoplesat the time when Napoleon in exile was drawing

up childish and mendacious plans of how he would have made mankind happy

had he retained powerAlexander I, having fulfilled his mission and

feeling the hand of God upon him, suddenly recognizes the insignificance

of that supposed power, turns away from it, and gives it into the hands

of contemptible men whom he despises, saying only



Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy Name!... I too am a man like the

rest of you. Let me live like a man and think of my soul and of God.



As the sun and each atom of ether is a sphere complete in itself, and

yet at the same time only a part of a whole too immense for man to

comprehend, so each individual has within himself his own aims and yet

has them to serve a general purpose incomprehensible to man.



A bee settling on a flower has stung a child. And the child is afraid

of bees and declares that bees exist to sting people. A poet admires the

bee sucking from the chalice of a flower and says it exists to suck the

fragrance of flowers. A beekeeper, seeing the bee collect pollen from

flowers and carry it to the hive, says that it exists to gather honey.

Another beekeeper who has studied the life of the hive more closely

says that the bee gathers pollen dust to feed the young bees and rear

a queen, and that it exists to perpetuate its race. A botanist notices

that the bee flying with the pollen of a male flower to a pistil

fertilizes the latter, and sees in this the purpose of the bees

existence. Another, observing the migration of plants, notices that the

bee helps in this work, and may say that in this lies the purpose of the

bee. But the ultimate purpose of the bee is not exhausted by the first,

the second, or any of the processes the human mind can discern. The

higher the human intellect rises in the discovery of these purposes,

the more obvious it becomes, that the ultimate purpose is beyond our

comprehension.



All that is accessible to man is the relation of the life of the bee to

other manifestations of life. And so it is with the purpose of historic

characters and nations.











CHAPTER V



Natshas wedding to Bezkhov, which took place in 1813, was the last

happy event in the family of the old Rostvs. Count Ily Rostv died

that same year and, as always happens, after the fathers death the

family group broke up.



The events of the previous year the burning of Moscow and the flight

from it, the death of Prince Andrew, Natshas despair, Ptyas death,

and the old countess grief fell blow after blow on the old counts

head. He seemed to be unable to understand the meaning of all these

events, and bowed his old head in a spiritual sense as if expecting and

inviting further blows which would finish him. He seemed now frightened

and distraught and now unnaturally animated and enterprising.



The arrangements for Natshas marriage occupied him for a while. He

ordered dinners and suppers and obviously tried to appear cheerful, but

his cheerfulness was not infectious as it used to be on the contrary it

evoked the compassion of those who knew and liked him.



When Pierre and his wife had left, he grew very quiet and began to

complain of depression. A few days later he fell ill and took to his

bed. He realized from the first that he would not get up again, despite

the doctors encouragement. The countess passed a fortnight in an

armchair by his pillow without undressing. Every time she gave him

his medicine he sobbed and silently kissed her hand. On his last day,

sobbing, he asked her and his absent son to forgive him for having

dissipated their propertythat being the chief fault of which he was

conscious. After receiving communion and unction he quietly died and

next day a throng of acquaintances who came to pay their last respects

to the deceased filled the house rented by the Rostvs. All these

acquaintances, who had so often dined and danced at his house and had so

often laughed at him, now said, with a common feeling of self-reproach

and emotion, as if justifying themselves Well, whatever he may have

been he was a most worthy man. You dont meet such men nowadays.... And

which of us has not weaknesses of his own?



It was just when the counts affairs had become so involved that it was

impossible to say what would happen if he lived another year that he

unexpectedly died.



Nicholas was with the Russian army in Paris when the news of his

fathers death reached him. He at once resigned his commission, and

without waiting for it to be accepted took leave of absence and went to

Moscow. The state of the counts affairs became quite obvious a month

after his death, surprising everyone by the immense total of small

debts the existence of which no one had suspected. The debts amounted to

double the value of the property.



Friends and relations advised Nicholas to decline the inheritance. But

he regarded such a refusal as a slur on his fathers memory, which he

held sacred, and therefore would not hear of refusing and accepted the

inheritance together with the obligation to pay the debts.



The creditors who had so long been silent, restrained by a vague

but powerful influence exerted on them while he lived by the counts

careless good nature, all proceeded to enforce their claims at once. As

always happens in such cases rivalry sprang up as to which should get

paid first, and those who like Mtenka held promissory notes given them

as presents now became the most exacting of the creditors. Nicholas was

allowed no respite and no peace, and those who had seemed to pity

the old manthe cause of their losses (if they were losses)now

remorselessly pursued the young heir who had voluntarily undertaken the

debts and was obviously not guilty of contracting them.



Not one of the plans Nicholas tried succeeded the estate was sold by

auction for half its value, and half the debts still remained

unpaid. Nicholas accepted thirty thousand rubles offered him by his

brother-in-law Bezkhov to pay off debts he regarded as genuinely due

for value received. And to avoid being imprisoned for the remainder, as

the creditors threatened, he re-entered the government service.



He could not rejoin the army where he would have been made colonel at

the next vacancy, for his mother now clung to him as her one hold on

life and so despite his reluctance to remain in Moscow among people who

had known him before, and despite his abhorrence of the civil service,

he accepted a post in Moscow in that service, doffed the uniform of

which he was so fond, and moved with his mother and Snya to a small

house on the Svtsev Vrazhk.



Natsha and Pierre were living in Petersburg at the time and had no

clear idea of Nicholas circumstances. Having borrowed money from his

brother-in-law, Nicholas tried to hide his wretched condition from him.

His position was the more difficult because with his salary of twelve

hundred rubles he had not only to keep himself, his mother, and Snya,

but had to shield his mother from knowledge of their poverty. The

countess could not conceive of life without the luxurious conditions she

had been used to from childhood and, unable to realize how hard it was

for her son, kept demanding now a carriage (which they did not keep) to

send for a friend, now some expensive article of food for herself, or

wine for her son, or money to buy a present as a surprise for Natsha or

Snya, or for Nicholas himself.



Snya kept house, attended on her aunt, read to her, put up with her

whims and secret ill-will, and helped Nicholas to conceal their poverty

from the old countess. Nicholas felt himself irredeemably indebted

to Snya for all she was doing for his mother and greatly admired her

patience and devotion, but tried to keep aloof from her.



He seemed in his heart to reproach her for being too perfect, and

because there was nothing to reproach her with. She had all that people

are valued for, but little that could have made him love her. He felt

that the more he valued her the less he loved her. He had taken her at

her word when she wrote giving him his freedom and now behaved as if all

that had passed between them had been long forgotten and could never in

any case be renewed.



Nicholas position became worse and worse. The idea of putting something

aside out of his salary proved a dream. Not only did he not save

anything, but to comply with his mothers demands he even incurred some

small debts. He could see no way out of this situation. The idea of

marrying some rich woman, which was suggested to him by his female

relations, was repugnant to him. The other way outhis mothers

deathnever entered his head. He wished for nothing and hoped

for nothing, and deep in his heart experienced a gloomy and stern

satisfaction in an uncomplaining endurance of his position. He tried

to avoid his old acquaintances with their commiseration and offensive

offers of assistance he avoided all distraction and recreation, and

even at home did nothing but play cards with his mother, pace silently

up and down the room, and smoke one pipe after another. He seemed

carefully to cherish within himself the gloomy mood which alone enabled

him to endure his position.











CHAPTER VI



At the beginning of winter Princess Mary came to Moscow. From reports

current in town she learned how the Rostvs were situated, and how the

son has sacrificed himself for his mother, as people were saying.



I never expected anything else of him, said Princess Mary to herself,

feeling a joyous sense of her love for him. Remembering her friendly

relations with all the Rostvs which had made her almost a member of the

family, she thought it her duty to go to see them. But remembering her

relations with Nicholas in Vornezh she was shy about doing so. Making

a great effort she did however go to call on them a few weeks after her

arrival in Moscow.



Nicholas was the first to meet her, as the countess room could only be

reached through his. But instead of being greeted with pleasure as she

had expected, at his first glance at her his face assumed a cold, stiff,

proud expression she had not seen on it before. He inquired about her

health, led the way to his mother, and having sat there for five minutes

left the room.



When the princess came out of the countess room Nicholas met her again,

and with marked solemnity and stiffness accompanied her to the anteroom.

To her remarks about his mothers health he made no reply. Whats that

to you? Leave me in peace, his looks seemed to say.



Why does she come prowling here? What does she want? I cant bear these

ladies and all these civilities! said he aloud in Snyas presence,

evidently unable to repress his vexation, after the princess carriage

had disappeared.



Oh, Nicholas, how can you talk like that? cried Snya, hardly able to

conceal her delight. She is so kind and Mamma is so fond of her!



Nicholas did not reply and tried to avoid speaking of the princess any

more. But after her visit the old countess spoke of her several times a

day.



She sang her praises, insisted that her son must call on her, expressed

a wish to see her often, but yet always became ill-humored when she

began to talk about her.



Nicholas tried to keep silence when his mother spoke of the princess,

but his silence irritated her.



She is a very admirable and excellent young woman, said she, and you

must go and call on her. You would at least be seeing somebody, and I

think it must be dull for you only seeing us.



But I dont in the least want to, Mamma.



You used to want to, and now you dont. Really I dont understand you,

my dear. One day you are dull, and the next you refuse to see anyone.



But I never said I was dull.



Why, you said yourself you dont want even to see her. She is a very

admirable young woman and you always liked her, but now suddenly you

have got some notion or other in your head. You hide everything from

me.



Not at all, Mamma.



If I were asking you to do something disagreeable nowbut I only ask

you to return a call. One would think mere politeness required it....

Well, I have asked you, and now I wont interfere any more since you

have secrets from your mother.



Well, then, Ill go if you wish it.



It doesnt matter to me. I only wish it for your sake.



Nicholas sighed, bit his mustache, and laid out the cards for a

patience, trying to divert his mothers attention to another topic.



The same conversation was repeated next day and the day after, and the

day after that.



After her visit to the Rostvs and her unexpectedly chilly reception by

Nicholas, Princess Mary confessed to herself that she had been right in

not wishing to be the first to call.



I expected nothing else, she told herself, calling her pride to her

aid. I have nothing to do with him and I only wanted to see the

old lady, who was always kind to me and to whom I am under many

obligations.



But she could not pacify herself with these reflections a feeling akin

to remorse troubled her when she thought of her visit. Though she had

firmly resolved not to call on the Rostvs again and to forget the whole

matter, she felt herself all the time in an awkward position. And when

she asked herself what distressed her, she had to admit that it was her

relation to Rostv. His cold, polite manner did not express his feeling

for her (she knew that) but it concealed something, and until she could

discover what that something was, she felt that she could not be at

ease.



One day in midwinter when sitting in the schoolroom attending to her

nephews lessons, she was informed that Rostv had called. With a firm

resolution not to betray herself and not show her agitation, she sent

for Mademoiselle Bourienne and went with her to the drawing room.



Her first glance at Nicholas face told her that he had only come to

fulfill the demands of politeness, and she firmly resolved to maintain

the tone in which he addressed her.



They spoke of the countess health, of their mutual friends, of the

latest war news, and when the ten minutes required by propriety had

elapsed after which a visitor may rise, Nicholas got up to say good-by.



With Mademoiselle Bouriennes help the princess had maintained the

conversation very well, but at the very last moment, just when he rose,

she was so tired of talking of what did not interest her, and her

mind was so full of the question why she alone was granted so little

happiness in life, that in a fit of absent-mindedness she sat still, her

luminous eyes gazing fixedly before her, not noticing that he had risen.



Nicholas glanced at her and, wishing to appear not to notice her

abstraction, made some remark to Mademoiselle Bourienne and then

again looked at the princess. She still sat motionless with a look of

suffering on her gentle face. He suddenly felt sorry for her and was

vaguely conscious that he might be the cause of the sadness her face

expressed. He wished to help her and say something pleasant, but could

think of nothing to say.



Good-by, Princess! said he.



She started, flushed, and sighed deeply.



Oh, I beg your pardon, she said as if waking up. Are you going

already, Count? Well then, good-by! Oh, but the cushion for the

countess!



Wait a moment, Ill fetch it, said Mademoiselle Bourienne, and she

left the room.



They both sat silent, with an occasional glance at one another.



Yes, Princess, said Nicholas at last with a sad smile, it doesnt

seem long ago since we first met at Boguchrovo, but how much water

has flowed since then! In what distress we all seemed to be then, yet

I would give much to bring back that time... but theres no bringing it

back.



Princess Mary gazed intently into his eyes with her own luminous ones

as he said this. She seemed to be trying to fathom the hidden meaning of

his words which would explain his feeling for her.



Yes, yes, said she, but you have no reason to regret the past, Count.

As I understand your present life, I think you will always recall it

with satisfaction, because the self-sacrifice that fills it now...



I cannot accept your praise, he interrupted her hurriedly. On the

contrary I continually reproach myself.... But this is not at all an

interesting or cheerful subject.



His face again resumed its former stiff and cold expression. But the

princess had caught a glimpse of the man she had known and loved, and it

was to him that she now spoke.



I thought you would allow me to tell you this, she said. I had come

so near to you... and to all your family that I thought you would not

consider my sympathy misplaced, but I was mistaken, and suddenly her

voice trembled. I dont know why, she continued, recovering herself,

but you used to be different, and...



There are a thousand reasons why, laying special emphasis on the why.

Thank you, Princess, he added softly. Sometimes it is hard.



So thats why! Thats why! a voice whispered in Princess Marys soul.

No, it was not only that gay, kind, and frank look, not only that

handsome exterior, that I loved in him. I divined his noble, resolute,

self-sacrificing spirit too, she said to herself. Yes, he is poor now

and I am rich.... Yes, thats the only reason.... Yes, were it not for

that... And remembering his former tenderness, and looking now at his

kind, sorrowful face, she suddenly understood the cause of his coldness.



