war_and_peace.js

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  return {"title":"War and Peace","content":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy\r\n\r\nThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with\r\nalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or\r\nre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included\r\nwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org\r\n\r\n\r\nTitle: War and Peace\r\n\r\nAuthor: Leo Tolstoy\r\n\r\nPosting Date: January 10, 2009 [EBook #2600]\r\nRelease Date: April, 2001\r\n[Last updated: August 22, 2012]\r\n\r\nLanguage: English\r\n\r\n\r\n*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR AND PEACE ***\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nAn Anonymous Volunteer\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nWAR AND PEACE\r\n\r\nBy Leo Tolstoy/Tolstoi\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK ONE: 1805\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the\r\nBuonapartes. But I warn you, if you don't tell me that this means war,\r\nif you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that\r\nAntichrist--I really believe he is Antichrist--I will have nothing more\r\nto do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my 'faithful\r\nslave,' as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I have frightened\r\nyou--sit down and tell me all the news.\"\r\n\r\nIt was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pavlovna\r\nScherer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Marya Fedorovna. With\r\nthese words she greeted Prince Vasili Kuragin, a man of high rank and\r\nimportance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna Pavlovna\r\nhad had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering from la\r\ngrippe; grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used only by the\r\nelite.\r\n\r\nAll her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered\r\nby a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:\r\n\r\n\"If you have nothing better to do, Count (or Prince), and if the\r\nprospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible,\r\nI shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10--Annette\r\nScherer.\"\r\n\r\n\"Heavens! what a virulent attack!\" replied the prince, not in the\r\nleast disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an\r\nembroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on\r\nhis breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that\r\nrefined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and\r\nwith the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance\r\nwho had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pavlovna,\r\nkissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head,\r\nand complacently seated himself on the sofa.\r\n\r\n\"First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend's mind\r\nat rest,\" said he without altering his tone, beneath the politeness\r\nand affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony could be\r\ndiscerned.\r\n\r\n\"Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times like\r\nthese if one has any feeling?\" said Anna Pavlovna. \"You are staying the\r\nwhole evening, I hope?\"\r\n\r\n\"And the fete at the English ambassador's? Today is Wednesday. I must\r\nput in an appearance there,\" said the prince. \"My daughter is coming for\r\nme to take me there.\"\r\n\r\n\"I thought today's fete had been canceled. I confess all these\r\nfestivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome.\"\r\n\r\n\"If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have been\r\nput off,\" said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force of habit\r\nsaid things he did not even wish to be believed.\r\n\r\n\"Don't tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosiltsev's\r\ndispatch? You know everything.\"\r\n\r\n\"What can one say about it?\" replied the prince in a cold, listless\r\ntone. \"What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has\r\nburnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale\r\npart. Anna Pavlovna Scherer on the contrary, despite her forty years,\r\noverflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had\r\nbecome her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not\r\nfeel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the\r\nexpectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it\r\ndid not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed,\r\nas in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect,\r\nwhich she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to\r\ncorrect.\r\n\r\nIn the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pavlovna burst\r\nout:\r\n\r\n\"Oh, don't speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don't understand things,\r\nbut Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She is\r\nbetraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign\r\nrecognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one\r\nthing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform\r\nthe noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will\r\nnot forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of\r\nrevolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of\r\nthis murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just\r\none.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial\r\nspirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander's loftiness\r\nof soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to find,\r\nand still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer did\r\nNovosiltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot\r\nunderstand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for\r\nhimself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they\r\npromised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not\r\nperform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and\r\nthat all Europe is powerless before him.... And I don't believe a\r\nword that Hardenburg says, or Haugwitz either. This famous Prussian\r\nneutrality is just a trap. I have faith only in God and the lofty\r\ndestiny of our adored monarch. He will save Europe!\"\r\n\r\nShe suddenly paused, smiling at her own impetuosity.\r\n\r\n\"I think,\" said the prince with a smile, \"that if you had been sent\r\ninstead of our dear Wintzingerode you would have captured the King of\r\nPrussia's consent by assault. You are so eloquent. Will you give me a\r\ncup of tea?\"\r\n\r\n\"In a moment. A propos,\" she added, becoming calm again, \"I am expecting\r\ntwo very interesting men tonight, le Vicomte de Mortemart, who is\r\nconnected with the Montmorencys through the Rohans, one of the best\r\nFrench families. He is one of the genuine emigres, the good ones. And\r\nalso the Abbe Morio. Do you know that profound thinker? He has been\r\nreceived by the Emperor. Had you heard?\"\r\n\r\n\"I shall be delighted to meet them,\" said the prince. \"But tell me,\" he\r\nadded with studied carelessness as if it had only just occurred to him,\r\nthough the question he was about to ask was the chief motive of his\r\nvisit, \"is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke to be\r\nappointed first secretary at Vienna? The baron by all accounts is a poor\r\ncreature.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili wished to obtain this post for his son, but others were\r\ntrying through the Dowager Empress Marya Fedorovna to secure it for the\r\nbaron.\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna almost closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor\r\nanyone else had a right to criticize what the Empress desired or was\r\npleased with.\r\n\r\n\"Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her sister,\"\r\nwas all she said, in a dry and mournful tone.\r\n\r\nAs she named the Empress, Anna Pavlovna's face suddenly assumed an\r\nexpression of profound and sincere devotion and respect mingled with\r\nsadness, and this occurred every time she mentioned her illustrious\r\npatroness. She added that Her Majesty had deigned to show Baron Funke\r\nbeaucoup d'estime, and again her face clouded over with sadness.\r\n\r\nThe prince was silent and looked indifferent. But, with the womanly and\r\ncourtierlike quickness and tact habitual to her, Anna Pavlovna wished\r\nboth to rebuke him (for daring to speak he had done of a man recommended\r\nto the Empress) and at the same time to console him, so she said:\r\n\r\n\"Now about your family. Do you know that since your daughter came\r\nout everyone has been enraptured by her? They say she is amazingly\r\nbeautiful.\"\r\n\r\nThe prince bowed to signify his respect and gratitude.\r\n\r\n\"I often think,\" she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer to\r\nthe prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political\r\nand social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate\r\nconversation--\"I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are\r\ndistributed. Why has fate given you two such splendid children? I don't\r\nspeak of Anatole, your youngest. I don't like him,\" she added in a tone\r\nadmitting of no rejoinder and raising her eyebrows. \"Two such charming\r\nchildren. And really you appreciate them less than anyone, and so you\r\ndon't deserve to have them.\"\r\n\r\nAnd she smiled her ecstatic smile.\r\n\r\n\"I can't help it,\" said the prince. \"Lavater would have said I lack the\r\nbump of paternity.