But why, Count, why? she almost cried, unconsciously moving closer to

him. Why? Tell me. You must tell me!



He was silent.



I dont understand your why, Count, she continued, but its hard for

me... I confess it. For some reason you wish to deprive me of our former

friendship. And that hurts me. There were tears in her eyes and in her

voice. I have had so little happiness in life that every loss is hard

for me to bear.... Excuse me, good-by! and suddenly she began to cry

and was hurrying from the room.



Princess, for Gods sake! he exclaimed, trying to stop her.

Princess!



She turned round. For a few seconds they gazed silently into one

anothers eyesand what had seemed impossible and remote suddenly became

possible, inevitable, and very near.











CHAPTER VII



In the winter of 1813 Nicholas married Princess Mary and moved to Bald

Hills with his wife, his mother, and Snya.



Within four years he had paid off all his remaining debts without

selling any of his wifes property, and having received a small

inheritance on the death of a cousin he paid his debt to Pierre as well.



In another three years, by 1820, he had so managed his affairs that he

was able to buy a small estate adjoining Bald Hills and was negotiating

to buy back Otrdnoethat being his pet dream.



Having started farming from necessity, he soon grew so devoted to it

that it became his favorite and almost his sole occupation. Nicholas was

a plain farmer he did not like innovations, especially the English ones

then coming into vogue. He laughed at theoretical treatises on estate

management, disliked factories, the raising of expensive products,

and the buying of expensive seed corn, and did not make a hobby of any

particular part of the work on his estate. He always had before his

minds eye the estate as a whole and not any particular part of it. The

chief thing in his eyes was not the nitrogen in the soil, nor the oxygen

in the air, nor manures, nor special plows, but that most important

agent by which nitrogen, oxygen, manure, and plow were made

effectivethe peasant laborer. When Nicholas first began farming

and began to understand its different branches, it was the serf who

especially attracted his attention. The peasant seemed to him not merely

a tool, but also a judge of farming and an end in himself. At first

he watched the serfs, trying to understand their aims and what they

considered good and bad, and only pretended to direct them and give

orders while in reality learning from them their methods, their manner

of speech, and their judgment of what was good and bad. Only when he

had understood the peasants tastes and aspirations, had learned to talk

their language, to grasp the hidden meaning of their words, and felt

akin to them did he begin boldly to manage his serfs, that is, to

perform toward them the duties demanded of him. And Nicholas management

produced very brilliant results.



Guided by some gift of insight, on taking up the management of the

estates he at once unerringly appointed as bailiff, village elder, and

delegate, the very men the serfs would themselves have chosen had they

had the right to choose, and these posts never changed hands. Before

analyzing the properties of manure, before entering into the debit and

credit (as he ironically called it), he found out how many cattle the

peasants had and increased the number by all possible means. He kept the

peasant families together in the largest groups possible, not allowing

the family groups to divide into separate households. He was hard alike

on the lazy, the depraved, and the weak, and tried to get them expelled

from the commune.



He was as careful of the sowing and reaping of the peasants hay

and corn as of his own, and few landowners had their crops sown

and harvested so early and so well, or got so good a return, as did

Nicholas.



He disliked having anything to do with the domestic serfsthe drones

as he called themand everyone said he spoiled them by his laxity. When

a decision had to be taken regarding a domestic serf, especially if one

had to be punished, he always felt undecided and consulted everybody in

the house but when it was possible to have a domestic serf conscripted

instead of a land worker he did so without the least hesitation. He

never felt any hesitation in dealing with the peasants. He knew that his

every decision would be approved by them all with very few exceptions.



He did not allow himself either to be hard on or punish a man, or to

make things easy for or reward anyone, merely because he felt inclined

to do so. He could not have said by what standard he judged what he

should or should not do, but the standard was quite firm and definite in

his own mind.



Often, speaking with vexation of some failure or irregularity, he would

say What can one do with our Russian peasants? and imagined that he

could not bear them.



Yet he loved our Russian peasants and their way of life with his whole

soul, and for that very reason had understood and assimilated the one

way and manner of farming which produced good results.



Countess Mary was jealous of this passion of her husbands and regretted

that she could not share it but she could not understand the joys and

vexations he derived from that world, to her so remote and alien. She

could not understand why he was so particularly animated and happy

when, after getting up at daybreak and spending the whole morning in the

fields or on the threshing floor, he returned from the sowing or mowing

or reaping to have tea with her. She did not understand why he spoke

with such admiration and delight of the farming of the thrifty and

well-to-do peasant Matthew Ermshin, who with his family had carted

corn all night or of the fact that his (Nicholas) sheaves were already

stacked before anyone else had his harvest in. She did not understand

why he stepped out from the window to the veranda and smiled under his

mustache and winked so joyfully, when warm steady rain began to fall

on the dry and thirsty shoots of the young oats, or why when the wind

carried away a threatening cloud during the hay harvest he would return

from the barn, flushed, sunburned, and perspiring, with a smell of

wormwood and gentian in his hair and, gleefully rubbing his hands, would

say Well, one more day and my grain and the peasants will all be

under cover.



Still less did she understand why he, kindhearted and always ready to

anticipate her wishes, should become almost desperate when she brought

him a petition from some peasant men or women who had appealed to her

to be excused some work why he, that kind Nicholas, should obstinately

refuse her, angrily asking her not to interfere in what was not her

business. She felt he had a world apart, which he loved passionately and

which had laws she had not fathomed.



Sometimes when, trying to understand him, she spoke of the good work he

was doing for his serfs, he would be vexed and reply Not in the least

it never entered my head and I wouldnt do that for their good! Thats

all poetry and old wives talkall that doing good to ones neighbor!

What I want is that our children should not have to go begging. I must

put our affairs in order while I am alive, thats all. And to do that,

order and strictness are essential.... Thats all about it! said he,

clenching his vigorous fist. And fairness, of course, he added, for

if the peasant is naked and hungry and has only one miserable horse, he

can do no good either for himself or for me.



And all Nicholas did was fruitfulprobably just because he refused to

allow himself to think that he was doing good to others for virtues

sake. His means increased rapidly serfs from neighboring estates came

to beg him to buy them, and long after his death the memory of his

administration was devoutly preserved among the serfs. He was a

master... the peasants affairs first and then his own. Of course he was

not to be trifled with eitherin a word, he was a real master!











CHAPTER VIII



One matter connected with his management sometimes worried Nicholas, and

that was his quick temper together with his old hussar habit of making

free use of his fists. At first he saw nothing reprehensible in

this, but in the second year of his marriage his view of that form of

punishment suddenly changed.



Once in summer he had sent for the village elder from Boguchrovo, a

man who had succeeded to the post when Dron died and who was accused of

dishonesty and various irregularities. Nicholas went out into the porch

to question him, and immediately after the elder had given a few replies

the sound of cries and blows were heard. On returning to lunch Nicholas

went up to his wife, who sat with her head bent low over her embroidery

frame, and as usual began to tell her what he had been doing that

morning. Among other things he spoke of the Boguchrovo elder. Countess

Mary turned red and then pale, but continued to sit with head bowed and

lips compressed and gave her husband no reply.



Such an insolent scoundrel! he cried, growing hot again at the mere

recollection of him. If he had told me he was drunk and did not see...

But what is the matter with you, Mary? he suddenly asked.



Countess Mary raised her head and tried to speak, but hastily looked

down again and her lips puckered.



Why, whatever is the matter, my dearest?



The looks of the plain Countess Mary always improved when she was in

tears. She never cried from pain or vexation, but always from sorrow or

pity, and when she wept her radiant eyes acquired an irresistible charm.



The moment Nicholas took her hand she could no longer restrain herself

and began to cry.



Nicholas, I saw it... he was to blame, but why do you... Nicholas! and

she covered her face with her hands.



Nicholas said nothing. He flushed crimson, left her side, and paced up

and down the room. He understood what she was weeping about, but could

not in his heart at once agree with her that what he had regarded

from childhood as quite an everyday event was wrong. Is it just

sentimentality, old wives tales, or is she right? he asked himself.

Before he had solved that point he glanced again at her face filled with

love and pain, and he suddenly realized that she was right and that he

had long been sinning against himself.



Mary, he said softly, going up to her, it will never happen again

I give you my word. Never, he repeated in a trembling voice like a boy

asking for forgiveness.



The tears flowed faster still from the countess eyes. She took his hand

and kissed it.



Nicholas, when did you break your cameo? she asked to change the

subject, looking at his finger on which he wore a ring with a cameo of

Laocons head.



Todayit was the same affair. Oh, Mary, dont remind me of it! and

again he flushed. I give you my word of honor it shant occur again,

and let this always be a reminder to me, and he pointed to the broken

ring.



After that, when in discussions with his village elders or stewards the

blood rushed to his face and his fists began to clench, Nicholas would

turn the broken ring on his finger and would drop his eyes before the

man who was making him angry. But he did forget himself once or twice

within a twelvemonth, and then he would go and confess to his wife, and

would again promise that this should really be the very last time.



Mary, you must despise me! he would say. I deserve it.



You should go, go away at once, if you dont feel strong enough to

control yourself, she would reply sadly, trying to comfort her husband.



Among the gentry of the province Nicholas was respected but not liked.

He did not concern himself with the interests of his own class, and

consequently some thought him proud and others thought him stupid. The

whole summer, from spring sowing to harvest, he was busy with the work

on his farm. In autumn he gave himself up to hunting with the same

business-like seriousnessleaving home for a month, or even two, with

his hunt. In winter he visited his other villages or spent his time

reading. The books he read were chiefly historical, and on these he

spent a certain sum every year. He was collecting, as he said, a serious

library, and he made it a rule to read through all the books he bought.

He would sit in his study with a grave air, readinga task he first

imposed upon himself as a duty, but which afterwards became a habit

affording him a special kind of pleasure and a consciousness of

being occupied with serious matters. In winter, except for business

excursions, he spent most of his time at home making himself one with

his family and entering into all the details of his childrens relations

with their mother. The harmony between him and his wife grew closer and

closer and he daily discovered fresh spiritual treasures in her.



From the time of his marriage Snya had lived in his house. Before

that, Nicholas had told his wife all that had passed between himself and

Snya, blaming himself and commending her. He had asked Princess Mary to

be gentle and kind to his cousin. She thoroughly realized the wrong he

had done Snya, felt herself to blame toward her, and imagined that her

wealth had influenced Nicholas choice. She could not find fault with

Snya 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 Natsha about Snya and about her

own injustice toward her.



You know, said Natsha, you have read the Gospels a great dealthere

is a passage in them that just fits Snya.



What? asked Countess Mary, surprised.



To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be

taken away. You remember? She is one that hath not why, I dont know.

Perhaps she lacks egotism, I dont know, but from her is taken away, and

everything has been taken away. Sometimes I am dreadfully sorry for her.

Formerly I very much wanted Nicholas to marry her, but I always had

a sort of presentiment that it would not come off. She is a sterile

flower, you knowlike some strawberry blossoms. Sometimes I am sorry for

her, and sometimes I think she doesnt feel it as you or I would.



Though Countess Mary told Natsha that those words in the Gospel must be

understood differently, yet looking at Snya she agreed with Natshas

explanation. It really seemed that Snya did not feel her position

trying, and had grown quite reconciled to her lot as a sterile flower.

She seemed to be fond not so much of individuals as of the family as a

whole. Like a cat, she had attached herself not to the people but to the

home. She waited on the old countess, petted and spoiled the children,

was always ready to render the small services for which she had a gift,

and all this was unconsciously accepted from her with insufficient

gratitude.



The country seat at Bald Hills had been rebuilt, though not on the same

scale as under the old prince.



The buildings, begun under straitened circumstances, were more than

simple. The immense house on the old stone foundations was of wood,

plastered only inside. It had bare deal floors and was furnished with

very simple hard sofas, armchairs, tables, and chairs made by their own

serf carpenters out of their own birchwood. The house was spacious

and had rooms for the house serfs and apartments for visitors. Whole

families of the Rostvs and Bolknskis relations sometimes came to

Bald Hills with sixteen horses and dozens of servants and stayed for

months. Besides that, four times a year, on the name days and birthdays

of the hosts, as many as a hundred visitors would gather there for a day

or two. The rest of the year life pursued its unbroken routine with its

ordinary occupations, and its breakfasts, lunches, dinners, and suppers,

provided out of the produce of the estate.











CHAPTER IX



It was the eve of St. Nicholas, the fifth of December, 1820. Natsha had

been staying at her brothers with her husband and children since early

autumn. Pierre had gone to Petersburg on business of his own for three

weeks as he said, but had remained there nearly seven weeks and was

expected back every minute.



Besides the Bezkhov family, Nicholas old friend the retired General

Vasli Dmtrich Densov was staying with the Rostvs this fifth of

December.



On the sixth, which was his name day when the house would be full of

visitors, Nicholas knew he would have to exchange his Tartar tunic for

a tail coat, and put on narrow boots with pointed toes, and drive to

the new church he had built, and then receive visitors who would come to

congratulate him, offer them refreshments, and talk about the elections

of the nobility but he considered himself entitled to spend the eve

of that day in his usual way. He examined the bailiffs accounts of

the village in Ryazn which belonged to his wifes nephew, wrote two

business letters, and walked over to the granaries, cattle yards and

stables before dinner. Having taken precautions against the general

drunkenness to be expected on the morrow because it was a great saints

day, he returned to dinner, and without having time for a private talk

with his wife sat down at the long table laid for twenty persons, at

which the whole household had assembled. At that table were his mother,

his mothers old lady companion Belva, his wife, their three children

with their governess and tutor, his wifes nephew with his tutor, Snya,

Densov, Natsha, her three children, their governess, and old Michael

Ivnovich, the late princes architect, who was living on in retirement

at Bald Hills.



Countess Mary sat at the other end of the table. When her husband took

his place she concluded, from the rapid manner in which after taking

up his table napkin he pushed back the tumbler and wineglass standing

before him, that he was out of humor, as was sometimes the case when

he came in to dinner straight from the farmespecially before the soup.

Countess Mary well knew that mood of his, and when she herself was in

a good frame of mind quietly waited till he had had his soup and then

began to talk to him and make him admit that there was no cause for his

ill-humor. But today she quite forgot that and was hurt that he should

be angry with her without any reason, and she felt unhappy. She asked

him where he had been. He replied. She again inquired whether

everything was going well on the farm. Her unnatural tone made him wince

unpleasantly and he replied hastily.



Then Im not mistaken, thought Countess Mary. Why is he cross with

me? She concluded from his tone that he was vexed with her and wished

to end the conversation. She knew her remarks sounded unnatural, but

could not refrain from asking some more questions.



Thanks to Densov the conversation at table soon became general and

lively, and she did not talk to her husband. When they left the table

and went as usual to thank the old countess, Countess Mary held out her

hand and kissed her husband, and asked him why he was angry with her.



You always have such strange fancies! I didnt even think of being

angry, he replied.



But the word always seemed to her to imply Yes, I am angry but I wont

tell you why.



Nicholas and his wife lived together so happily that even Snya and the

old countess, who felt jealous and would have liked them to disagree,

could find nothing to reproach them with but even they had their

moments of antagonism. Occasionally, and it was always just after they

had been happiest together, they suddenly had a feeling of estrangement

and hostility, which occurred most frequently during Countess Marys

pregnancies, and this was such a time.



Well, messieurs et mesdames, said Nicholas loudly and with apparent

cheerfulness (it seemed to Countess Mary that he did it on purpose to

vex her), I have been on my feet since six this morning. Tomorrow I

shall have to suffer, so today Ill go and rest.



And without a word to his wife he went to the little sitting room and

lay down on the sofa.



Thats always the way, thought Countess Mary. He talks to everyone

except me. I see... I see that I am repulsive to him, especially when I

am in this condition. She looked down at her expanded figure and in the

glass at her pale, sallow, emaciated face in which her eyes now looked

larger than ever.



And everything annoyed herDensovs shouting and laughter, Natshas

talk, and especially a quick glance Snya gave her.



Snya was always the first excuse Countess Mary found for feeling

irritated.



Having sat awhile with her visitors without understanding anything of

what they were saying, she softly left the room and went to the nursery.



The children were playing at going to Moscow in a carriage made of

chairs and invited her to go with them. She sat down and played with

them a little, but the thought of her husband and his unreasonable

crossness worried her. She got up and, walking on tiptoe with

difficulty, went to the small sitting room.



Perhaps he is not asleep Ill have an explanation with him, she

said to herself. Little Andrew, her eldest boy, imitating his mother,

followed her on tiptoe. She did not notice him.



Mary, dear, I think he is asleephe was so tired, said Snya, meeting

her in the large sitting room (it seemed to Countess Mary that she

crossed her path everywhere). Andrew may wake him.



Countess Mary looked round, saw little Andrew following her, felt that

Snya was right, and for that very reason flushed and with evident

difficulty refrained from saying something harsh. She made no reply, but

to avoid obeying Snya beckoned to Andrew to follow her quietly and went

to the door. Snya went away by another door. From the room in which

Nicholas was sleeping came the sound of his even breathing, every

slightest tone of which was familiar to his wife. As she listened to it

she saw before her his smooth handsome forehead, his mustache, and his

whole face, as she had so often seen it in the stillness of the night

when he slept. Nicholas suddenly moved and cleared his throat. And at

that moment little Andrew shouted from outside the door Papa! Mammas

standing here! Countess Mary turned pale with fright and made signs

to the boy. He grew silent, and quiet ensued for a moment, terrible to

Countess Mary. She knew how Nicholas disliked being waked. Then through

the door she heard Nicholas clearing his throat again and stirring, and

his voice said crossly



I cant get a moments peace.... Mary, is that you? Why did you bring

him here?



I only came in to look and did not notice... forgive me....



Nicholas coughed and said no more. Countess Mary moved away from the

door and took the boy back to the nursery. Five minutes later little

black-eyed three-year-old Natsha, her fathers pet, having learned from

her brother that Papa was asleep and Mamma was in the sitting room, ran

to her father unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed little girl boldly

opened the creaking door, went up to the sofa with energetic steps of

her sturdy little legs, and having examined the position of her father,

who was asleep with his back to her, rose on tiptoe and kissed the hand

which lay under his head. Nicholas turned with a tender smile on his

face.



Natsha, Natsha! came Countess Marys frightened whisper from the

door. Papa wants to sleep.



No, Mamma, he doesnt want to sleep, said little Natsha with

conviction. Hes laughing.



Nicholas lowered his legs, rose, and took his daughter in his arms.



Come in, Mary, he said to his wife.



She went in and sat down by her husband.



I did not notice him following me, she said timidly. I just looked

in.



Holding his little girl with one arm, Nicholas glanced at his wife and,

seeing her guilty expression, put his other arm around her and kissed

her hair.



May I kiss Mamma? he asked Natsha.



Natsha smiled bashfully.



Again! she commanded, pointing with a peremptory gesture to the spot

where Nicholas had placed the kiss.



I dont know why you think I am cross, said Nicholas, replying to the

question he knew was in his wifes mind.



You have no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like

that. It always seems to me...



Mary, dont talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! he

said gaily.



It seems to be that you cant love me, that I am so plain... always...

and now... in this cond...



Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, its love that

makes us see beauty. It is only Malvnas and women of that kind who are

loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I dont love her, but...

I dont know how to put it. Without you, or when something comes between

us like this, I seem lost and cant do anything. Now do I love my

finger? I dont love it, but just try to cut it off!



Im not like that myself, but I understand. So youre not angry with

me?



Awfully angry! he said, smiling and getting up. And smoothing his hair

he began to pace the room.



Do you know, Mary, what Ive been thinking? he began, immediately

thinking aloud in his wifes presence now that they had made it up.



He did not ask if she was ready to listen to him. He did not care. A

thought had occurred to him and so it belonged to her also. And he told

her of his intention to persuade Pierre to stay with them till spring.



Countess Mary listened till he had finished, made some remark, and in

her turn began thinking aloud. Her thoughts were about the children.



You can see the woman in her already, she said in French, pointing to

little Natsha. You reproach us women with being illogical. Here is our

logic. I say Papa wants to sleep! but she says, No, hes laughing.

And she was right, said Countess Mary with a happy smile.



Yes, yes. And Nicholas, taking his little daughter in his strong hand,

lifted her high, placed her on his shoulder, held her by the legs, and

paced the room with her. There was an expression of carefree happiness

on the faces of both father and daughter.



But you know you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one, his wife

whispered in French.



Yes, but what am I to do?... I try not to show...



At that moment they heard the sound of the door pulley and footsteps in

the hall and anteroom, as if someone had arrived.



Somebody has come.



I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and see, said Countess Mary and left

the room.



In her absence Nicholas allowed himself to give his little daughter a

gallop round the room. Out of breath, he took the laughing child quickly

from his shoulder and pressed her to his heart. His capers reminded

him of dancing, and looking at the childs round happy little face he

thought of what she would be like when he was an old man, taking her

into society and dancing the mazurka with her as his old father had

danced Daniel Cooper with his daughter.



It is he, it is he, Nicholas! said Countess Mary, re-entering the room

a few minutes later. Now our Natsha has come to life. You should have

seen her ecstasy, and how he caught it for having stayed away so long.

Well, come along now, quick, quick! Its time you two were parted, she

added, looking smilingly at the little girl who clung to her father.



Nicholas went out holding the child by the hand.



Countess Mary remained in the sitting room.



I should never, never have believed that one could be so happy, she

whispered to herself. A smile lit up her face but at the same time she

sighed, and her deep eyes expressed a quiet sadness as though she

felt, through her happiness, that there is another sort of happiness

unattainable in this life and of which she involuntarily thought at that

instant.











CHAPTER X



Natsha had married in the early spring of 1813, and in 1820 already had

three daughters besides a son for whom she had longed and whom she was

now nursing. She had grown stouter and broader, so that it was difficult

to recognize in this robust, motherly woman the slim, lively Natsha of

former days. Her features were more defined and had a calm, soft,

and serene expression. In her face there was none of the ever-glowing

animation that had formerly burned there and constituted its charm.

Now her face and body were often all that one saw, and her soul was

not visible at all. All that struck the eye was a strong, handsome, and

fertile woman. The old fire very rarely kindled in her face now. That

happened only when, as was the case that day, her husband returned home,

or a sick child was convalescent, or when she and Countess Mary spoke of

Prince Andrew (she never mentioned him to her husband, who she imagined

was jealous of Prince Andrews memory), or on the rare occasions when

something happened to induce her to sing, a practice she had quite

abandoned since her marriage. At the rare moments when the old fire

did kindle in her handsome, fully developed body she was even more

attractive than in former days.



Since their marriage Natsha and her husband had lived in Moscow, in

Petersburg, on their estate near Moscow, or with her mother, that is to

say, in Nicholas house. The young Countess Bezkhova was not often seen

in society, and those who met her there were not pleased with her

and found her neither attractive nor amiable. Not that Natsha liked

solitudeshe did not know whether she liked it or not, she even thought

that she did notbut with her pregnancies, her confinements, the nursing

of her children, and sharing every moment of her husbands life, she had

demands on her time which could be satisfied only by renouncing society.

All who had known Natsha before her marriage wondered at the change

in her as at something extraordinary. Only the old countess with her

maternal instinct had realized that all Natshas outbursts had been due

to her need of children and a husbandas she herself had once exclaimed

at Otrdnoe not so much in fun as in earnestand her mother was now

surprised at the surprise expressed by those who had never understood

Natsha, and she kept saying that she had always known that Natsha

would make an exemplary wife and mother.



Only she lets her love of her husband and children overflow all

bounds, said the countess, so that it even becomes absurd.



Natsha did not follow the golden rule advocated by clever folk,

especially by the French, which says that a girl should not let herself

go when she marries, should not neglect her accomplishments, should be

even more careful of her appearance than when she was unmarried, and

should fascinate her husband as much as she did before he became her

husband. Natsha on the contrary had at once abandoned all her witchery,

of which her singing had been an unusually powerful part. She gave it up

just because it was so powerfully seductive. She took no pains with

her manners or with delicacy of speech, or with her toilet, or to show

herself to her husband in her most becoming attitudes, or to avoid

inconveniencing him by being too exacting. She acted in contradiction

to all those rules. She felt that the allurements instinct had formerly

taught her to use would now be merely ridiculous in the eyes of

her husband, to whom she had from the first moment given herself up

entirelythat is, with her whole soul, leaving no corner of it hidden

from him. She felt that her unity with her husband was not maintained

by the poetic feelings that had attracted him to her, but by something

elseindefinite but firm as the bond between her own body and soul.



To fluff out her curls, put on fashionable dresses, and sing romantic

songs to fascinate her husband would have seemed as strange as to adorn

herself to attract herself. To adorn herself for others might perhaps

have been agreeableshe did not knowbut she had no time at all for it.

The chief reason for devoting no time either to singing, to dress, or

to choosing her words was that she really had no time to spare for these

things.



We know that man has the faculty of becoming completely absorbed in

a subject however trivial it may be, and that there is no subject so

trivial that it will not grow to infinite proportions if ones entire

attention is devoted to it.



The subject which wholly engrossed Natshas attention was her family

that is, her husband whom she had to keep so that he should belong

entirely to her and to the home, and the children whom she had to bear,

bring into the world, nurse, and bring up.



And the deeper she penetrated, not with her mind only but with her whole

soul, her whole being, into the subject that absorbed her, the larger

did that subject grow and the weaker and more inadequate did her powers

appear, so that she concentrated them wholly on that one thing and yet

was unable to accomplish all that she considered necessary.



There were then as now conversations and discussions about womens

rights, the relations of husband and wife and their freedom and rights,

though these themes were not yet termed questions as they are now but

these topics were not merely uninteresting to Natsha, she positively

did not understand them.



These questions, then as now, existed only for those who see nothing in

marriage but the pleasure married people get from one another, that is,

only the beginnings of marriage and not its whole significance, which

lies in the family.



Discussions and questions of that kind, which are like the question of

how to get the greatest gratification from ones dinner, did not then

and do not now exist for those for whom the purpose of a dinner is the

nourishment it affords and the purpose of marriage is the family.



If the purpose of dinner is to nourish the body, a man who eats two

dinners at once may perhaps get more enjoyment but will not attain his

purpose, for his stomach will not digest the two dinners.



If the purpose of marriage is the family, the person who wishes to have

many wives or husbands may perhaps obtain much pleasure, but in that

case will not have a family.



If the purpose of food is nourishment and the purpose of marriage is the

family, the whole question resolves itself into not eating more than one

can digest, and not having more wives or husbands than are needed for

the familythat is, one wife or one husband. Natsha needed a husband. A

husband was given her and he gave her a family. And she not only saw no

need of any other or better husband, but as all the powers of her soul

were intent on serving that husband and family, she could not imagine

and saw no interest in imagining how it would be if things were

different.



Natsha did not care for society in general, but prized the more the

society of her relativesCountess Mary, and her brother, her mother, and

Snya. She valued the company of those to whom she could come striding

disheveled from the nursery in her dressing gown, and with joyful face

show a yellow instead of a green stain on babys napkin, and from whom

she could hear reassuring words to the effect that baby was much better.



To such an extent had Natsha let herself go that the way she dressed

and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousyshe was jealous

of Snya, of the governess, and of every woman, pretty or plainwere

habitual subjects of jest to those about her. The general opinion was

that Pierre was under his wifes thumb, which was really true. From the

very first days of their married life Natsha had announced her demands.