\"\r\n\r\n\"Don't joke; I mean to have a serious talk with you. Do you know I am\r\ndissatisfied with your younger son? Between ourselves\" (and her face\r\nassumed its melancholy expression), \"he was mentioned at Her Majesty's\r\nand you were pitied....\"\r\n\r\nThe prince answered nothing, but she looked at him significantly,\r\nawaiting a reply. He frowned.\r\n\r\n\"What would you have me do?\" he said at last. \"You know I did all a\r\nfather could for their education, and they have both turned out fools.\r\nHippolyte is at least a quiet fool, but Anatole is an active one. That\r\nis the only difference between them.\" He said this smiling in a way more\r\nnatural and animated than usual, so that the wrinkles round his mouth\r\nvery clearly revealed something unexpectedly coarse and unpleasant.\r\n\r\n\"And why are children born to such men as you? If you were not a father\r\nthere would be nothing I could reproach you with,\" said Anna Pavlovna,\r\nlooking up pensively.\r\n\r\n\"I am your faithful slave and to you alone I can confess that my\r\nchildren are the bane of my life. It is the cross I have to bear. That\r\nis how I explain it to myself. It can't be helped!\"\r\n\r\nHe said no more, but expressed his resignation to cruel fate by a\r\ngesture. Anna Pavlovna meditated.\r\n\r\n\"Have you never thought of marrying your prodigal son Anatole?\" she\r\nasked. \"They say old maids have a mania for matchmaking, and though I\r\ndon't feel that weakness in myself as yet, I know a little person who is\r\nvery unhappy with her father. She is a relation of yours, Princess Mary\r\nBolkonskaya.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili did not reply, though, with the quickness of memory and\r\nperception befitting a man of the world, he indicated by a movement of\r\nthe head that he was considering this information.\r\n\r\n\"Do you know,\" he said at last, evidently unable to check the sad\r\ncurrent of his thoughts, \"that Anatole is costing me forty thousand\r\nrubles a year? And,\" he went on after a pause, \"what will it be in five\r\nyears, if he goes on like this?\" Presently he added: \"That's what we\r\nfathers have to put up with.... Is this princess of yours rich?\"\r\n\r\n\"Her father is very rich and stingy. He lives in the country. He is the\r\nwell-known Prince Bolkonski who had to retire from the army under the\r\nlate Emperor, and was nicknamed 'the King of Prussia.' He is very clever\r\nbut eccentric, and a bore. The poor girl is very unhappy. She has a\r\nbrother; I think you know him, he married Lise Meinen lately. He is an\r\naide-de-camp of Kutuzov's and will be here tonight.\"\r\n\r\n\"Listen, dear Annette,\" said the prince, suddenly taking Anna Pavlovna's\r\nhand and for some reason drawing it downwards. \"Arrange that affair for\r\nme and I shall always be your most devoted slave-slafe with an f, as\r\na village elder of mine writes in his reports. She is rich and of good\r\nfamily and that's all I want.\"\r\n\r\nAnd with the familiarity and easy grace peculiar to him, he raised the\r\nmaid of honor's hand to his lips, kissed it, and swung it to and fro as\r\nhe lay back in his armchair, looking in another direction.\r\n\r\n\"Attendez,\" said Anna Pavlovna, reflecting, \"I'll speak to Lise, young\r\nBolkonski's wife, this very evening, and perhaps the thing can be\r\narranged. It shall be on your family's behalf that I'll start my\r\napprenticeship as old maid.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II\r\n\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna's drawing room was gradually filling. The highest\r\nPetersburg society was assembled there: people differing widely in age\r\nand character but alike in the social circle to which they belonged.\r\nPrince Vasili's daughter, the beautiful Helene, came to take her father\r\nto the ambassador's entertainment; she wore a ball dress and her badge\r\nas maid of honor. The youthful little Princess Bolkonskaya, known as la\r\nfemme la plus seduisante de Petersbourg, * was also there. She had been\r\nmarried during the previous winter, and being pregnant did not go to\r\nany large gatherings, but only to small receptions. Prince Vasili's son,\r\nHippolyte, had come with Mortemart, whom he introduced. The Abbe Morio\r\nand many others had also come.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * The most fascinating woman in Petersburg.\r\n\r\n\r\nTo each new arrival Anna Pavlovna said, \"You have not yet seen my aunt,\"\r\nor \"You do not know my aunt?\" and very gravely conducted him or her to\r\na little old lady, wearing large bows of ribbon in her cap, who had come\r\nsailing in from another room as soon as the guests began to arrive;\r\nand slowly turning her eyes from the visitor to her aunt, Anna Pavlovna\r\nmentioned each one's name and then left them.\r\n\r\nEach visitor performed the ceremony of greeting this old aunt whom not\r\none of them knew, not one of them wanted to know, and not one of them\r\ncared about; Anna Pavlovna observed these greetings with mournful and\r\nsolemn interest and silent approval. The aunt spoke to each of them in\r\nthe same words, about their health and her own, and the health of Her\r\nMajesty, \"who, thank God, was better today.\" And each visitor, though\r\npoliteness prevented his showing impatience, left the old woman with a\r\nsense of relief at having performed a vexatious duty and did not return\r\nto her the whole evening.\r\n\r\nThe young Princess Bolkonskaya had brought some work in a\r\ngold-embroidered velvet bag. Her pretty little upper lip, on which a\r\ndelicate dark down was just perceptible, was too short for her teeth,\r\nbut it lifted all the more sweetly, and was especially charming when she\r\noccasionally drew it down to meet the lower lip. As is always the case\r\nwith a thoroughly attractive woman, her defect--the shortness of her\r\nupper lip and her half-open mouth--seemed to be her own special and\r\npeculiar form of beauty. Everyone brightened at the sight of this pretty\r\nyoung woman, so soon to become a mother, so full of life and health, and\r\ncarrying her burden so lightly. Old men and dull dispirited young ones\r\nwho looked at her, after being in her company and talking to her a\r\nlittle while, felt as if they too were becoming, like her, full of life\r\nand health. All who talked to her, and at each word saw her bright smile\r\nand the constant gleam of her white teeth, thought that they were in a\r\nspecially amiable mood that day.\r\n\r\nThe little princess went round the table with quick, short, swaying\r\nsteps, her workbag on her arm, and gaily spreading out her dress sat\r\ndown on a sofa near the silver samovar, as if all she was doing was a\r\npleasure to herself and to all around her. \"I have brought my work,\"\r\nsaid she in French, displaying her bag and addressing all present.\r\n\"Mind, Annette, I hope you have not played a wicked trick on me,\" she\r\nadded, turning to her hostess. \"You wrote that it was to be quite a\r\nsmall reception, and just see how badly I am dressed.\" And she spread\r\nout her arms to show her short-waisted, lace-trimmed, dainty gray dress,\r\ngirdled with a broad ribbon just below the breast.\r\n\r\n\"Soyez tranquille, Lise, you will always be prettier than anyone else,\"\r\nreplied Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\n\"You know,\" said the princess in the same tone of voice and still in\r\nFrench, turning to a general, \"my husband is deserting me? He is going\r\nto get himself killed. Tell me what this wretched war is for?\" she\r\nadded, addressing Prince Vasili, and without waiting for an answer she\r\nturned to speak to his daughter, the beautiful Helene.\r\n\r\n\"What a delightful woman this little princess is!\" said Prince Vasili to\r\nAnna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\nOne of the next arrivals was a stout, heavily built young man with\r\nclose-cropped hair, spectacles, the light-colored breeches fashionable\r\nat that time, a very high ruffle, and a brown dress coat. This stout\r\nyoung man was an illegitimate son of Count Bezukhov, a well-known\r\ngrandee of Catherine's time who now lay dying in Moscow. The young man\r\nhad not yet entered either the military or civil service, as he had only\r\njust returned from abroad where he had been educated, and this was his\r\nfirst appearance in society. Anna Pavlovna greeted him with the nod she\r\naccorded to the lowest hierarchy in her drawing room. But in spite of\r\nthis lowest-grade greeting, a look of anxiety and fear, as at the sight\r\nof something too large and unsuited to the place, came over her face\r\nwhen she saw Pierre enter. Though he was certainly rather bigger than\r\nthe other men in the room, her anxiety could only have reference to\r\nthe clever though shy, but observant and natural, expression which\r\ndistinguished him from everyone else in that drawing room.\r\n\r\n\"It is very good of you, Monsieur Pierre, to come and visit a poor\r\ninvalid,\" said Anna Pavlovna, exchanging an alarmed glance with her aunt\r\nas she conducted him to her.\r\n\r\nPierre murmured something unintelligible, and continued to look round as\r\nif in search of something. On his way to the aunt he bowed to the little\r\nprincess with a pleased smile, as to an intimate acquaintance.\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna's alarm was justified, for Pierre turned away from the\r\naunt without waiting to hear her speech about Her Majesty's health. Anna\r\nPavlovna in dismay detained him with the words: \"Do you know the Abbe\r\nMorio? He is a most interesting man.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I have heard of his scheme for perpetual peace, and it is very\r\ninteresting but hardly feasible.\"\r\n\r\n\"You think so?\" rejoined Anna Pavlovna in order to say something and\r\nget away to attend to her duties as hostess. But Pierre now committed\r\na reverse act of impoliteness. First he had left a lady before she had\r\nfinished speaking to him, and now he continued to speak to another who\r\nwished to get away. With his head bent, and his big feet spread apart,\r\nhe began explaining his reasons for thinking the abbe's plan chimerical.\r\n\r\n\"We will talk of it later,\" said Anna Pavlovna with a smile.\r\n\r\nAnd having got rid of this young man who did not know how to behave, she\r\nresumed her duties as hostess and continued to listen and watch, ready\r\nto help at any point where the conversation might happen to flag. As\r\nthe foreman of a spinning mill, when he has set the hands to work, goes\r\nround and notices here a spindle that has stopped or there one that\r\ncreaks or makes more noise than it should, and hastens to check the\r\nmachine or set it in proper motion, so Anna Pavlovna moved about her\r\ndrawing room, approaching now a silent, now a too-noisy group, and by a\r\nword or slight rearrangement kept the conversational machine in steady,\r\nproper, and regular motion. But amid these cares her anxiety about\r\nPierre was evident. She kept an anxious watch on him when he approached\r\nthe group round Mortemart to listen to what was being said there, and\r\nagain when he passed to another group whose center was the abbe.\r\n\r\nPierre had been educated abroad, and this reception at Anna Pavlovna's\r\nwas the first he had attended in Russia. He knew that all the\r\nintellectual lights of Petersburg were gathered there and, like a child\r\nin a toyshop, did not know which way to look, afraid of missing any\r\nclever conversation that was to be heard. Seeing the self-confident and\r\nrefined expression on the faces of those present he was always expecting\r\nto hear something very profound. At last he came up to Morio. Here the\r\nconversation seemed interesting and he stood waiting for an opportunity\r\nto express his own views, as young people are fond of doing.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III\r\n\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna's reception was in full swing. The spindles hummed\r\nsteadily and ceaselessly on all sides. With the exception of the aunt,\r\nbeside whom sat only one elderly lady, who with her thin careworn face\r\nwas rather out of place in this brilliant society, the whole company had\r\nsettled into three groups. One, chiefly masculine, had formed round the\r\nabbe. Another, of young people, was grouped round the beautiful Princess\r\nHelene, Prince Vasili's daughter, and the little Princess Bolkonskaya,\r\nvery pretty and rosy, though rather too plump for her age. The third\r\ngroup was gathered round Mortemart and Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte was a nice-looking young man with soft features and polished\r\nmanners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity but out of\r\npoliteness modestly placed himself at the disposal of the circle in\r\nwhich he found himself. Anna Pavlovna was obviously serving him up as a\r\ntreat to her guests. As a clever maitre d'hotel serves up as a specially\r\nchoice delicacy a piece of meat that no one who had seen it in the\r\nkitchen would have cared to eat, so Anna Pavlovna served up to her\r\nguests, first the vicomte and then the abbe, as peculiarly choice\r\nmorsels. The group about Mortemart immediately began discussing the\r\nmurder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc d'Enghien had\r\nperished by his own magnanimity, and that there were particular reasons\r\nfor Buonaparte's hatred of him.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, yes! Do tell us all about it, Vicomte,\" said Anna Pavlovna, with a\r\npleasant feeling that there was something a la Louis XV in the sound of\r\nthat sentence: \"Contez nous cela, Vicomte.\"\r\n\r\nThe vicomte bowed and smiled courteously in token of his willingness to\r\ncomply. Anna Pavlovna arranged a group round him, inviting everyone to\r\nlisten to his tale.\r\n\r\n\"The vicomte knew the duc personally,\" whispered Anna Pavlovna to of\r\nthe guests. \"The vicomte is a wonderful raconteur,\" said she to another.\r\n\"How evidently he belongs to the best society,\" said she to a third;\r\nand the vicomte was served up to the company in the choicest and most\r\nadvantageous style, like a well-garnished joint of roast beef on a hot\r\ndish.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte wished to begin his story and gave a subtle smile.\r\n\r\n\"Come over here, Helene, dear,\" said Anna Pavlovna to the beautiful\r\nyoung princess who was sitting some way off, the center of another\r\ngroup.\r\n\r\nThe princess smiled. She rose with the same unchanging smile with which\r\nshe had first entered the room--the smile of a perfectly beautiful\r\nwoman. With a slight rustle of her white dress trimmed with moss\r\nand ivy, with a gleam of white shoulders, glossy hair, and sparkling\r\ndiamonds, she passed between the men who made way for her, not looking\r\nat any of them but smiling on all, as if graciously allowing each the\r\nprivilege of admiring her beautiful figure and shapely shoulders,\r\nback, and bosom--which in the fashion of those days were very much\r\nexposed--and she seemed to bring the glamour of a ballroom with her as\r\nshe moved toward Anna Pavlovna. Helene was so lovely that not only\r\ndid she not show any trace of coquetry, but on the contrary she even\r\nappeared shy of her unquestionable and all too victorious beauty. She\r\nseemed to wish, but to be unable, to diminish its effect.\r\n\r\n\"How lovely!\" said everyone who saw her; and the vicomte lifted his\r\nshoulders and dropped his eyes as if startled by something extraordinary\r\nwhen she took her seat opposite and beamed upon him also with her\r\nunchanging smile.\r\n\r\n\"Madame, I doubt my ability before such an audience,\" said he, smilingly\r\ninclining his head.\r\n\r\nThe princess rested her bare round arm on a little table and considered\r\na reply unnecessary. She smilingly waited. All the time the story was\r\nbeing told she sat upright, glancing now at her beautiful round arm,\r\naltered in shape by its pressure on the table, now at her still more\r\nbeautiful bosom, on which she readjusted a diamond necklace. From time\r\nto time she smoothed the folds of her dress, and whenever the story\r\nproduced an effect she glanced at Anna Pavlovna, at once adopted just\r\nthe expression she saw on the maid of honor's face, and again relapsed\r\ninto her radiant smile.\r\n\r\nThe little princess had also left the tea table and followed Helene.\r\n\r\n\"Wait a moment, I'll get my work.... Now then, what are you thinking\r\nof?\" she went on, turning to Prince Hippolyte. \"Fetch me my workbag.\"\r\n\r\nThere was a general movement as the princess, smiling and talking\r\nmerrily to everyone at once, sat down and gaily arranged herself in her\r\nseat.\r\n\r\n\"Now I am all right,\" she said, and asking the vicomte to begin, she\r\ntook up her work.\r\n\r\nPrince Hippolyte, having brought the workbag, joined the circle and\r\nmoving a chair close to hers seated himself beside her.\r\n\r\nLe charmant Hippolyte was surprising by his extraordinary resemblance\r\nto his beautiful sister, but yet more by the fact that in spite of\r\nthis resemblance he was exceedingly ugly. His features were like his\r\nsister's, but while in her case everything was lit up by a joyous,\r\nself-satisfied, youthful, and constant smile of animation, and by the\r\nwonderful classic beauty of her figure, his face on the contrary\r\nwas dulled by imbecility and a constant expression of sullen\r\nself-confidence, while his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, and\r\nmouth all seemed puckered into a vacant, wearied grimace, and his arms\r\nand legs always fell into unnatural positions.\r\n\r\n\"It's not going to be a ghost story?\" said he, sitting down beside\r\nthe princess and hastily adjusting his lorgnette, as if without this\r\ninstrument he could not begin to speak.\r\n\r\n\"Why no, my dear fellow,\" said the astonished narrator, shrugging his\r\nshoulders.\r\n\r\n\"Because I hate ghost stories,\" said Prince Hippolyte in a tone which\r\nshowed that he only understood the meaning of his words after he had\r\nuttered them.\r\n\r\nHe spoke with such self-confidence that his hearers could not be sure\r\nwhether what he said was very witty or very stupid. He was dressed in\r\na dark-green dress coat, knee breeches of the color of cuisse de nymphe\r\neffrayee, as he called it, shoes, and silk stockings.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte told his tale very neatly. It was an anecdote, then current,\r\nto the effect that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly to Paris to visit\r\nMademoiselle George; that at her house he came upon Bonaparte, who also\r\nenjoyed the famous actress' favors, and that in his presence Napoleon\r\nhappened to fall into one of the fainting fits to which he was subject,\r\nand was thus at the duc's mercy. The latter spared him, and this\r\nmagnanimity Bonaparte subsequently repaid by death.\r\n\r\nThe story was very pretty and interesting, especially at the point\r\nwhere the rivals suddenly recognized one another; and the ladies looked\r\nagitated.\r\n\r\n\"Charming!\" said Anna Pavlovna with an inquiring glance at the little\r\nprincess.\r\n\r\n\"Charming!\" whispered the little princess, sticking the needle into her\r\nwork as if to testify that the interest and fascination of the story\r\nprevented her from going on with it.