Pierre was greatly surprised by his wifes view, to him a perfectly

novel one, that every moment of his life belonged to her and to the

family. His wifes demands astonished him, but they also flattered him,

and he submitted to them.



Pierres subjection consisted in the fact that he not only dared not

flirt with, but dared not even speak smilingly to, any other woman did

not dare dine at the Club as a pastime, did not dare spend money on a

whim, and did not dare absent himself for any length of time, except on

businessin which his wife included his intellectual pursuits, which

she did not in the least understand but to which she attributed great

importance. To make up for this, at home Pierre had the right to

regulate his life and that of the whole family exactly as he chose. At

home Natsha placed herself in the position of a slave to her husband,

and the whole household went on tiptoe when he was occupiedthat is, was

reading or writing in his study. Pierre had but to show a partiality for

anything to get just what he liked done always. He had only to express a

wish and Natsha would jump up and run to fulfill it.



The entire household was governed according to Pierres supposed orders,

that is, by his wishes which Natsha tried to guess. Their way of

life and place of residence, their acquaintances and ties, Natshas

occupations, the childrens upbringing, were all selected not merely

with regard to Pierres expressed wishes, but to what Natsha from the

thoughts he expressed in conversation supposed his wishes to be. And she

deduced the essentials of his wishes quite correctly, and having once

arrived at them clung to them tenaciously. When Pierre himself wanted to

change his mind she would fight him with his own weapons.



Thus in a time of trouble ever memorable to him after the birth of their

first child who was delicate, when they had to change the wet nurse

three times and Natsha fell ill from despair, Pierre one day told her

of Rousseaus view, with which he quite agreed, that to have a wet

nurse is unnatural and harmful. When her next baby was born, despite

the opposition of her mother, the doctors, and even of her husband

himselfwho were all vigorously opposed to her nursing her baby herself,

a thing then unheard of and considered injuriousshe insisted on having

her own way, and after that nursed all her babies herself.



It very often happened that in a moment of irritation husband and wife

would have a dispute, but long afterwards Pierre to his surprise and

delight would find in his wifes ideas and actions the very thought

against which she had argued, but divested of everything superfluous

that in the excitement of the dispute he had added when expressing his

opinion.



After seven years of marriage Pierre had the joyous and firm

consciousness that he was not a bad man, and he felt this because he saw

himself reflected in his wife. He felt the good and bad within himself

inextricably mingled and overlapping. But only what was really good in

him was reflected in his wife, all that was not quite good was rejected.

And this was not the result of logical reasoning but was a direct and

mysterious reflection.











CHAPTER XI



Two months previously when Pierre was already staying with the Rostvs

he had received a letter from Prince Theodore, asking him to come

to Petersburg to confer on some important questions that were being

discussed there by a society of which Pierre was one of the principal

founders.



On reading that letter (she always read her husbands letters) Natsha

herself suggested that he should go to Petersburg, though she would feel

his absence very acutely. She attributed immense importance to all

her husbands intellectual and abstract interests though she did not

understand them, and she always dreaded being a hindrance to him in such

matters. To Pierres timid look of inquiry after reading the letter she

replied by asking him to go, but to fix a definite date for his return.

He was given four weeks leave of absence.



Ever since that leave of absence had expired, more than a fortnight

before, Natsha had been in a constant state of alarm, depression, and

irritability.



Densov, now a general on the retired list and much dissatisfied with

the present state of affairs, had arrived during that fortnight. He

looked at Natsha with sorrow and surprise as at a bad likeness of a

person once dear. A dull, dejected look, random replies, and talk about

the nursery was all he saw and heard from his former enchantress.



Natsha was sad and irritable all that time, especially when her mother,

her brother, Snya, or Countess Mary in their efforts to console her

tried to excuse Pierre and suggested reasons for his delay in returning.



Its all nonsense, all rubbishthose discussions which lead to nothing

and all those idiotic societies! Natsha declared of the very affairs

in the immense importance of which she firmly believed.



And she would go to the nursery to nurse Ptya, her only boy. No one

else could tell her anything so comforting or so reasonable as this

little three-month-old creature when he lay at her breast and she was

conscious of the movement of his lips and the snuffling of his little

nose. That creature said You are angry, you are jealous, you would

like to pay him out, you are afraidbut here am I! And I am he... and

that was unanswerable. It was more than true.



During that fortnight of anxiety Natsha resorted to the baby for

comfort so often, and fussed over him so much, that she overfed him and

he fell ill. She was terrified by his illness, and yet that was just

what she needed. While attending to him she bore the anxiety about her

husband more easily.



She was nursing her boy when the sound of Pierres sleigh was heard

at the front door, and the old nurseknowing how to please her

mistressentered the room inaudibly but hurriedly and with a beaming

face.



Has he come? Natsha asked quickly in a whisper, afraid to move lest

she should rouse the dozing baby.



Hes come, maam, whispered the nurse.



The blood rushed to Natshas face and her feet involuntarily moved, but

she could not jump up and run out. The baby again opened his eyes and

looked at her. Youre here? he seemed to be saying, and again lazily

smacked his lips.



Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natsha rocked him a little, handed

him to the nurse, and went with rapid steps toward the door. But at the

door she stopped as if her conscience reproached her for having in

her joy left the child too soon, and she glanced round. The nurse with

raised elbows was lifting the infant over the rail of his cot.



Go, maam! Dont worry, go! she whispered, smiling, with the kind of

familiarity that grows up between a nurse and her mistress.



Natsha ran with light footsteps to the anteroom.



Densov, who had come out of the study into the dancing room with his

pipe, now for the first time recognized the old Natsha. A flood of

brilliant, joyful light poured from her transfigured face.



Hes come! she exclaimed as she ran past, and Densov felt that he too

was delighted that Pierre, whom he did not much care for, had returned.



On reaching the vestibule Natsha saw a tall figure in a fur coat

unwinding his scarf. Its he! Its really he! He has come! she said

to herself, and rushing at him embraced him, pressed his head to her

breast, and then pushed him back and gazed at his ruddy, happy face,

covered with hoarfrost. Yes, it is he, happy and contented....



Then all at once she remembered the tortures of suspense she had

experienced for the last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up her

face vanished she frowned and overwhelmed Pierre with a torrent of

reproaches and angry words.



Yes, its all very well for you. You are pleased, youve had a good

time.... But what about me? You might at least have shown consideration

for the children. I am nursing and my milk was spoiled.... Ptya was at

deaths door. But you were enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying...



Pierre knew he was not to blame, for he could not have come sooner he

knew this outburst was unseemly and would blow over in a minute or two

above all he knew that he himself was bright and happy. He wanted

to smile but dared not even think of doing so. He made a piteous,

frightened face and bent down.



I could not, on my honor. But how is Ptya?



All right now. Come along! I wonder youre not ashamed! If only you

could see what I was like without you, how I suffered!



You are well?



Come, come! she said, not letting go of his arm. And they went to

their rooms.



When Nicholas and his wife came to look for Pierre he was in the nursery

holding his baby son, who was again awake, on his huge right palm and

dandling him. A blissful bright smile was fixed on the babys broad face

with its toothless open mouth. The storm was long since over and there

was bright, joyous sunshine on Natshas face as she gazed tenderly at

her husband and child.



And have you talked everything well over with Prince Theodore? she

asked.



Yes, capitally.



You see, he holds it up. (She meant the babys head.) But how he did

frighten me... Youve seen the princess? Is it true shes in love with

that...



Yes, just fancy...



At that moment Nicholas and Countess Mary came in. Pierre with the baby

on his hand stooped, kissed them, and replied to their inquiries. But

in spite of much that was interesting and had to be discussed, the baby

with the little cap on its unsteady head evidently absorbed all his

attention.



How sweet! said Countess Mary, looking at and playing with the baby.

Now, Nicholas, she added, turning to her husband, I cant understand

how it is you dont see the charm of these delicious marvels.



I dont and cant, replied Nicholas, looking coldly at the baby. A

lump of flesh. Come along, Pierre!



And yet hes 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 Natsha. He says his hand is

just made for a babys seat. Just look!



Only not for this... Pierre suddenly exclaimed with a laugh, and

shifting the baby he gave him to the nurse.











CHAPTER XII



As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills several perfectly

distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole, though each

retained its own peculiarities and made concessions to the others. Every

event, joyful or sad, that took place in that house was important to all

these worlds, but each had its own special reasons to rejoice or grieve

over that occurrence independently of the others.



For instance, Pierres return was a joyful and important event and they

all felt it to be so.



The servantsthe most reliable judges of their masters because they

judge not by their conversation or expressions of feeling but by their

acts and way of lifewere glad of Pierres return because they knew that

when he was there Count Nicholas would cease going every day to attend

to the estate, and would be in better spirits and temper, and also

because they would all receive handsome presents for the holidays.



The children and their governesses were glad of Pierres return because

no one else drew them into the social life of the household as he did.

He alone could play on the clavichord that cossaise (his only piece)

to which, as he said, all possible dances could be danced, and they felt

sure he had brought presents for them all.



Young Nicholas, now a slim lad of fifteen, delicate and intelligent,

with curly light-brown hair and beautiful eyes, was delighted because

Uncle Pierre as he called him was the object of his rapturous and

passionate affection. No one had instilled into him this love for Pierre

whom he saw only occasionally. Countess Mary who had brought him up

had done her utmost to make him love her husband as she loved him, and

little Nicholas did love his uncle, but loved him with just a shade of

contempt. Pierre, however, he adored. He did not want to be an hussar or

a Knight of St. George like his uncle Nicholas he wanted to be learned,

wise, and kind like Pierre. In Pierres presence his face always shone

with pleasure and he flushed and was breathless when Pierre spoke to

him. He did not miss a single word he uttered, and would afterwards,

with Dessalles or by himself, recall and reconsider the meaning of

everything Pierre had said. Pierres past life and his unhappiness prior

to 1812 (of which young Nicholas had formed a vague poetic picture from

some words he had overheard), his adventures in Moscow, his captivity,

Platn Karatev (of whom he had heard from Pierre), his love for Natsha

(of whom the lad was also particularly fond), and especially Pierres

friendship with the father whom Nicholas could not rememberall this

made Pierre in his eyes a hero and a saint.



From broken remarks about Natsha and his father, from the emotion with

which Pierre spoke of that dead father, and from the careful, reverent

tenderness with which Natsha spoke of him, the boy, who was only just

beginning to guess what love is, derived the notion that his father had

loved Natsha and when dying had left her to his friend. But the father

whom the boy did not remember appeared to him a divinity who could not

be pictured, and of whom he never thought without a swelling heart and

tears of sadness and rapture. So the boy also was happy that Pierre had

arrived.



The guests welcomed Pierre because he always helped to enliven and unite

any company he was in.



The grown-up members of the family, not to mention his wife, were

pleased to have back a friend whose presence made life run more smoothly

and peacefully.



The old ladies were pleased with the presents he brought them, and

especially that Natsha would now be herself again.



Pierre felt the different outlooks of these various worlds and made

haste to satisfy all their expectations.



Though the most absent-minded and forgetful of men, Pierre, with the aid

of a list his wife drew up, had now bought everything, not forgetting

his motherand brother-in-laws commissions, nor the dress material for

a present to Belva, nor toys for his wifes nephews. In the early days

of his marriage it had seemed strange to him that his wife should expect

him not to forget to procure all the things he undertook to buy, and he

had been taken aback by her serious annoyance when on his first trip he

forgot everything. But in time he grew used to this demand. Knowing that

Natsha asked nothing for herself, and gave him commissions for others

only when he himself had offered to undertake them, he now found an

unexpected and childlike pleasure in this purchase of presents for

everyone in the house, and never forgot anything. If he now incurred

Natshas censure it was only for buying too many and too expensive

things. To her other defects (as most people thought them, but which

to Pierre were qualities) of untidiness and neglect of herself, she now

added stinginess.



From the time that Pierre began life as a family man on a footing

entailing heavy expenditure, he had noticed to his surprise that he

spent only half as much as before, and that his affairswhich had been

in disorder of late, chiefly because of his first wifes debtshad begun

to improve.



Life was cheaper because it was circumscribed that most expensive

luxury, the kind of life that can be changed at any moment, was no

longer his nor did he wish for it. He felt that his way of life had now

been settled once for all till death and that to change it was not in

his power, and so that way of life proved economical.



With a merry, smiling face Pierre was sorting his purchases.



What do you think of this? said he, unrolling a piece of stuff like a

shopman.



Natsha, who was sitting opposite to him with her eldest daughter on her

lap, turned her sparkling eyes swiftly from her husband to the things he

showed her.



Thats for Belva? Excellent! She felt the quality of the material.

It was a ruble an arshin, I suppose?



Pierre told her the price.



Too dear! Natsha remarked. How pleased the children will be and

Mamma too! Only you need not have bought me this, she added, unable to

suppress a smile as she gazed admiringly at a gold comb set with pearls,

of a kind then just coming into fashion.



Adle tempted me she kept on telling me to buy it, returned Pierre.



When am I to wear it? and Natsha stuck it in her coil of hair. When

I take little Msha into society? Perhaps they will be fashionable again

by then. Well, lets go now.



And collecting the presents they went first to the nursery and then to

the old countess rooms.



The countess was sitting with her companion Belva, playing

grand-patience as usual, when Pierre and Natsha came into the drawing

room with parcels under their arms.



The countess was now over sixty, was quite gray, and wore a cap with a

frill that surrounded her face. Her face had shriveled, her upper lip

had sunk in, and her eyes were dim.