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte appreciated this silent praise and smiling gratefully\r\nprepared to continue, but just then Anna Pavlovna, who had kept a\r\nwatchful eye on the young man who so alarmed her, noticed that he was\r\ntalking too loudly and vehemently with the abbe, so she hurried to the\r\nrescue. Pierre had managed to start a conversation with the abbe about\r\nthe balance of power, and the latter, evidently interested by the young\r\nman's simple-minded eagerness, was explaining his pet theory. Both were\r\ntalking and listening too eagerly and too naturally, which was why Anna\r\nPavlovna disapproved.\r\n\r\n\"The means are... the balance of power in Europe and the rights of the\r\npeople,\" the abbe was saying. \"It is only necessary for one powerful\r\nnation like Russia--barbaric as she is said to be--to place herself\r\ndisinterestedly at the head of an alliance having for its object the\r\nmaintenance of the balance of power of Europe, and it would save the\r\nworld!\"\r\n\r\n\"But how are you to get that balance?\" Pierre was beginning.\r\n\r\nAt that moment Anna Pavlovna came up and, looking severely at Pierre,\r\nasked the Italian how he stood Russian climate. The Italian's\r\nface instantly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary\r\nexpression, evidently habitual to him when conversing with women.\r\n\r\n\"I am so enchanted by the brilliancy of the wit and culture of the\r\nsociety, more especially of the feminine society, in which I have had\r\nthe honor of being received, that I have not yet had time to think of\r\nthe climate,\" said he.\r\n\r\nNot letting the abbe and Pierre escape, Anna Pavlovna, the more\r\nconveniently to keep them under observation, brought them into the\r\nlarger circle.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV\r\n\r\n\r\nJust then another visitor entered the drawing room: Prince Andrew\r\nBolkonski, the little princess' husband. He was a very handsome young\r\nman, of medium height, with firm, clearcut features. Everything about\r\nhim, from his weary, bored expression to his quiet, measured step,\r\noffered a most striking contrast to his quiet, little wife. It was\r\nevident that he not only knew everyone in the drawing room, but had\r\nfound them to be so tiresome that it wearied him to look at or listen to\r\nthem. And among all these faces that he found so tedious, none seemed\r\nto bore him so much as that of his pretty wife. He turned away from her\r\nwith a grimace that distorted his handsome face, kissed Anna Pavlovna's\r\nhand, and screwing up his eyes scanned the whole company.\r\n\r\n\"You are off to the war, Prince?\" said Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\n\"General Kutuzov,\" said Bolkonski, speaking French and stressing the\r\nlast syllable of the general's name like a Frenchman, \"has been pleased\r\nto take me as an aide-de-camp....\"\r\n\r\n\"And Lise, your wife?\"\r\n\r\n\"She will go to the country.\"\r\n\r\n\"Are you not ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?\"\r\n\r\n\"Andre,\" said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquettish\r\nmanner in which she spoke to other men, \"the vicomte has been telling us\r\nsuch a tale about Mademoiselle George and Buonaparte!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who from\r\nthe moment Prince Andrew entered the room had watched him with glad,\r\naffectionate eyes, now came up and took his arm. Before he looked round\r\nPrince Andrew frowned again, expressing his annoyance with whoever was\r\ntouching his arm, but when he saw Pierre's beaming face he gave him an\r\nunexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.\r\n\r\n\"There now!... So you, too, are in the great world?\" said he to Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"I knew you would be here,\" replied Pierre. \"I will come to supper with\r\nyou. May I?\" he added in a low voice so as not to disturb the vicomte\r\nwho was continuing his story.\r\n\r\n\"No, impossible!\" said Prince Andrew, laughing and pressing Pierre's\r\nhand to show that there was no need to ask the question. He wished to\r\nsay something more, but at that moment Prince Vasili and his daughter\r\ngot up to go and the two young men rose to let them pass.\r\n\r\n\"You must excuse me, dear Vicomte,\" said Prince Vasili to the Frenchman,\r\nholding him down by the sleeve in a friendly way to prevent his rising.\r\n\"This unfortunate fete at the ambassador's deprives me of a pleasure,\r\nand obliges me to interrupt you. I am very sorry to leave your\r\nenchanting party,\" said he, turning to Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\nHis daughter, Princess Helene, passed between the chairs, lightly\r\nholding up the folds of her dress, and the smile shone still more\r\nradiantly on her beautiful face. Pierre gazed at her with rapturous,\r\nalmost frightened, eyes as she passed him.\r\n\r\n\"Very lovely,\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"Very,\" said Pierre.\r\n\r\nIn passing Prince Vasili seized Pierre's hand and said to Anna Pavlovna:\r\n\"Educate this bear for me! He has been staying with me a whole month\r\nand this is the first time I have seen him in society. Nothing is so\r\nnecessary for a young man as the society of clever women.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna smiled and promised to take Pierre in hand. She knew his\r\nfather to be a connection of Prince Vasili's. The elderly lady who had\r\nbeen sitting with the old aunt rose hurriedly and overtook Prince Vasili\r\nin the anteroom. All the affectation of interest she had assumed had\r\nleft her kindly and tear-worn face and it now expressed only anxiety and\r\nfear.\r\n\r\n\"How about my son Boris, Prince?\" said she, hurrying after him into the\r\nanteroom. \"I can't remain any longer in Petersburg. Tell me what news I\r\nmay take back to my poor boy.\"\r\n\r\nAlthough Prince Vasili listened reluctantly and not very politely to\r\nthe elderly lady, even betraying some impatience, she gave him an\r\ningratiating and appealing smile, and took his hand that he might not go\r\naway.\r\n\r\n\"What would it cost you to say a word to the Emperor, and then he would\r\nbe transferred to the Guards at once?\" said she.\r\n\r\n\"Believe me, Princess, I am ready to do all I can,\" answered Prince\r\nVasili, \"but it is difficult for me to ask the Emperor. I should advise\r\nyou to appeal to Rumyantsev through Prince Golitsyn. That would be the\r\nbest way.\"\r\n\r\nThe elderly lady was a Princess Drubetskaya, belonging to one of the\r\nbest families in Russia, but she was poor, and having long been out of\r\nsociety had lost her former influential connections. She had now come to\r\nPetersburg to procure an appointment in the Guards for her only son.\r\nIt was, in fact, solely to meet Prince Vasili that she had obtained an\r\ninvitation to Anna Pavlovna's reception and had sat listening to the\r\nvicomte's story. Prince Vasili's words frightened her, an embittered\r\nlook clouded her once handsome face, but only for a moment; then she\r\nsmiled again and clutched Prince Vasili's arm more tightly.\r\n\r\n\"Listen to me, Prince,\" said she. \"I have never yet asked you for\r\nanything and I never will again, nor have I ever reminded you of my\r\nfather's friendship for you; but now I entreat you for God's sake to\r\ndo this for my son--and I shall always regard you as a benefactor,\" she\r\nadded hurriedly. \"No, don't be angry, but promise! I have asked Golitsyn\r\nand he has refused. Be the kindhearted man you always were,\" she said,\r\ntrying to smile though tears were in her eyes.\r\n\r\n\"Papa, we shall be late,\" said Princess Helene, turning her beautiful\r\nhead and looking over her classically molded shoulder as she stood\r\nwaiting by the door.\r\n\r\nInfluence in society, however, is a capital which has to be economized\r\nif it is to last. Prince Vasili knew this, and having once realized that\r\nif he asked on behalf of all who begged of him, he would soon be unable\r\nto ask for himself, he became chary of using his influence. But in\r\nPrincess Drubetskaya's case he felt, after her second appeal, something\r\nlike qualms of conscience. She had reminded him of what was quite true;\r\nhe had been indebted to her father for the first steps in his career.\r\nMoreover, he could see by her manners that she was one of those\r\nwomen--mostly mothers--who, having once made up their minds, will not\r\nrest until they have gained their end, and are prepared if necessary\r\nto go on insisting day after day and hour after hour, and even to make\r\nscenes. This last consideration moved him.\r\n\r\n\"My dear Anna Mikhaylovna,\" said he with his usual familiarity and\r\nweariness of tone, \"it is almost impossible for me to do what you ask;\r\nbut to prove my devotion to you and how I respect your father's memory,\r\nI will do the impossible--your son shall be transferred to the Guards.\r\nHere is my hand on it. Are you satisfied?\"\r\n\r\n\"My dear benefactor! This is what I expected from you--I knew your\r\nkindness!\" He turned to go.\r\n\r\n\"Wait--just a word! When he has been transferred to the Guards...\" she\r\nfaltered. \"You are on good terms with Michael Ilarionovich Kutuzov...\r\nrecommend Boris to him as adjutant! Then I shall be at rest, and\r\nthen...\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili smiled.\r\n\r\n\"No, I won't promise that. You don't know how Kutuzov is pestered since\r\nhis appointment as Commander in Chief. He told me himself that all the\r\nMoscow ladies have conspired to give him all their sons as adjutants.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, but do promise! I won't let you go! My dear benefactor...\"\r\n\r\n\"Papa,\" said his beautiful daughter in the same tone as before, \"we\r\nshall be late.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, au revoir! Good-by! You hear her?\"\r\n\r\n\"Then tomorrow you will speak to the Emperor?\"\r\n\r\n\"Certainly; but about Kutuzov, I don't promise.\"\r\n\r\n\"Do promise, do promise, Vasili!\" cried Anna Mikhaylovna as he went,\r\nwith the smile of a coquettish girl, which at one time probably came\r\nnaturally to her, but was now very ill-suited to her careworn face.\r\n\r\nApparently she had forgotten her age and by force of habit employed\r\nall the old feminine arts. But as soon as the prince had gone her face\r\nresumed its former cold, artificial expression. She returned to the\r\ngroup where the vicomte was still talking, and again pretended to\r\nlisten, while waiting till it would be time to leave. Her task was\r\naccomplished.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V\r\n\r\n\r\n\"And what do you think of this latest comedy, the coronation at Milan?\"\r\nasked Anna Pavlovna, \"and of the comedy of the people of Genoa and\r\nLucca laying their petitions before Monsieur Buonaparte, and Monsieur\r\nBuonaparte sitting on a throne and granting the petitions of the\r\nnations? Adorable! It is enough to make one's head whirl! It is as if\r\nthe whole world had gone crazy.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew looked Anna Pavlovna straight in the face with a sarcastic\r\nsmile.\r\n\r\n\"'Dieu me la donne, gare a qui la touche!' * They say he was very fine\r\nwhen he said that,\" he remarked, repeating the words in Italian: \"'Dio\r\nmi l'ha dato. Guai a chi la tocchi!'\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * God has given it to me, let him who touches it beware!\r\n\r\n\r\n\"I hope this will prove the last drop that will make the glass run\r\nover,\" Anna Pavlovna continued. \"The sovereigns will not be able to\r\nendure this man who is a menace to everything.\"\r\n\r\n\"The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia,\" said the vicomte, polite but\r\nhopeless: \"The sovereigns, madame... What have they done for Louis XVII,\r\nfor the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!\" and he became more\r\nanimated. \"And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their betrayal\r\nof the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending ambassadors\r\nto compliment the usurper.\"\r\n\r\nAnd sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.\r\n\r\nPrince Hippolyte, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time\r\nthrough his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the\r\nlittle princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Conde\r\ncoat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity\r\nas if she had asked him to do it.\r\n\r\n\"Baton de gueules, engrele de gueules d'azur--maison Conde,\" said he.\r\n\r\nThe princess listened, smiling.\r\n\r\n\"If Buonaparte remains on the throne of France a year longer,\" the\r\nvicomte continued, with the air of a man who, in a matter with which\r\nhe is better acquainted than anyone else, does not listen to others but\r\nfollows the current of his own thoughts, \"things will have gone too far.\r\nBy intrigues, violence, exile, and executions, French society--I mean\r\ngood French society--will have been forever destroyed, and then...\"\r\n\r\nHe shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands. Pierre wished to\r\nmake a remark, for the conversation interested him, but Anna Pavlovna,\r\nwho had him under observation, interrupted:\r\n\r\n\"The Emperor Alexander,\" said she, with the melancholy which always\r\naccompanied any reference of hers to the Imperial family, \"has declared\r\nthat he will leave it to the French people themselves to choose their\r\nown form of government; and I believe that once free from the usurper,\r\nthe whole nation will certainly throw itself into the arms of its\r\nrightful king,\" she concluded, trying to be amiable to the royalist\r\nemigrant.\r\n\r\n\"That is doubtful,\" said Prince Andrew. \"Monsieur le Vicomte quite\r\nrightly supposes that matters have already gone too far. I think it will\r\nbe difficult to return to the old regime.\"\r\n\r\n\"From what I have heard,\" said Pierre, blushing and breaking into the\r\nconversation, \"almost all the aristocracy has already gone over to\r\nBonaparte's side.\"\r\n\r\n\"It is the Buonapartists who say that,\" replied the vicomte without\r\nlooking at Pierre. \"At the present time it is difficult to know the real\r\nstate of French public opinion.\"\r\n\r\n\"Bonaparte has said so,\" remarked Prince Andrew with a sarcastic smile.\r\n\r\nIt was evident that he did not like the vicomte and was aiming his\r\nremarks at him, though without looking at him.\r\n\r\n\"'I showed them the path to glory, but they did not follow it,'\" Prince\r\nAndrew continued after a short silence, again quoting Napoleon's words.\r\n\"'I opened my antechambers and they crowded in.' I do not know how far\r\nhe was justified in saying so.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not in the least,\" replied the vicomte. \"After the murder of the\r\nduc even the most partial ceased to regard him as a hero. If to some\r\npeople,\" he went on, turning to Anna Pavlovna, \"he ever was a hero,\r\nafter the murder of the duc there was one martyr more in heaven and one\r\nhero less on earth.\"\r\n\r\nBefore Anna Pavlovna and the others had time to smile their appreciation\r\nof the vicomte's epigram, Pierre again broke into the conversation, and\r\nthough Anna Pavlovna felt sure he would say something inappropriate, she\r\nwas unable to stop him.\r\n\r\n\"The execution of the Duc d'Enghien,\" declared Monsieur Pierre, \"was a\r\npolitical necessity, and it seems to me that Napoleon showed greatness\r\nof soul by not fearing to take on himself the whole responsibility of\r\nthat deed.\"\r\n\r\n\"Dieu! Mon Dieu!\" muttered Anna Pavlovna in a terrified whisper.\r\n\r\n\"What, Monsieur Pierre... Do you consider that assassination shows\r\ngreatness of soul?\" said the little princess, smiling and drawing her\r\nwork nearer to her.\r\n\r\n\"Oh! Oh!\" exclaimed several voices.\r\n\r\n\"Capital!\" said Prince Hippolyte in English, and began slapping his knee\r\nwith the palm of his hand.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte merely shrugged his shoulders. Pierre looked solemnly at his\r\naudience over his spectacles and continued.\r\n\r\n\"I say so,\" he continued desperately, \"because the Bourbons fled\r\nfrom the Revolution leaving the people to anarchy, and Napoleon alone\r\nunderstood the Revolution and quelled it, and so for the general good,\r\nhe could not stop short for the sake of one man's life.\"\r\n\r\n\"Won't you come over to the other table?\" suggested Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\nBut Pierre continued his speech without heeding her.\r\n\r\n\"No,\" cried he, becoming more and more eager, \"Napoleon is great because\r\nhe rose superior to the Revolution, suppressed its abuses, preserved all\r\nthat was good in it--equality of citizenship and freedom of speech and\r\nof the press--and only for that reason did he obtain power.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, if having obtained power, without availing himself of it to commit\r\nmurder he had restored it to the rightful king, I should have called him\r\na great man,\" remarked the vicomte.\r\n\r\n\"He could not do that. The people only gave him power that he might rid\r\nthem of the Bourbons and because they saw that he was a great man. The\r\nRevolution was a grand thing!\" continued Monsieur Pierre, betraying by\r\nthis desperate and provocative proposition his extreme youth and his\r\nwish to express all that was in his mind.\r\n\r\n\"What? Revolution and regicide a grand thing?... Well, after that... But\r\nwon't you come to this other table?\" repeated Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\n\"Rousseau's Contrat social,\" said the vicomte with a tolerant smile.\r\n\r\n\"I am not speaking of regicide, I am speaking about ideas.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes: ideas of robbery, murder, and regicide,\" again interjected an\r\nironical voice.\r\n\r\n\"Those were extremes, no doubt, but they are not what is most important.\r\nWhat is important are the rights of man, emancipation from prejudices,\r\nand equality of citizenship, and all these ideas Napoleon has retained\r\nin full force.\"\r\n\r\n\"Liberty and equality,\" said the vicomte contemptuously, as if at last\r\ndeciding seriously to prove to this youth how foolish his words were,\r\n\"high-sounding words which have long been discredited. Who does not love\r\nliberty and equality? Even our Saviour preached liberty and equality.\r\nHave people since the Revolution become happier? On the contrary. We\r\nwanted liberty, but Buonaparte has destroyed it.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew kept looking with an amused smile from Pierre to the\r\nvicomte and from the vicomte to their hostess. In the first moment of\r\nPierre's outburst Anna Pavlovna, despite her social experience, was\r\nhorror-struck. But when she saw that Pierre's sacrilegious words had\r\nnot exasperated the vicomte, and had convinced herself that it was\r\nimpossible to stop him, she rallied her forces and joined the vicomte in\r\na vigorous attack on the orator.\r\n\r\n\"But, my dear Monsieur Pierre,\" said she, \"how do you explain the fact\r\nof a great man executing a duc--or even an ordinary man who--is innocent\r\nand untried?