After the deaths of her son and husband in such rapid succession, she

felt herself a being accidentally forgotten in this world and left

without aim or object for her existence. She ate, drank, slept, or kept

awake, but did not live. Life gave her no new impressions. She wanted

nothing from life but tranquillity, and that tranquillity only death

could give her. But until death came she had to go on living, that is,

to use her vital forces. A peculiarity one sees in very young children

and very old people was particularly evident in her. Her life had

no external aimsonly a need to exercise her various functions and

inclinations was apparent. She had to eat, sleep, think, speak, weep,

work, give vent to her anger, and so on, merely because she had a

stomach, a brain, muscles, nerves, and a liver. She did these things not

under any external impulse as people in the full vigor of life do,

when behind the purpose for which they strive that of exercising their

functions remains unnoticed. She talked only because she physically

needed to exercise her tongue and lungs. She cried as a child does,

because her nose had to be cleared, and so on. What for people in their

full vigor is an aim was for her evidently merely a pretext.



Thus in the morningespecially if she had eaten anything rich the day

beforeshe felt a need of being angry and would choose as the handiest

pretext Belvas deafness.



She would begin to say something to her in a low tone from the other end

of the room.



It seems a little warmer today, my dear, she would murmur.



And when Belva replied Oh yes, theyve come, she would mutter

angrily O Lord! How stupid and deaf she is!



Another pretext would be her snuff, which would seem too dry or too damp

or not rubbed fine enough. After these fits of irritability her face

would grow yellow, and her maids knew by infallible symptoms when Belva

would again be deaf, the snuff damp, and the countess face yellow. Just

as she needed to work off her spleen so she had sometimes to exercise

her still-existing faculty of thinkingand the pretext for that was a

game of patience. When she needed to cry, the deceased count would be

the pretext. When she wanted to be agitated, Nicholas and his health

would be the pretext, and when she felt a need to speak spitefully, the

pretext would be Countess Mary. When her vocal organs needed exercise,

which was usually toward seven oclock when she had had an after-dinner

rest in a darkened room, the pretext would be the retelling of the same

stories over and over again to the same audience.



The old ladys condition was understood by the whole household though no

one ever spoke of it, and they all made every possible effort to satisfy

her needs. Only by a rare glance exchanged with a sad smile

between Nicholas, Pierre, Natsha, and Countess Mary was the common

understanding of her condition expressed.



But those glances expressed something more they said that she had

played her part in life, that what they now saw was not her whole self,

that we must all become like her, and that they were glad to yield to

her, to restrain themselves for this once precious being formerly as

full of life as themselves, but now so much to be pitied. Memento

mori, said these glances.



Only the really heartless, the stupid ones of that household, and the

little children failed to understand this and avoided her.











CHAPTER XIII



When Pierre and his wife entered the drawing room the countess was in

one of her customary states in which she needed the mental exertion of

playing patience, and sothough by force of habit she greeted him with

the words she always used when Pierre or her son returned after an

absence High time, my dear, high time! We were all weary of waiting

for you. Well, thank God! and received her presents with another

customary remark Its not the gift thats precious, my dear, but that

you give it to me, an old woman...yet it was evident that she was

not pleased by Pierres arrival at that moment when it diverted her

attention from the unfinished game.



She finished her game of patience and only then examined the presents.

They consisted of a box for cards, of splendid workmanship, a

bright-blue Svres tea cup with shepherdesses depicted on it and with

a lid, and a gold snuffbox with the counts portrait on the lid which

Pierre had had done by a miniaturist in Petersburg. The countess had

long wished for such a box, but as she did not want to cry just then she

glanced indifferently at the portrait and gave her attention chiefly to

the box for cards.



Thank you, my dear, you have cheered me up, said she as she always

did. But best of all you have brought yourself backfor I never saw

anything like it, you ought to give your wife a scolding! What are we

to do with her? She is like a mad woman when you are away. Doesnt see

anything, doesnt remember anything, she went on, repeating her usual

phrases. Look, Anna Timofevna, she added to her companion, see what

a box for cards my son has brought us!



Belva admired the presents and was delighted with her dress material.



Though Pierre, Natsha, Nicholas, Countess Mary, and Densov had much to

talk about that they could not discuss before the old countessnot

that anything was hidden from her, but because she had dropped so

far behindhand in many things that had they begun to converse in her

presence they would have had to answer inopportune questions and to

repeat what they had already told her many times that so-and-so was

dead and so-and-so was married, which she would again be unable to

rememberyet they sat at tea round the samovar in the drawing room from

habit, and Pierre answered the countess questions as to whether Prince

Vasli had aged and whether Countess Mary Alexevna had sent greetings

and still thought of them, and other matters that interested no one and

to which she herself was indifferent.



Conversation of this kind, interesting to no one yet unavoidable,

continued all through teatime. All the grown-up members of the family

were assembled near the round tea table at which Snya presided beside

the samovar. The children with their tutors and governesses had had

tea and their voices were audible from the next room. At tea all sat

in their accustomed places Nicholas beside the stove at a small table

where his tea was handed to him Mlka, the old gray borzoi bitch

(daughter of the first Mlka), with a quite gray face and large black

eyes that seemed more prominent than ever, lay on the armchair beside

him Densov, whose curly hair, mustache, and whiskers had turned half

gray, sat beside countess Mary with his generals tunic unbuttoned

Pierre sat between his wife and the old countess. He spoke of what he

knew might interest the old lady and that she could understand. He

told her of external social events and of the people who had formed

the circle of her contemporaries and had once been a real, living, and

distinct group, but who were now for the most part scattered about the

world and like herself were garnering the last ears of the harvests they

had sown in earlier years. But to the old countess those contemporaries

of hers seemed to be the only serious and real society. Natsha saw by

Pierres animation that his visit had been interesting and that he had

much to tell them but dare not say it before the old countess. Densov,

not being a member of the family, did not understand Pierres caution

and being, as a malcontent, much interested in what was occurring in

Petersburg, kept urging Pierre to tell them about what had happened in

the Semnovsk regiment, then about Arakchev, and then about the Bible

Society. Once or twice Pierre was carried away and began to speak of

these things, but Nicholas and Natsha always brought him back to the

health of Prince Ivn and Countess Mary Alexevna.



Well, and all this idiocyGossner and Tatwinova? Densov asked. Is

that weally still going on?



Going on? Pierre exclaimed. Why more than ever! The Bible Society is

the whole government now!



What is that, mon cher ami? asked the countess, who had finished her

tea and evidently needed a pretext for being angry after her meal. What

are you saying about the government? I dont understand.



Well, you know, Maman, Nicholas interposed, knowing how to translate

things into his mothers language, Prince Alexander Goltsyn has

founded a society and in consequence has great influence, they say.



Arakchev and Goltsyn, incautiously remarked Pierre, are now the

whole government! And what a government! They see treason everywhere and

are afraid of everything.



Well, and how is Prince Alexander to blame? He is a most estimable

man. I used to meet him at Mary Antnovnas, said the countess in an

offended tone and still more offended that they all remained silent,

she went on Nowadays everyone finds fault. A Gospel Society! Well, and

what harm is there in that? and she rose (everybody else got up too)

and with a severe expression sailed back to her table in the sitting

room.



The melancholy silence that followed was broken by the sounds of the

childrens voices and laughter from the next room. Evidently some jolly

excitement was going on there.



Finished, finished! little Natshas gleeful yell rose above them all.



Pierre exchanged glances with Countess Mary and Nicholas (Natsha he

never lost sight of) and smiled happily.



Thats delightful music! said he.



It means that Anna Makrovna has finished her stocking, said Countess

Mary.



Oh, Ill go and see, said Pierre, jumping up. You know, he added,

stopping at the door, why Im especially fond of that music? It is

always the first thing that tells me all is well. When I was driving

here today, the nearer I got to the house the more anxious I grew. As I

entered the anteroom I heard Andrshas peals of laughter and that meant

that all was well.



I know! I know that feeling, said Nicholas. But I mustnt go

therethose stockings are to be a surprise for me.



Pierre went to the children, and the shouting and laughter grew still

louder.



Come, Anna Makrovna, Pierres voice was heard saying, come here into

the middle of the room and at the word of command, One, two, and

when I say three... You stand here, and you in my armswell now! One,

two!... said Pierre, and a silence followed three! and a rapturously

breathless cry of childrens voices filled the room. Two, two! they

shouted.



This meant two stockings, which by a secret process known only to

herself Anna Makrovna used to knit at the same time on the same

needles, and which, when they were ready, she always triumphantly drew,

one out of the other, in the childrens presence.











CHAPTER XIV



Soon after this the children came in to say good night. They kissed

everyone, the tutors and governesses made their bows, and they went out.

Only young Nicholas and his tutor remained. Dessalles whispered to the

boy to come downstairs.



No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt to let me stay, replied

Nicholas Bolknski also in a whisper.



Ma tante, please let me stay, said he, going up to his aunt.



His face expressed entreaty, agitation, and ecstasy. Countess Mary

glanced at him and turned to Pierre.



When you are here he cant tear himself away, she said.



I will bring him to you directly, Monsieur Dessalles. Good night!

said Pierre, giving his hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turned to young

Nicholas with a smile. You and I havent seen anything of one another

yet.... How like he is growing, Mary! he added, addressing Countess

Mary.



Like my father? asked the boy, flushing crimson and looking up at

Pierre with bright, ecstatic eyes.



Pierre nodded, and went on with what he had been saying when the

children had interrupted. Countess Mary sat down doing woolwork Natsha

did not take her eyes off her husband. Nicholas and Densov rose, asked

for their pipes, smoked, went to fetch more tea from Snyawho sat weary

but resolute at the samovarand questioned Pierre. The curly-headed,

delicate boy sat with shining eyes unnoticed in a corner, starting

every now and then and muttering something to himself, and evidently

experiencing a new and powerful emotion as he turned his curly head,

with his thin neck exposed by his turn-down collar, toward the place

where Pierre sat.



The conversation turned on the contemporary gossip about those in power,

in which most people see the chief interest of home politics. Densov,

dissatisfied with the government on account of his own disappointments

in the service, heard with pleasure of the things done in Petersburg

which seemed to him stupid, and made forcible and sharp comments on what

Pierre told them.



One used to have to be a Germannow one must dance with Tatwinova

and Madame Kwdener, and wead Eckatshausen and the bwethwen. Oh, they

should let that fine fellow Bonaparte loosehed knock all this nonsense

out of them! Fancy giving the command of the Semnov wegiment to a

fellow like that Schwatz! he cried.



Nicholas, though free from Densovs readiness to find fault with

everything, also thought that discussion of the government was a very

serious and weighty matter, and the fact that A had been appointed

Minister of This and B Governor General of That, and that the Emperor

had said so-and-so and this minister so-and-so, seemed to him very

important. And so he thought it necessary to take an interest in these

things and to question Pierre. The questions put by these two kept the

conversation from changing its ordinary character of gossip about the

higher government circles.



But Natsha, knowing all her husbands ways and ideas, saw that he had

long been wishing but had been unable to divert the conversation to

another channel and express his own deeply felt idea for the sake of

which he had gone to Petersburg to consult with his new friend Prince

Theodore, and she helped him by asking how his affairs with Prince

Theodore had gone.



What was it about? asked Nicholas.



Always the same thing, said Pierre, looking round at his listeners.

Everybody sees that things are going so badly that they cannot be

allowed to go on so and that it is the duty of all decent men to

counteract it as far as they can.



What can decent men do? Nicholas inquired, frowning slightly. What

can be done?



Why, this...



Come into my study, said Nicholas.



Natsha, who had long expected to be fetched to nurse her baby, now

heard the nurse calling her and went to the nursery. Countess Mary

followed her. The men went into the study and little Nicholas Bolknski

followed them unnoticed by his uncle and sat down at the writing table

in a shady corner by the window.



Well, what would you do? asked Densov.



Always some fantastic schemes, said Nicholas.



Why this, began Pierre, not sitting down but pacing the room,

sometimes stopping short, gesticulating, and lisping the position

in Petersburg is this the Emperor does not look into anything. He

has abandoned himself altogether to this mysticism (Pierre could not

tolerate mysticism in anyone now). He seeks only for peace, and only

these people sans foi ni loi * can give it himpeople who recklessly

hack at and strangle everythingMagntski, Arakchev, and tutti

quanti.... You will agree that if you did not look after your estates

yourself but only wanted a quiet life, the harsher your steward was the

more readily your object might be attained, he said to Nicholas.



    * Without faith or law.



Well, what does that lead up to? said Nicholas.



Well, everything is going to ruin! Robbery in the law courts, in the

army nothing but flogging, drilling, and Military Settlements the

people are tortured, enlightenment is suppressed. All that is young and

honest is crushed! Everyone sees that this cannot go on. Everything is

strained to such a degree that it will certainly break, said Pierre (as

those who examine the actions of any government have always said since

governments began). I told them just one thing in Petersburg.



Told whom?



Well, you know whom, said Pierre, with a meaning glance from under

his brows. Prince Theodore and all those. To encourage culture and

philanthropy is all very well of course. The aim is excellent but in the

present circumstances something else is needed.



At that moment Nicholas noticed the presence of his nephew. His face

darkened and he went up to the boy.



Why are you here?



Why? Let him be, said Pierre, taking Nicholas by the arm and

continuing. That is not enough, I told them. Something else is needed.

When you stand expecting the overstrained string to snap at any moment,

when everyone is expecting the inevitable catastrophe, as many as

possible must join hands as closely as they can to withstand the general

calamity. Everything that is young and strong is being enticed away and

depraved. One is lured by women, another by honors, a third by ambition

or money, and they go over to that camp. No independent men, such as you

or I, are left. What I say is widen the scope of our society, let the

mot dordre be not virtue alone but independence and action as well!



Nicholas, who had left his nephew, irritably pushed up an armchair, sat

down in it, and listened to Pierre, coughing discontentedly and frowning

more and more.



But action with what aim? he cried. And what position will you adopt

toward the government?