\"\r\n\r\n\"I should like,\" said the vicomte, \"to ask how monsieur explains the\r\n18th Brumaire; was not that an imposture? It was a swindle, and not at\r\nall like the conduct of a great man!\"\r\n\r\n\"And the prisoners he killed in Africa? That was horrible!\" said the\r\nlittle princess, shrugging her shoulders.\r\n\r\n\"He's a low fellow, say what you will,\" remarked Prince Hippolyte.\r\n\r\nPierre, not knowing whom to answer, looked at them all and smiled. His\r\nsmile was unlike the half-smile of other people. When he smiled,\r\nhis grave, even rather gloomy, look was instantaneously replaced by\r\nanother--a childlike, kindly, even rather silly look, which seemed to\r\nask forgiveness.\r\n\r\nThe vicomte who was meeting him for the first time saw clearly that\r\nthis young Jacobin was not so terrible as his words suggested. All were\r\nsilent.\r\n\r\n\"How do you expect him to answer you all at once?\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\"Besides, in the actions of a statesman one has to distinguish between\r\nhis acts as a private person, as a general, and as an emperor. So it\r\nseems to me.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes, of course!\" Pierre chimed in, pleased at the arrival of this\r\nreinforcement.\r\n\r\n\"One must admit,\" continued Prince Andrew, \"that Napoleon as a man was\r\ngreat on the bridge of Arcola, and in the hospital at Jaffa where he\r\ngave his hand to the plague-stricken; but... but there are other acts\r\nwhich it is difficult to justify.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew, who had evidently wished to tone down the awkwardness of\r\nPierre's remarks, rose and made a sign to his wife that it was time to\r\ngo.\r\n\r\nSuddenly Prince Hippolyte started up making signs to everyone to attend,\r\nand asking them all to be seated began:\r\n\r\n\"I was told a charming Moscow story today and must treat you to it.\r\nExcuse me, Vicomte--I must tell it in Russian or the point will be\r\nlost....\" And Prince Hippolyte began to tell his story in such Russian\r\nas a Frenchman would speak after spending about a year in Russia.\r\nEveryone waited, so emphatically and eagerly did he demand their\r\nattention to his story.\r\n\r\n\"There is in Moscow a lady, une dame, and she is very stingy. She must\r\nhave two footmen behind her carriage, and very big ones. That was her\r\ntaste. And she had a lady's maid, also big. She said...\"\r\n\r\nHere Prince Hippolyte paused, evidently collecting his ideas with\r\ndifficulty.\r\n\r\n\"She said... Oh yes! She said, 'Girl,' to the maid, 'put on a livery,\r\nget up behind the carriage, and come with me while I make some calls.'\"\r\n\r\nHere Prince Hippolyte spluttered and burst out laughing long before his\r\naudience, which produced an effect unfavorable to the narrator. Several\r\npersons, among them the elderly lady and Anna Pavlovna, did however\r\nsmile.\r\n\r\n\"She went. Suddenly there was a great wind. The girl lost her hat and\r\nher long hair came down....\" Here he could contain himself no longer and\r\nwent on, between gasps of laughter: \"And the whole world knew....\"\r\n\r\nAnd so the anecdote ended. Though it was unintelligible why he had told\r\nit, or why it had to be told in Russian, still Anna Pavlovna and the\r\nothers appreciated Prince Hippolyte's social tact in so agreeably ending\r\nPierre's unpleasant and unamiable outburst. After the anecdote the\r\nconversation broke up into insignificant small talk about the last and\r\nnext balls, about theatricals, and who would meet whom, and when and\r\nwhere.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI\r\n\r\n\r\nHaving thanked Anna Pavlovna for her charming soiree, the guests began\r\nto take their leave.\r\n\r\nPierre was ungainly. Stout, about the average height, broad, with huge\r\nred hands; he did not know, as the saying is, how to enter a drawing\r\nroom and still less how to leave one; that is, how to say something\r\nparticularly agreeable before going away. Besides this he was\r\nabsent-minded. When he rose to go, he took up instead of his own, the\r\ngeneral's three-cornered hat, and held it, pulling at the plume, till\r\nthe general asked him to restore it. All his absent-mindedness and\r\ninability to enter a room and converse in it was, however, redeemed by\r\nhis kindly, simple, and modest expression. Anna Pavlovna turned toward\r\nhim and, with a Christian mildness that expressed forgiveness of his\r\nindiscretion, nodded and said: \"I hope to see you again, but I also hope\r\nyou will change your opinions, my dear Monsieur Pierre.\"\r\n\r\nWhen she said this, he did not reply and only bowed, but again everybody\r\nsaw his smile, which said nothing, unless perhaps, \"Opinions are\r\nopinions, but you see what a capital, good-natured fellow I am.\" And\r\neveryone, including Anna Pavlovna, felt this.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew had gone out into the hall, and, turning his shoulders\r\nto the footman who was helping him on with his cloak, listened\r\nindifferently to his wife's chatter with Prince Hippolyte who had also\r\ncome into the hall. Prince Hippolyte stood close to the pretty, pregnant\r\nprincess, and stared fixedly at her through his eyeglass.\r\n\r\n\"Go in, Annette, or you will catch cold,\" said the little princess,\r\ntaking leave of Anna Pavlovna. \"It is settled,\" she added in a low\r\nvoice.\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna had already managed to speak to Lise about the match she\r\ncontemplated between Anatole and the little princess' sister-in-law.\r\n\r\n\"I rely on you, my dear,\" said Anna Pavlovna, also in a low tone.\r\n\"Write to her and let me know how her father looks at the matter. Au\r\nrevoir!\"--and she left the hall.\r\n\r\nPrince Hippolyte approached the little princess and, bending his face\r\nclose to her, began to whisper something.\r\n\r\nTwo footmen, the princess' and his own, stood holding a shawl and a\r\ncloak, waiting for the conversation to finish. They listened to\r\nthe French sentences which to them were meaningless, with an air of\r\nunderstanding but not wishing to appear to do so. The princess as usual\r\nspoke smilingly and listened with a laugh.\r\n\r\n\"I am very glad I did not go to the ambassador's,\" said Prince Hippolyte\r\n\"-so dull-. It has been a delightful evening, has it not? Delightful!\"\r\n\r\n\"They say the ball will be very good,\" replied the princess, drawing up\r\nher downy little lip. \"All the pretty women in society will be there.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not all, for you will not be there; not all,\" said Prince Hippolyte\r\nsmiling joyfully; and snatching the shawl from the footman, whom he\r\neven pushed aside, he began wrapping it round the princess. Either from\r\nawkwardness or intentionally (no one could have said which) after the\r\nshawl had been adjusted he kept his arm around her for a long time, as\r\nthough embracing her.\r\n\r\nStill smiling, she gracefully moved away, turning and glancing at her\r\nhusband. Prince Andrew's eyes were closed, so weary and sleepy did he\r\nseem.\r\n\r\n\"Are you ready?\" he asked his wife, looking past her.\r\n\r\nPrince Hippolyte hurriedly put on his cloak, which in the latest fashion\r\nreached to his very heels, and, stumbling in it, ran out into the porch\r\nfollowing the princess, whom a footman was helping into the carriage.\r\n\r\n\"Princesse, au revoir,\" cried he, stumbling with his tongue as well as\r\nwith his feet.\r\n\r\nThe princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the dark\r\ncarriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; Prince Hippolyte, under\r\npretense of helping, was in everyone's way.\r\n\r\n\"Allow me, sir,\" said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold, disagreeable\r\ntone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path.\r\n\r\n\"I am expecting you, Pierre,\" said the same voice, but gently and\r\naffectionately.\r\n\r\nThe postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte\r\nlaughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte\r\nwhom he had promised to take home.\r\n\r\n\"Well, mon cher,\" said the vicomte, having seated himself beside\r\nHippolyte in the carriage, \"your little princess is very nice, very nice\r\nindeed, quite French,\" and he kissed the tips of his fingers. Hippolyte\r\nburst out laughing.\r\n\r\n\"Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent airs,\"\r\ncontinued the vicomte. \"I pity the poor husband, that little officer who\r\ngives himself the airs of a monarch.\"\r\n\r\nHippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, \"And you were\r\nsaying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? One has to\r\nknow how to deal with them.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study like\r\none quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa, took\r\nfrom the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was Caesar's\r\nCommentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it in the middle.\r\n\r\n\"What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be quite ill now,\" said\r\nPrince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small white hands.\r\n\r\nPierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his eager\r\nface to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.\r\n\r\n\"That abbe is very interesting but he does not see the thing in the\r\nright light.... In my opinion perpetual peace is possible but--I do not\r\nknow how to express it... not by a balance of political power....\"\r\n\r\nIt was evident that Prince Andrew was not interested in such abstract\r\nconversation.\r\n\r\n\"One can't everywhere say all one thinks, mon cher. Well, have you\r\nat last decided on anything? Are you going to be a guardsman or a\r\ndiplomatist?\" asked Prince Andrew after a momentary silence.\r\n\r\nPierre sat up on the sofa, with his legs tucked under him.\r\n\r\n\"Really, I don't yet know. I don't like either the one or the other.\"\r\n\r\n\"But you must decide on something! Your father expects it.\"\r\n\r\nPierre at the age of ten had been sent abroad with an abbe as tutor,\r\nand had remained away till he was twenty. When he returned to Moscow\r\nhis father dismissed the abbe and said to the young man, \"Now go to\r\nPetersburg, look round, and choose your profession. I will agree to\r\nanything. Here is a letter to Prince Vasili, and here is money. Write to\r\nme all about it, and I will help you in everything.\" Pierre had\r\nalready been choosing a career for three months, and had not decided\r\non anything. It was about this choice that Prince Andrew was speaking.\r\nPierre rubbed his forehead.\r\n\r\n\"But he must be a Freemason,\" said he, referring to the abbe whom he had\r\nmet that evening.\r\n\r\n\"That is all nonsense.\" Prince Andrew again interrupted him, \"let us\r\ntalk business. Have you been to the Horse Guards?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, I have not; but this is what I have been thinking and wanted to\r\ntell you. There is a war now against Napoleon. If it were a war for\r\nfreedom I could understand it and should be the first to enter the army;\r\nbut to help England and Austria against the greatest man in the world is\r\nnot right.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew only shrugged his shoulders at Pierre's childish words. He\r\nput on the air of one who finds it impossible to reply to such nonsense,\r\nbut it would in fact have been difficult to give any other answer than\r\nthe one Prince Andrew gave to this naive question.\r\n\r\n\"If no one fought except on his own conviction, there would be no wars,\"\r\nhe said.\r\n\r\n\"And that would be splendid,\" said Pierre.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew smiled ironically.\r\n\r\n\"Very likely it would be splendid, but it will never come about...\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, why are you going to the war?\" asked Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"What for? I don't know. I must. Besides that I am going...\" He paused.\r\n\"I am going because the life I am leading here does not suit me!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII\r\n\r\n\r\nThe rustle of a woman's dress was heard in the next room. Prince Andrew\r\nshook himself as if waking up, and his face assumed the look it had had\r\nin Anna Pavlovna's drawing room. Pierre removed his feet from the sofa.\r\nThe princess came in. She had changed her gown for a house dress as\r\nfresh and elegant as the other. Prince Andrew rose and politely placed a\r\nchair for her.\r\n\r\n\"How is it,\" she began, as usual in French, settling down briskly and\r\nfussily in the easy chair, \"how is it Annette never got married? How\r\nstupid you men all are not to have married her! Excuse me for saying so,\r\nbut you have no sense about women. What an argumentative fellow you are,\r\nMonsieur Pierre!\"\r\n\r\n\"And I am still arguing with your husband. I can't understand why he\r\nwants to go to the war,\" replied Pierre, addressing the princess with\r\nnone of the embarrassment so commonly shown by young men in their\r\nintercourse with young women.\r\n\r\nThe princess started. Evidently Pierre's words touched her to the quick.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, that is just what I tell him!\" said she. \"I don't understand it; I\r\ndon't in the least understand why men can't live without wars. How is\r\nit that we women don't want anything of the kind, don't need it? Now\r\nyou shall judge between us. I always tell him: Here he is Uncle's\r\naide-de-camp, a most brilliant position. He is so well known, so much\r\nappreciated by everyone. The other day at the Apraksins' I heard a lady\r\nasking, 'Is that the famous Prince Andrew?' I did indeed.\" She laughed.\r\n\"He is so well received everywhere. He might easily become aide-de-camp\r\nto the Emperor. You know the Emperor spoke to him most graciously.\r\nAnnette and I were speaking of how to arrange it. What do you think?\"\r\n\r\nPierre looked at his friend and, noticing that he did not like the\r\nconversation, gave no reply.\r\n\r\n\"When are you starting?\" he asked.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, don't speak of his going, don't! I won't hear it spoken of,\" said\r\nthe princess in the same petulantly playful tone in which she had spoken\r\nto Hippolyte in the drawing room and which was so plainly ill-suited\r\nto the family circle of which Pierre was almost a member. \"Today when I\r\nremembered that all these delightful associations must be broken off...\r\nand then you know, Andre...\" (she looked significantly at her husband)\r\n\"I'm afraid, I'm afraid!\" she whispered, and a shudder ran down her\r\nback.\r\n\r\nHer husband looked at her as if surprised to notice that someone besides\r\nPierre and himself was in the room, and addressed her in a tone of\r\nfrigid politeness.\r\n\r\n\"What is it you are afraid of, Lise? I don't understand,\" said he.\r\n\r\n\"There, what egotists men all are: all, all egotists! Just for a whim of\r\nhis own, goodness only knows why, he leaves me and locks me up alone in\r\nthe country.\"\r\n\r\n\"With my father and sister, remember,\" said Prince Andrew gently.\r\n\r\n\"Alone all the same, without my friends.... And he expects me not to be\r\nafraid.\"\r\n\r\nHer tone was now querulous and her lip drawn up, giving her not a\r\njoyful, but an animal, squirrel-like expression. She paused as if she\r\nfelt it indecorous to speak of her pregnancy before Pierre, though the\r\ngist of the matter lay in that.\r\n\r\n\"I still can't understand what you are afraid of,\" said Prince Andrew\r\nslowly, not taking his eyes off his wife.\r\n\r\nThe princess blushed, and raised her arms with a gesture of despair.\r\n\r\n\"No, Andrew, I must say you have changed. Oh, how you have...\"\r\n\r\n\"Your doctor tells you to go to bed earlier,\" said Prince Andrew. \"You\r\nhad better go.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess said nothing, but suddenly her short downy lip quivered.\r\nPrince Andrew rose, shrugged his shoulders, and walked about the room.\r\n\r\nPierre looked over his spectacles with naive surprise, now at him and\r\nnow at her, moved as if about to rise too, but changed his mind.\r\n\r\n\"Why should I mind Monsieur Pierre being here?\" exclaimed the little\r\nprincess suddenly, her pretty face all at once distorted by a tearful\r\ngrimace. \"I have long wanted to ask you, Andrew, why you have changed\r\nso to me? What have I done to you? You are going to the war and have no\r\npity for me. Why is it?\"\r\n\r\n\"Lise!\" was all Prince Andrew said. But that one word expressed an\r\nentreaty, a threat, and above all conviction that she would herself\r\nregret her words. But she went on hurriedly:\r\n\r\n\"You treat me like an invalid or a child. I see it all! Did you behave\r\nlike that six months ago?\"\r\n\r\n\"Lise, I beg you to desist,\" said Prince Andrew still more emphatically.\r\n\r\nPierre, who had been growing more and more agitated as he listened to\r\nall this, rose and approached the princess. He seemed unable to bear the\r\nsight of tears and was ready to cry himself.\r\n\r\n\"Calm yourself, Princess! It seems so to you because... I assure you\r\nI myself have experienced... and so... because... No, excuse me!\r\nAn outsider is out of place here... No, don't distress yourself...\r\nGood-by!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew caught him by the hand.\r\n\r\n\"No, wait, Pierre! The princess is too kind to wish to deprive me of the\r\npleasure of spending the evening with you.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, he thinks only of himself,\" muttered the princess without\r\nrestraining her angry tears.\r\n\r\n\"Lise!\" said Prince Andrew dryly, raising his voice to the pitch which\r\nindicates that patience is exhausted.\r\n\r\nSuddenly the angry, squirrel-like expression of the princess' pretty\r\nface changed into a winning and piteous look of fear. Her beautiful eyes\r\nglanced askance at her husband's face, and her own assumed the timid,\r\ndeprecating expression of a dog when it rapidly but feebly wags its\r\ndrooping tail.\r\n\r\n\"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!\" she muttered, and lifting her dress with one hand\r\nshe went up to her husband and kissed him on the forehead.\r\n\r\n\"Good night, Lise,\" said he, rising and courteously kissing her hand as\r\nhe would have done to a stranger.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VIII\r\n\r\n\r\nThe friends were silent. Neither cared to begin talking. Pierre\r\ncontinually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead\r\nwith his small hand.\r\n\r\n\"Let us go and have supper,\" he said with a sigh, going to the door.\r\n\r\nThey entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room.\r\nEverything from the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass bore\r\nthat imprint of newness found in the households of the newly married.\r\nHalfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and,\r\nwith a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never before seen on\r\nhis face, began to talk--as one who has long had something on his mind\r\nand suddenly determines to speak out.