Why, the position of assistants. The society need not be secret if the

government allows it. Not merely is it not hostile to government, but

it is a society of true conservativesa society of gentlemen in the full

meaning of that word. It is only to prevent some Pugachv or other from

killing my children and yours, and Arakchev from sending me off to some

Military Settlement. We join hands only for the public welfare and the

general safety.



Yes, but its a secret society and therefore a hostile and harmful one

which can only cause harm.



Why? Did the Tugendbund which saved Europe (they did not then venture

to suggest that Russia had saved Europe) do any harm? The Tugendbund

is an alliance of virtue it is love, mutual help... it is what Christ

preached on the Cross.



Natsha, who had come in during the conversation, looked joyfully at

her husband. It was not what he was saying that pleased herthat did not

even interest her, for it seemed to her that was all extremely simple

and that she had known it a long time (it seemed so to her because she

knew that it sprang from Pierres whole soul), but it was his animated

and enthusiastic appearance that made her glad.



The boy with the thin neck stretching out from the turn-down collarwhom

everyone had forgottengazed at Pierre with even greater and more

rapturous joy. Every word of Pierres burned into his heart, and with a

nervous movement of his fingers he unconsciously broke the sealing wax

and quill pens his hands came upon on his uncles table.



It is not at all what you suppose but that is what the German

Tugendbund was, and what I am proposing.



No, my fwiend! The Tugendbund is all vewy well for the sausage eaters,

but I dont understand it and cant even pwonounce it, interposed

Densov in a loud and resolute voice. I agwee that evewything here is

wotten and howwible, but the Tugendbund I dont understand. If were

not satisfied, let us have a bunt of our own. Thats all wight. Je suis

vote homme! *



    * Im your man.





Pierre smiled, Natsha began to laugh, but Nicholas knitted his brows

still more and began proving to Pierre that there was no prospect of

any great change and that all the danger he spoke of existed only in his

imagination. Pierre maintained the contrary, and as his mental faculties

were greater and more resourceful, Nicholas felt himself cornered. This

made him still angrier, for he was fully convinced, not by reasoning

but by something within him stronger than reason, of the justice of his

opinion.



I will tell you this, he said, rising and trying with nervously

twitching fingers to prop up his pipe in a corner, but finally

abandoning the attempt. I cant prove it to you. You say that

everything here is rotten and that an overthrow is coming I dont

see it. But you also say that our oath of allegiance is a conditional

matter, and to that I reply You are my best friend, as you know,

but if you formed a secret society and began working against the

governmentbe it what it mayI know it is my duty to obey the

government. And if Arakchev ordered me to lead a squadron against you

and cut you down, I should not hesitate an instant, but should do it.

And you may argue about that as you like!



An awkward silence followed these words. Natsha was the first to speak,

defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defense was weak

and inapt but she attained her object. The conversation was resumed, and

no longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone of Nicholas last remark.



When they all got up to go in to supper, little Nicholas Bolknski went

up to Pierre, pale and with shining, radiant eyes.



Uncle Pierre, you... no... If Papa were alive... would he agree with

you? he asked.



And Pierre suddenly realized what a special, independent, complex, and

powerful process of thought and feeling must have been going on in

this boy during that conversation, and remembering all he had said he

regretted that the lad should have heard him. He had, however, to give

him an answer.



Yes, I think so, he said reluctantly, and left the study.



The lad looked down and seemed now for the first time to notice what he

had done to the things on the table. He flushed and went up to Nicholas.



Uncle, forgive me, I did that... unintentionally, he said, pointing to

the broken sealing wax and pens.



Nicholas started angrily.



All right, all right, he said, throwing the bits under the table.



And evidently suppressing his vexation with difficulty, he turned away

from the boy.



You ought not to have been here at all, he said.











CHAPTER XV



The conversation at supper was not about politics or societies, but

turned on the subject Nicholas liked bestrecollections of 1812. Densov

started these and Pierre was particularly agreeable and amusing about

them. The family separated on the most friendly terms.



After supper Nicholas, having undressed in his study and given

instructions to the steward who had been waiting for him, went to the

bedroom in his dressing gown, where he found his wife still at her

table, writing.



What are you writing, Mary? Nicholas asked.



Countess Mary blushed. She was afraid that what she was writing would

not be understood or approved by her husband.



She had wanted to conceal what she was writing from him, but at the same

time was glad he had surprised her at it and that she would now have to

tell him.



A diary, Nicholas, she replied, handing him a blue exercise book

filled with her firm, bold writing.



A diary? Nicholas repeated with a shade of irony, and he took up the

book.



It was in French.





December 4. Today when Andrsha (her eldest boy) woke up he did not

wish to dress and Mademoiselle Louise sent for me. He was naughty and

obstinate. I tried threats, but he only grew angrier. Then I took the

matter in hand I left him alone and began with nurses help to get the

other children up, telling him that I did not love him. For a long time

he was silent, as if astonished, then he jumped out of bed, ran to me in

his shirt, and sobbed so that I could not calm him for a long time.

It was plain that what troubled him most was that he had grieved me.

Afterwards in the evening when I gave him his ticket, he again began

crying piteously and kissing me. One can do anything with him by

tenderness.





What is a ticket? Nicholas inquired.



I have begun giving the elder ones marks every evening, showing how

they have behaved.



Nicholas looked into the radiant eyes that were gazing at him, and

continued to turn over the pages and read. In the diary was set down

everything in the childrens lives that seemed noteworthy to their

mother as showing their characters or suggesting general reflections

on educational methods. They were for the most part quite insignificant

trifles, but did not seem so to the mother or to the father either, now

that he read this diary about his children for the first time.



Under the date 5 was entered





Mtya was naughty at table. Papa said he was to have no pudding. He had

none, but looked so unhappily and greedily at the others while they were

eating! I think that punishment by depriving children of sweets only

develops their greediness. Must tell Nicholas this.



Nicholas put down the book and looked at his wife. The radiant eyes

gazed at him questioningly would he approve or disapprove of her

diary? There could be no doubt not only of his approval but also of his

admiration for his wife.



Perhaps it need not be done so pedantically, thought Nicholas, or even

done at all, but this untiring, continual spiritual effort of which the

sole aim was the childrens moral welfare delighted him. Had Nicholas

been able to analyze his feelings he would have found that his steady,

tender, and proud love of his wife rested on his feeling of wonder at

her spirituality and at the lofty moral world, almost beyond his reach,

in which she had her being.



He was proud of her intelligence and goodness, recognized his own

insignificance beside her in the spiritual world, and rejoiced all the

more that she with such a soul not only belonged to him but was part of

himself.



I quite, quite approve, my dearest! said he with a significant look,

and after a short pause he added And I behaved badly today. You

werent in the study. We began disputingPierre and Iand I lost my

temper. But he is impossible such a child! I dont know what would

become of him if Natsha didnt keep him in hand.... Have you any idea

why he went to Petersburg? They have formed...



Yes, I know, said Countess Mary. Natsha told me.



Well, then, you know, Nicholas went on, growing hot at the mere

recollection of their discussion, he wanted to convince me that it is

every honest mans duty to go against the government, and that the oath

of allegiance and duty... I am sorry you werent there. They all fell on

meDensov and Natsha... Natsha is absurd. How she rules over him! And

yet there need only be a discussion and she has no words of her own

but only repeats his sayings... added Nicholas, yielding to that

irresistible inclination which tempts us to judge those nearest and

dearest to us. He forgot that what he was saying about Natsha could

have been applied word for word to himself in relation to his wife.



Yes, I have noticed that, said Countess Mary.



When I told him that duty and the oath were above everything, he

started proving goodness knows what! A pity you were not therewhat

would you have said?



As I see it you were quite right, and I told Natsha so. Pierre says

everybody is suffering, tortured, and being corrupted, and that it

is our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is right there, said

Countess Mary, but he forgets that we have other duties nearer to us,

duties indicated to us by God Himself, and that though we might expose

ourselves to risks we must not risk our children.



Yes, thats it! Thats just what I said to him, put in Nicholas, who

fancied he really had said it. But they insisted on their own view

love of ones neighbor and Christianityand all this in the presence of

young Nicholas, who had gone into my study and broke all my things.



Ah, Nicholas, do you know I am often troubled about little Nicholas,

said Countess Mary. He is such an exceptional boy. I am afraid I

neglect him in favor of my own we all have children and relations while

he has no one. He is constantly alone with his thoughts.



Well, I dont think you need reproach yourself on his account. All that

the fondest mother could do for her son you have done and are doing for

him, and of course I am glad of it. He is a fine lad, a fine lad! This

evening he listened to Pierre in a sort of trance, and fancyas we were

going in to supper I looked and he had broken everything on my table to

bits, and he told me of it himself at once! I never knew him to tell an

untruth. A fine lad, a fine lad! repeated Nicholas, who at heart was

not fond of Nicholas Bolknski but was always anxious to recognize that

he was a fine lad.



Still, I am not the same as his own mother, said Countess Mary. I

feel I am not the same and it troubles me. A wonderful boy, but I am

dreadfully afraid for him. It would be good for him to have companions.



Well it wont be for long. Next summer Ill take him to Petersburg,

said Nicholas. Yes, Pierre always was a dreamer and always will be,

he continued, returning to the talk in the study which had evidently

disturbed him. Well, what business is it of mine what goes on

therewhether Arakchev is bad, and all that? What business was it of

mine when I married and was so deep in debt that I was threatened with

prison, and had a mother who could not see or understand it? And

then there are you and the children and our affairs. Is it for my own

pleasure that I am at the farm or in the office from morning to night?

No, but I know I must work to comfort my mother, to repay you, and not

to leave the children such beggars as I was.



Countess Mary wanted to tell him that man does not live by bread alone

and that he attached too much importance to these matters. But she knew

she must not say this and that it would be useless to do so. She only

took his hand and kissed it. He took this as a sign of approval and

a confirmation of his thoughts, and after a few minutes reflection

continued to think aloud.



You know, Mary, today Elias Mitrofnych (this was his overseer) came

back from the Tambv estate and told me they are already offering eighty

thousand rubles for the forest.



And with an eager face Nicholas began to speak of the possibility of

repurchasing Otrdnoe before long, and added Another ten years of life

and I shall leave the children... in an excellent position.



Countess Mary listened to her husband and understood all that he told

her. She knew that when he thought aloud in this way he would sometimes

ask her what he had been saying, and be vexed if he noticed that she

had been thinking about something else. But she had to force herself to

attend, for what he was saying did not interest her at all. She looked

at him and did not think, but felt, about something different. She felt

a submissive tender love for this man who would never understand all

that she understood, and this seemed to make her love for him still

stronger and added a touch of passionate tenderness. Besides this

feeling which absorbed her altogether and hindered her from following

the details of her husbands plans, thoughts that had no connection with

what he was saying flitted through her mind. She thought of her nephew.

Her husbands account of the boys agitation while Pierre was speaking

struck her forcibly, and various traits of his gentle, sensitive

character recurred to her mind and while thinking of her nephew she

thought also of her own children. She did not compare them with him, but

compared her feeling for them with her feeling for him, and felt

with regret that there was something lacking in her feeling for young

Nicholas.



Sometimes it seemed to her that this difference arose from the

difference in their ages, but she felt herself to blame toward him and

promised in her heart to do better and to accomplish the impossiblein

this life to love her husband, her children, little Nicholas, and all

her neighbors, as Christ loved mankind. Countess Marys soul always

strove toward the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute, and could

therefore never be at peace. A stern expression of the lofty, secret

suffering of a soul burdened by the body appeared on her face. Nicholas

gazed at her. O God! What will become of us if she dies, as I always

fear when her face is like that? thought he, and placing himself before

the icon he began to say his evening prayers.











CHAPTER XVI



Natsha and Pierre, left alone, also began to talk as only a husband

and wife can talk, that is, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity,

understanding and expressing each others thoughts in ways contrary to

all rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions, and in

a quite peculiar way. Natsha was so used to this kind of talk with her

husband that for her it was the surest sign of something being wrong

between them if Pierre followed a line of logical reasoning. When he

began proving anything, or talking argumentatively and calmly and she,

led on by his example, began to do the same, she knew that they were on

the verge of a quarrel.



From the moment they were alone and Natsha came up to him with

wide-open happy eyes, and quickly seizing his head pressed it to her

bosom, saying Now you are all mine, mine! You wont escape!from that

moment this conversation began, contrary to all the laws of logic and

contrary to them because quite different subjects were talked about at

one and the same time. This simultaneous discussion of many topics did

not prevent a clear understanding but on the contrary was the surest

sign that they fully understood one another.



Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning, and

contradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream, so in this

intercourse contrary to all laws of reason, the words themselves were

not consecutive and clear but only the feeling that prompted them.



Natsha spoke to Pierre about her brothers life and doings, of how she

had suffered and lacked life during his own absence, and of how she

was fonder than ever of Mary, and how Mary was in every way better than

herself. In saying this Natsha was sincere in acknowledging Marys

superiority, but at the same time by saying it she made a demand on

Pierre that he should, all the same, prefer her to Mary and to all

other women, and that now, especially after having seen many women in

Petersburg, he should tell her so afresh.



Pierre, answering Natshas words, told her how intolerable it had been

for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls in Petersburg.



I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies, he said. It was

simply dull. Besides, I was very busy.



Natsha looked intently at him and went on



Mary is so splendid, she said. How she understands children! It is as

if she saw straight into their souls. Yesterday, for instance, Mtya was

naughty...



How like his father he is, Pierre interjected.



Natsha knew why he mentioned Mtyas likeness to Nicholas the

recollection of his dispute with his brother-in-law was unpleasant and

he wanted to know what Natsha thought of it.



Nicholas has the weakness of never agreeing with anything not generally

accepted. But I understand that you value what opens up a fresh line,

said she, repeating words Pierre had once uttered.



No, the chief point is that to Nicholas ideas and discussions are

an amusementalmost a pastime, said Pierre. For instance, he is

collecting a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book

till he has read what he had already boughtSismondi and Rousseau and

Montesquieu, he added with a smile. You know how much I... he began

to soften down what he had said but Natsha interrupted him to show

that this was unnecessary.



So you say ideas are an amusement to him....



Yes, and for me nothing else is serious. All the time in Petersburg I

saw everyone as in a dream. When I am taken up by a thought, all else is

mere amusement.



Ah, Im so sorry I wasnt there when you met the children, said

Natsha. Which was most delighted? Lisa, Im sure.



Yes, Pierre replied, and went on with what was in his mind. Nicholas

says we ought not to think. But I cant help it. Besides, when I was in

Petersburg I felt (I can say this to you) that the whole affair would go

to pieces without meeveryone was pulling his own way. But I succeeded

in uniting them all and then my idea is so clear and simple. You see,

I dont say that we ought to oppose this and that. We may be mistaken.

What I say is Join hands, you who love the right, and let there be but

one bannerthat of active virtue. Prince Sergy is a fine fellow and

clever.



Natsha would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Pierres idea,

but one thing disconcerted her. Can a man so important and necessary to

society be also my husband? How did this happen? She wished to express

this doubt to him. Now who could decide whether he is really cleverer

than all the others? she asked herself, and passed in review all those

whom Pierre most respected. Judging by what he had said there was no one

he had respected so highly as Platn Karatev.



Do you know what I am thinking about? she asked. About Platn

Karatev. Would he have approved of you now, do you think?



Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He understood his

wifes line of thought.



Platn Karatev? he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerely

trying to imagine Karatevs opinion on the subject. He would not have

understood... yet perhaps he would.



I love you awfully! Natsha suddenly said. Awfully, awfully!



No, he would not have approved, said Pierre, after reflection. What

he would have approved of is our family life. He was always so anxious

to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, and I should

have been proud to let him see us. There nowyou talk of my absence,

but you wouldnt believe what a special feeling I have for you after a

separation....



Yes, I should think... Natsha began.



No, its not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldnt love

more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course he did not

finish because their eyes meeting said the rest.



What nonsense it is, Natsha suddenly exclaimed, about honeymoons,

and that the greatest happiness is at first! On the contrary, now is

the best of all. If only you did not go away! Do you remember how

we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Always mine. And what we

quarreled aboutI dont even remember!



Always about the same thing, said Pierre with a smile. Jealo...



Dont say it! I cant bear it! Natsha cried, and her eyes glittered

coldly and vindictively. Did you see her? she added, after a pause.



No, and if I had I shouldnt have recognized her.



They were silent for a while.



Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study I was looking at

you, Natsha began, evidently anxious to disperse the cloud that had

come over them. You are as like him as two peaslike the boy. (She

meant her little son.) Oh, its time to go to him.... The milks

come.... But Im sorry to leave you.



They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to one

another at the same time they both began to speak. Pierre began with

self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natsha with a quiet, happy smile.

Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the other

continue.



No. What did you say? Go on, go on.



No, you go on, I was talking nonsense, said Natsha.



Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to his complacent

reflections on his success in Petersburg. At that moment it seemed to

him that he was chosen to give a new direction to the whole of Russian

society and to the whole world.



I only wished to say that ideas that have great results are always

simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are united and

constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Now thats simple

enough.



Yes.



And what were you going to say?



I? Only nonsense.



But all the same?



Oh nothing, only a trifle, said Natsha, smiling still more brightly.

I only wanted to tell you about Ptya today nurse was coming to take

him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clung to me. Im sure

he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now hes crying. Well,

good-by! and she left the room.





Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolknskis bedroom a little lamp

was burning as usual. (The boy was afraid of the dark and they could

not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on four pillows and his

Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring. Little Nicholas, who had

just waked up in a cold perspiration, sat up in bed and gazed before him

with wide-open eyes. He had awaked from a terrible dream. He had dreamed

that he and Uncle Pierre, wearing helmets such as were depicted in

his Plutarch, were leading a huge army. The army was made up of white

slanting lines that filled the air like the cobwebs that float about in

autumn and which Dessalles called les fils de la Virge. In front was

Glory, which was similar to those threads but rather thicker. He and

Pierre were borne along lightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their

goal. Suddenly the threads that moved them began to slacken and become

entangled and it grew difficult to move. And Uncle Nicholas stood before

them in a stern and threatening attitude.



Have you done this? he said, pointing to some broken sealing wax and

pens. I loved you, but I have orders from Arakchev and will kill

the first of you who moves forward. Little Nicholas turned to look

at Pierre but Pierre was no longer there. In his place was his

fatherPrince Andrewand his father had neither shape nor form, but he

existed, and when little Nicholas perceived him he grew faint with love

he felt himself powerless, limp, and formless. His father caressed and

pitied him. But Uncle Nicholas came nearer and nearer to them. Terror

seized young Nicholas and he awoke.



My father! he thought. (Though there were two good portraits of Prince

Andrew in the house, Nicholas never imagined him in human form.) My

father has been with me and caressed me. He approved of me and of Uncle

Pierre. Whatever he may tell me, I will do it. Mucius Scaevola burned

his hand. Why should not the same sort of thing happen to me? I know

they want me to learn. And I will learn. But someday I shall have

finished learning, and then I will do something. I only pray God that

something may happen to me such as happened to Plutarchs men, and I

will act as they did. I will do better. Everyone shall know me, love me,

and be delighted with me! And suddenly his bosom heaved with sobs and

he began to cry.



Are you ill? he heard Dessalles voice asking.



No, answered Nicholas, and lay back on his pillow.



He is good and kind and I am fond of him! he thought of Dessalles.

But Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man he is! And my father? Oh,

Father, Father! Yes, I will do something with which even he would be

satisfied....











SECOND EPILOGUE











CHAPTER I



History is the life of nations and of humanity. To seize and put into

words, to describe directly the life of humanity or even of a single

nation, appears impossible.



The ancient historians all employed one and the same method to describe

and seize the apparently elusivethe 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 mans

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 aimsthe 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

westParisand 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 geniusNapoleon. He

conquered everybody everywherethat 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 Napoleons 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 ironica 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 questionin the absence of a

reply to which all the rest will be incomprehensibleis what is the

power that moves peoples? To this, modern history laboriously replies

either that Napoleon was a great genius, or that Louis XIV was very

proud, or that certain writers wrote certain books.



All that may be so and mankind is ready to agree with it, but it is not

what was asked. All that would be interesting if we recognized a divine

power based on itself and always consistently directing its nations

through Napoleons, Louis-es, and writers but we do not acknowledge such

a power, and therefore before speaking about Napoleons, Louis-es, and

authors, we ought to be shown the connection existing between these men

and the movement of the nations.



If instead of a divine power some other force has appeared, it should

be explained in what this new force consists, for the whole interest of

history lies precisely in that force.



History seems to assume that this force is self-evident and known to

everyone. But in spite of every desire to regard it as known, anyone

reading many historical works cannot help doubting whether this new

force, so variously understood by the historians themselves, is really

quite well known to everybody.











CHAPTER II



What force moves the nations?



Biographical historians and historians of separate nations understand

this force as a power inherent in heroes and rulers. In their narration

events occur solely by the will of a Napoleon, and Alexander, or in

general of the persons they describe. The answers given by this kind

of historian to the question of what force causes events to happen are

satisfactory only as long as there is but one historian to each event.

As soon as historians of different nationalities and tendencies begin

to describe the same event, the replies they give immediately lose all

meaning, for this force is understood by them all not only differently

but often in quite contradictory ways. One historian says that an

event was produced by Napoleons power, another that it was produced by

Alexanders, 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 Napoleons

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 anothers positions, destroy

the understanding of the force which produces events, and furnish no

reply to historys 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 Napoleons

misdirected will, and that the very ideas of 1789 were arrested in their

development by Napoleons caprice. The ideas of the Revolution and the

general temper of the age produced Napoleons power. But Napoleons

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

Alexanders willsuch as the activity of Stein, Metternich, Madame de

Stal, Talleyrand, Fichte, Chateaubriand, and others. The historian

evidently decomposes Alexanders power into the components Talleyrand,

Chateaubriand, and the restbut the sum of the components, that is,

the interactions of Chateaubriand, Talleyrand, Madame de Stal, and the

others, evidently does not equal the resultant, namely the phenomenon

of millions of Frenchmen submitting to the Bourbons. That Chateaubriand,

Madame de Stal, 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 resultedthat is, how component

forces equal to one A gave a resultant equal to a thousand times Athe

historian is again obliged to fall back on powerthe force he had

deniedand 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 historiansthe so-called historians of

culturefollowing the path laid down by the universal historians who

sometimes accept writers and ladies as forces producing eventsagain

take that force to be something quite different. They see it in what is

called culturein 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 peoples 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 filledadmitting that nations are governed by

some undefined force called an ideahistorys 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 forcethe ideais 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 powerand say

plainly that that was the result of Napoleons will. Speaking so, the

historians of culture involuntarily contradict themselves, and show that

the new force they have devised does not account for what happens in

history, and that history can only be explained by introducing a power

which they apparently do not recognize.











CHAPTER III



A locomotive is moving. Someone asks What moves it? A peasant says

the devil moves it. Another man says the locomotive moves because its

wheels go round. A third asserts that the cause of its movement lies in

the smoke which the wind carries away.



The peasant is irrefutable. He has devised a complete explanation. To

refute him someone would have to prove to him that there is no devil,

or another peasant would have to explain to him that it is not the devil

but a German, who moves the locomotive. Only then, as a result of the

contradiction, will they see that they are both wrong. But the man who

says that the movement of the wheels is the cause refutes himself, for

having once begun to analyze he ought to go on and explain further why

the wheels go round and till he has reached the ultimate cause of the

movement of the locomotive in the pressure of steam in the boiler, he

has no right to stop in his search for the cause. The man who explains

the movement of the locomotive by the smoke that is carried back has

noticed that the wheels do not supply an explanation and has taken the

first sign that occurs to him and in his turn has offered that as an

explanation.



The only conception that can explain the movement of the locomotive is

that of a force commensurate with the movement observed.



The only conception that can explain the movement of the peoples is that

of some force commensurate with the whole movement of the peoples.



Yet to supply this conception various historians take forces of

different kinds, all of which are incommensurate with the movement

observed. Some see it as a force directly inherent in heroes, as the

peasant sees the devil in the locomotive others as a force resulting

from several other forces, like the movement of the wheels others again

as an intellectual influence, like the smoke that is blown away.



So long as histories are written of separate individuals, whether

Caesars, Alexanders, Luthers, or Voltaires, and not the histories

of all, absolutely all those who take part in an event, it is quite

impossible to describe the movement of humanity without the conception

of a force compelling men to direct their activity toward a certain end.

And the only such conception known to historians is that of power.



This conception is the one handle by means of which the material of

history, as at present expounded, can be dealt with, and anyone who

breaks that handle off, as Buckle did, without finding some other method

of treating historical material, merely deprives himself of the one

possible way of dealing with it. The necessity of the conception of

power as an explanation of historical events is best demonstrated by

the universal historians and historians of culture themselves, for they

professedly reject that conception but inevitably have recourse to it at

every step.



In dealing with humanitys inquiry, the science of history up to now

is like money in circulationpaper 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

historys 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

humanitys essential question, serve as currency for some purposes of

their own, only in universities and among the mass of readers who have a

taste for what they call serious reading.











CHAPTER IV



Having abandoned the conception of the ancients as to the divine

subjection of the will of a nation to some chosen man and the subjection

of that mans 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 onea

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

elsewherein 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 historys

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 firenamely, 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

powerexisting immutably outside timeis, but to historys 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 Pugachv 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 revolutionsin which sometimes only two or three people take

parttransfer 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 historiansthose biographical and specialist historians already

referred toin 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 powermere violence.



Their theory, suitable for primitive and peaceful periods of history,

has the inconveniencein application to complex and stormy periods in

the life of nations during which various powers arise simultaneously and

struggle with one anotherthat 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 nations

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

programor even admitting that some one general program of these

conditions existsthe 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 Ivn the Terrible end their reigns tranquilly, while Louis XVI

and Charles I are executed by their people? To this question historians

reply that Louis XIVs activity, contrary to the program, reacted on

Louis XVI. But why did it not react on Louis XIV or on Louis XVwhy

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 peoples will from one individual to another, especially in view

of international relations, conquests, and alliances, the historians are

obliged to admit that some of these transfers are not normal delegations

of the peoples 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 historycivil

wars, revolutions, and conquestsare presented by these historians

not as the results of free transferences of the peoples 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 peoples will or only some part

of it. If the whole activity of the leaders serves as the expression of

the peoples 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 peoples life, as other

so-called philosophical historians believe, then to determine which

side of the activity of a leader expresses the nations life, we have

first of all to know in what the nations 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

humanitys 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 Kazn and Siberia

expressed by details of the morbid character of Ivn the Terrible and by

his correspondence with Krbski?



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 Crusadethe deliverance

of Jerusalemhad been clearly defined by historic leaders. Popes, kings,

and knights incited the peoples to free the Holy Land but the people

did not go, for the unknown cause which had previously impelled them to

go no longer existed. The history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers

can evidently not cover the life of the peoples. And the history of the

Godfreys and the Minnesingers has remained the history of Godfreys

and Minnesingers, but the history of the life of the peoples and their

impulses has remained unknown.



Still less does the history of authors and reformers explain to us the

life of the peoples.



The history of culture explains to us the impulses and conditions of

life and thought of a writer or a reformer. We learn that Luther had

a hot temper and said such and such things we learn that Rousseau was

suspicious and wrote such and such books but we do not learn why after

the Reformation the peoples massacred one another, nor why during the

French Revolution they guillotined one another.



If we unite both these kinds of history, as is done by the newest

historians, we shall have the history of monarchs and writers, but not

the history of the life of the peoples.











CHAPTER V



The life of the nations is not contained in the lives of a few men, for

the connection between those men and the nations has not been found.

The theory that this connection is based on the transference of the

collective will of a people to certain historical personages is an

hypothesis unconfirmed by the experience of history.



The theory of the transference of the collective will of the people to

historic persons may perhaps explain much in the domain of jurisprudence

and be essential for its purposes, but in its application to history, as

soon as revolutions, conquests, or civil wars occurthat is, as soon as

history beginsthat theory explains nothing.



The theory seems irrefutable just because the act of transference of the

peoples 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 saythose who assume

the unconditional transference of the peoples 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

peoples 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 paraphrasea 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 mans willhis

wordsare 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 forcea miracleone 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 someones will and the execution of

that will by others.



To explain the conditions of that relationship we must first establish a

conception of the expression of will, referring it to man and not to the

Deity.



If the Deity issues a command, expresses His will, as ancient history

tells us, the expression of that will is independent of time and is not

caused by anything, for the Divinity is not controlled by an event. But

speaking of commands that are the expression of the will of men acting

in time and in relation to one another, to explain the connection of

commands with events we must restore (1) the condition of all that

takes place the continuity of movement in time both of the events and

of the person who commands, and (2) the inevitability of the connection

between the person commanding and those who execute his command.











CHAPTER VI



Only the expression of the will of the Deity, not dependent on time, can

relate to a whole series of events occurring over a period of years or

centuries, and only the Deity, independent of everything, can by His

sole will determine the direction of humanitys 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 onmillions 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 Napoleons 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 Napoleons 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 Napoleons one series, for the campaign of 1812,

was carried outnot because those orders differed in any way from the

other, unexecuted orders but because they coincided with the course of

events that led the French army into Russia just as in stencil work

this or that figure comes out not because the color was laid on from

this side or in that way, but because it was laid on from all sides over

the figure cut in the stencil.



So that examining the relation in time of the commands to the events,

we find that a command can never be the cause of the event, but that a

certain definite dependence exists between the two.



To understand in what this dependence consists it is necessary to

reinstate another omitted condition of every command proceeding not from

the Deity but from a man, which is, that the man who gives the command

himself takes part in the event.



This relation of the commander to those he commands is just what is

called power. This relation consists in the following



For common action people always unite in certain combinations, in which

regardless of the difference of the aims set for the common action, the

relation between those taking part in it is always the same.



Men uniting in these combinations always assume such relations toward

one another that the larger number take a more direct share, and the

smaller number a less direct share, in the collective action for which

they have combined.



Of all the combinations in which men unite for collective action one of

the most striking and definite examples is an army.



Every army is composed of lower grades of the servicethe rank and

fileof whom there are always the greatest number of the next higher

military rankcorporals 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 activityin agriculture, trade, and every administration.



And so without particularly analyzing all the contiguous sections of

a cone and of the ranks of an army, or the ranks and positions in

any administrative or public business whatever from the lowest to the

highest, we see a law by which men, to take associated action, combine

in such relations that the more directly they participate in performing

the action the less they can command and the more numerous they are,

while the less their direct participation in the action itself, the more

they command and the fewer of them there are rising in this way from

the lowest ranks to the man at the top, who takes the least direct share

in the action and directs his activity chiefly to commanding.



This relation of the men who command to those they command is what

constitutes the essence of the conception called power.



Having restored the condition of time under which all events occur,

we find that a command is executed only when it is related to a

corresponding series of events. Restoring the essential condition of

relation between those who command and those who execute, we find that

by the very nature of the case those who command take the smallest part

in the action itself and that their activity is exclusively directed to

commanding.











CHAPTER VII



When an event is taking place people express their opinions and wishes

about it, and as the event results from the collective activity of

many people, some one of the opinions or wishes expressed is sure to be

fulfilled if but approximately. When one of the opinions expressed

is fulfilled, that opinion gets connected with the event as a command

preceding it.



Men are hauling a log. Each of them expresses his opinion as to how and

where to haul it. They haul the log away, and it happens that this is

done as one of them said. He ordered it. There we have command and power

in their primary form. The man who worked most with his hands could not

think so much about what he was doing, or reflect on or command what

would result from the common activity while the man who commanded

more would evidently work less with his hands on account of his greater

verbal activity.



When some larger concourse of men direct their activity to a common aim

there is a yet sharper division of those who, because their activity is

given to directing and commanding, take less part in the direct work.



When a man works alone he always has a certain set of reflections which

as it seems to him directed his past activity, justify his present

activity, and guide him in planning his future actions. Just the same is

done by a concourse of people, allowing those who do not take a direct

part in the activity to devise considerations, justifications, and

surmises concerning their collective activity.



For reasons known or unknown to us the French began to drown and kill

one another. And corresponding to the event its justification appears in

peoples 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

mens 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 crimesmake 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

occursthe 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 ships

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 occursbe it what it

maythen 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 infinitythat final limit

to which in every domain of thought mans reason arrives if it is not

playing with the subject. Electricity produces heat, heat produces

electricity. Atoms attract each other and atoms repel one another.



Speaking of the interaction of heat and electricity and of atoms, we

cannot say why this occurs, and we say that it is so because it is

inconceivable otherwise, because it must be so and that it is a law. The

same applies to historical events. Why war and revolution occur we do

not know. We only know that to produce the one or the other action,

people combine in a certain formation in which they all take part, and

we say that this is so because it is unthinkable otherwise, or in other

words that it is a law.











CHAPTER VIII



If history dealt only with external phenomena, the establishment of this

simple and obvious law would suffice and we should have finished our

argument. But the law of history relates to man. A particle of matter

cannot tell us that it does not feel the law of attraction or repulsion

and that that law is untrue, but man, who is the subject of history,

says plainly I am free and am therefore not subject to the law.



The presence of the problem of mans 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 mans

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 mans 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 viewtheological, historical, ethical, or

philosophicwe 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 willwhich forms the essence of his lifeman

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 mans will seems to him

to be limited just because he is not conscious of it except as free.



You say I am not free. But I have lifted my hand and let it fall.

Everyone understands that this illogical reply is an irrefutable

demonstration of freedom.



That reply is the expression of a consciousness that is not subject to

reason.



If the consciousness of freedom were not a separate and independent

source of self-consciousness it would be subject to reasoning and

to experience, but in fact such subjection does not exist and is

inconceivable.



A series of experiments and arguments proves to every man that he, as

an object of observation, is subject to certain laws, and man submits to

them and never resists the laws of gravity or impermeability once he

has become acquainted with them. But the same series of experiments

and arguments proves to him that the complete freedom of which he is

conscious in himself is impossible, and that his every action depends

on his organization, his character, and the motives acting upon him yet

man never submits to the deductions of these experiments and arguments.

Having learned from experiment and argument that a stone falls

downwards, a man indubitably believes this and always expects the law

that he has learned to be fulfilled.



But learning just as certainly that his will is subject to laws, he does

not and cannot believe this.



However often experiment and reasoning may show a man that under the

same conditions and with the same character he will do the same thing as

before, yet when under the same conditions and with the same character

he approaches for the thousandth time the action that always ends in the

same way, he feels as certainly convinced as before the experiment

that he can act as he pleases. Every man, savage or sage, however

incontestably reason and experiment may prove to him that it is

impossible to imagine two different courses of action in precisely the

same conditions, feels that without this irrational conception (which

constitutes the essence of freedom) he cannot imagine life. He feels

that however impossible it may be, it is so, for without this conception

of freedom not only would he be unable to understand life, but he would

be unable to live for a single moment.



He could not live, because all mans 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

mans freedom? That is a question for theology.



The actions of men are subject to general immutable laws expressed in

statistics. What is mans responsibility to society, the conception of

which results from the conception of freedom? That is a question for

jurisprudence.



Mans actions proceed from his innate character and the motives acting

upon him. What is conscience and the perception of right and wrong

in actions that follows from the consciousness of freedom? That is a

question for ethics.



Man in connection with the general life of humanity appears subject

to laws which determine that life. But the same man apart from that

connection appears to be free. How should the past life of nations and

of humanity be regardedas 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 knowledgethanks

to that most powerful engine of ignorance, the diffusion of printed

matterhas 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 peoplethat is, the crowd of ignoramuseshave 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 theoriesthat from the point of view of reason man is

subject to the law of necessity but it does not advance by a hairs

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

mans consciousness of freedom is to be reconciled with the law of

necessity to which he is subject cannot be solved by comparative

physiology and zoology, for in a frog, a rabbit, or an ape, we can

observe only the muscular nervous activity, but in man we observe

consciousness as well as the muscular and nervous activity.



The naturalists and their followers, thinking they can solve this

question, are like plasterers set to plaster one side of the walls of

a church who, availing themselves of the absence of the chief

superintendent of the work, should in an access of zeal plaster over the

windows, icons, woodwork, and still unbuttressed walls, and should be

delighted that from their point of view as plasterers, everything is now

so smooth and regular.











CHAPTER IX



For the solution of the question of free will or inevitability, history

has this advantage over other branches of knowledge in which the

question is dealt with, that for history this question does not refer

to the essence of mans 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 mans 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

mans 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 mans 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 someones

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

manseem 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 mans

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

whateverwith 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 himwe 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 mans 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 mans 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 itgood, agreeable, and even

essentialwould 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 anyones head today to suppose that

the renovation of the European world depended on Attilas 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 mans 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

malefactors 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 peoples 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 drunkards 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 simpletonthen,

knowing the causes of the act and the simplicity of the character and

intelligence in question, we see so large an element of necessity and so

little free will that as soon as we know the cause prompting the action

we can foretell the result.



On these three considerations alone is based the conception of

irresponsibility for crimes and the extenuating circumstances admitted

by all legislative codes. The responsibility appears greater or less

according to our greater or lesser knowledge of the circumstances in

which the man was placed whose action is being judged, and according

to the greater or lesser interval of time between the commission of the

action and its investigation, and according to the greater or lesser

understanding of the causes that led to the action.











CHAPTER X



Thus our conception of free will and inevitability gradually diminishes

or increases according to the greater or lesser connection with the

external world, the greater or lesser remoteness of time, and the

greater or lesser dependence on the causes in relation to which we

contemplate a mans 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 casehowever 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 becan 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 futurethat

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 anothers, 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 ifimagining a man quite exempt from all influences, examining

only his momentary action in the present, unevoked by any causewe 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 caseas for instance in that of a

dying man, an unborn babe, or an idiotcomplete 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 mans 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 mans

whole outlook on the universe is constructedthe 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 mans

consciousness. Inevitability without content is mans 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 mans 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 Newtons 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.



Mans 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 mans free will

is distinguished by reason from the other forces of nature only by the

definition reason gives it. Freedom, apart from necessity, that is,

apart from the laws of reason that define it, differs in no way from

gravitation, or heat, or the force that makes things grow for reason,

it is only a momentary undefinable sensation of life.



And as the undefinable essence of the force moving the heavenly bodies,

the undefinable essence of the forces of heat and electricity, or

of chemical affinity, or of the vital force, forms the content of

astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology, and so on, just in the

same way does the force of free will form the content of history.

But just as the subject of every science is the manifestation of this

unknown essence of life while that essence itself can only be the

subject of metaphysics, even the manifestation of the force of free will

in human beings in space, in time, and in dependence on cause forms

the subject of history, while free will itself is the subject of

metaphysics.



In the experimental sciences what we know we call the laws of

inevitability, what is unknown to us we call vital force. Vital force is

only an expression for the unknown remainder over and above what we know

of the essence of life.



So also in history what is known to us we call laws of inevitability,

what is unknown we call free will. Free will is for history only an

expression for the unknown remainder of what we know about the laws of

human life.











CHAPTER XI



History examines the manifestations of mans 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 mans 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 mans 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

mans free will, a scientific enunciation of those laws is impossible,

for however mans 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 whichever dissecting and dissecting

the causes of phenomenathe old method of history is moving.



All human sciences have traveled along that path. Arriving at

infinitesimals, mathematics, the most exact of sciences, abandons the

process of analysis and enters on the new process of the integration

of unknown, infinitely small, quantities. Abandoning the conception

of cause, mathematics seeks law, that is, the property common to all

unknown, infinitely small, elements.



In another form but along the same path of reflection the other sciences

have proceeded. When Newton enunciated the law of gravity he did not say

that the sun or the earth had a property of attraction he said that all

bodies from the largest to the smallest have the property of attracting

one another, that is, leaving aside the question of the cause of the

movement of the bodies, he expressed the property common to all bodies

from the infinitely large to the infinitely small. The same is done by

the natural sciences leaving aside the question of cause, they seek for

laws. History stands on the same path. And if history has for its object

the study of the movement of the nations and of humanity and not the

narration of episodes in the lives of individuals, it too, setting

aside the conception of cause, should seek the laws common to all the

inseparably interconnected infinitesimal elements of free will.











CHAPTER XII



From the time the law of Copernicus was discovered and proved, the mere

recognition of the fact that it was not the sun but the earth that moves

sufficed to destroy the whole cosmography of the ancients. By disproving

that law it might have been possible to retain the old conception of

the movements of the bodies, but without disproving it, it would seem

impossible to continue studying the Ptolemaic worlds. But even after

the discovery of the law of Copernicus the Ptolemaic worlds were still

studied for a long time.



From the time the first person said and proved that the number of births

or of crimes is subject to mathematical laws, and that this or that

mode of government is determined by certain geographical and economic

conditions, and that certain relations of population to soil produce

migrations of peoples, the foundations on which history had been built

were destroyed in their essence.



By refuting these new laws the former view of history might have been

retained but without refuting them it would seem impossible to continue

studying historic events as the results of mans 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 personalityfree will.



As with astronomy the difficulty of recognizing the motion of the earth

lay in abandoning the immediate sensation of the earths 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 ones 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.





















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