\r\n\r\n\"Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That's my advice: never marry till\r\nyou can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of, and\r\nuntil you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen\r\nher plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable\r\nmistake. Marry when you are old and good for nothing--or all that is\r\ngood and noble in you will be lost. It will all be wasted on trifles.\r\nYes! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with such surprise. If you marry\r\nexpecting anything from yourself in the future, you will feel at every\r\nstep that for you all is ended, all is closed except the drawing\r\nroom, where you will be ranged side by side with a court lackey and an\r\nidiot!... But what's the good?...\" and he waved his arm.\r\n\r\nPierre took off his spectacles, which made his face seem different and\r\nthe good-natured expression still more apparent, and gazed at his friend\r\nin amazement.\r\n\r\n\"My wife,\" continued Prince Andrew, \"is an excellent woman, one of those\r\nrare women with whom a man's honor is safe; but, O God, what would I\r\nnot give now to be unmarried! You are the first and only one to whom I\r\nmention this, because I like you.\"\r\n\r\nAs he said this Prince Andrew was less than ever like that Bolkonski who\r\nhad lolled in Anna Pavlovna's easy chairs and with half-closed eyes had\r\nuttered French phrases between his teeth. Every muscle of his thin face\r\nwas now quivering with nervous excitement; his eyes, in which the fire\r\nof life had seemed extinguished, now flashed with brilliant light. It\r\nwas evident that the more lifeless he seemed at ordinary times, the more\r\nimpassioned he became in these moments of almost morbid irritation.\r\n\r\n\"You don't understand why I say this,\" he continued, \"but it is the\r\nwhole story of life. You talk of Bonaparte and his career,\" said he\r\n(though Pierre had not mentioned Bonaparte), \"but Bonaparte when he\r\nworked went step by step toward his goal. He was free, he had nothing\r\nbut his aim to consider, and he reached it. But tie yourself up with\r\na woman and, like a chained convict, you lose all freedom! And all you\r\nhave of hope and strength merely weighs you down and torments you with\r\nregret. Drawing rooms, gossip, balls, vanity, and triviality--these are\r\nthe enchanted circle I cannot escape from. I am now going to the war,\r\nthe greatest war there ever was, and I know nothing and am fit for\r\nnothing. I am very amiable and have a caustic wit,\" continued Prince\r\nAndrew, \"and at Anna Pavlovna's they listen to me. And that stupid set\r\nwithout whom my wife cannot exist, and those women... If you only knew\r\nwhat those society women are, and women in general! My father is right.\r\nSelfish, vain, stupid, trivial in everything--that's what women are\r\nwhen you see them in their true colors! When you meet them in society it\r\nseems as if there were something in them, but there's nothing, nothing,\r\nnothing! No, don't marry, my dear fellow; don't marry!\" concluded Prince\r\nAndrew.\r\n\r\n\"It seems funny to me,\" said Pierre, \"that you, you should consider\r\nyourself incapable and your life a spoiled life. You have everything\r\nbefore you, everything. And you...\"\r\n\r\nHe did not finish his sentence, but his tone showed how highly he\r\nthought of his friend and how much he expected of him in the future.\r\n\r\n\"How can he talk like that?\" thought Pierre. He considered his friend\r\na model of perfection because Prince Andrew possessed in the highest\r\ndegree just the very qualities Pierre lacked, and which might be best\r\ndescribed as strength of will. Pierre was always astonished at Prince\r\nAndrew's calm manner of treating everybody, his extraordinary memory,\r\nhis extensive reading (he had read everything, knew everything, and had\r\nan opinion about everything), but above all at his capacity for work and\r\nstudy. And if Pierre was often struck by Andrew's lack of capacity\r\nfor philosophical meditation (to which he himself was particularly\r\naddicted), he regarded even this not as a defect but as a sign of\r\nstrength.\r\n\r\nEven in the best, most friendly and simplest relations of life, praise\r\nand commendation are essential, just as grease is necessary to wheels\r\nthat they may run smoothly.\r\n\r\n\"My part is played out,\" said Prince Andrew. \"What's the use of talking\r\nabout me? Let us talk about you,\" he added after a silence, smiling at\r\nhis reassuring thoughts.\r\n\r\nThat smile was immediately reflected on Pierre's face.\r\n\r\n\"But what is there to say about me?\" said Pierre, his face relaxing into\r\na careless, merry smile. \"What am I? An illegitimate son!\" He suddenly\r\nblushed crimson, and it was plain that he had made a great effort to say\r\nthis. \"Without a name and without means... And it really...\" But he\r\ndid not say what \"it really\" was. \"For the present I am free and am\r\nall right. Only I haven't the least idea what I am to do; I wanted to\r\nconsult you seriously.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew looked kindly at him, yet his glance--friendly and\r\naffectionate as it was--expressed a sense of his own superiority.\r\n\r\n\"I am fond of you, especially as you are the one live man among our\r\nwhole set. Yes, you're all right! Choose what you will; it's all the\r\nsame. You'll be all right anywhere. But look here: give up visiting\r\nthose Kuragins and leading that sort of life. It suits you so badly--all\r\nthis debauchery, dissipation, and the rest of it!\"\r\n\r\n\"What would you have, my dear fellow?\" answered Pierre, shrugging his\r\nshoulders. \"Women, my dear fellow; women!\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't understand it,\" replied Prince Andrew. \"Women who are comme il\r\nfaut, that's a different matter; but the Kuragins' set of women, 'women\r\nand wine' I don't understand!\"\r\n\r\nPierre was staying at Prince Vasili Kuragin's and sharing the dissipated\r\nlife of his son Anatole, the son whom they were planning to reform by\r\nmarrying him to Prince Andrew's sister.\r\n\r\n\"Do you know?\" said Pierre, as if suddenly struck by a happy thought,\r\n\"seriously, I have long been thinking of it.... Leading such a life I\r\ncan't decide or think properly about anything. One's head aches, and one\r\nspends all one's money. He asked me for tonight, but I won't go.\"\r\n\r\n\"You give me your word of honor not to go?\"\r\n\r\n\"On my honor!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IX\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was past one o'clock when Pierre left his friend. It was a cloudless,\r\nnorthern, summer night. Pierre took an open cab intending to drive\r\nstraight home. But the nearer he drew to the house the more he felt the\r\nimpossibility of going to sleep on such a night. It was light enough to\r\nsee a long way in the deserted street and it seemed more like morning\r\nor evening than night. On the way Pierre remembered that Anatole Kuragin\r\nwas expecting the usual set for cards that evening, after which there\r\nwas generally a drinking bout, finishing with visits of a kind Pierre\r\nwas very fond of.\r\n\r\n\"I should like to go to Kuragin's,\" thought he.\r\n\r\nBut he immediately recalled his promise to Prince Andrew not to go\r\nthere. Then, as happens to people of weak character, he desired so\r\npassionately once more to enjoy that dissipation he was so accustomed to\r\nthat he decided to go. The thought immediately occurred to him that his\r\npromise to Prince Andrew was of no account, because before he gave it he\r\nhad already promised Prince Anatole to come to his gathering; \"besides,\"\r\nthought he, \"all such 'words of honor' are conventional things with no\r\ndefinite meaning, especially if one considers that by tomorrow one may\r\nbe dead, or something so extraordinary may happen to one that honor and\r\ndishonor will be all the same!\" Pierre often indulged in reflections\r\nof this sort, nullifying all his decisions and intentions. He went to\r\nKuragin's.\r\n\r\nReaching the large house near the Horse Guards' barracks, in which\r\nAnatole lived, Pierre entered the lighted porch, ascended the stairs,\r\nand went in at the open door. There was no one in the anteroom; empty\r\nbottles, cloaks, and overshoes were lying about; there was a smell of\r\nalcohol, and sounds of voices and shouting in the distance.\r\n\r\nCards and supper were over, but the visitors had not yet dispersed.\r\nPierre threw off his cloak and entered the first room, in which were the\r\nremains of supper. A footman, thinking no one saw him, was drinking on\r\nthe sly what was left in the glasses. From the third room came sounds of\r\nlaughter, the shouting of familiar voices, the growling of a bear, and\r\ngeneral commotion. Some eight or nine young men were crowding anxiously\r\nround an open window. Three others were romping with a young bear, one\r\npulling him by the chain and trying to set him at the others.\r\n\r\n\"I bet a hundred on Stevens!\" shouted one.\r\n\r\n\"Mind, no holding on!\" cried another.\r\n\r\n\"I bet on Dolokhov!\" cried a third. \"Kuragin, you part our hands.\"\r\n\r\n\"There, leave Bruin alone; here's a bet on.\"\r\n\r\n\"At one draught, or he loses!\" shouted a fourth.\r\n\r\n\"Jacob, bring a bottle!\" shouted the host, a tall, handsome fellow who\r\nstood in the midst of the group, without a coat, and with his fine linen\r\nshirt unfastened in front. \"Wait a bit, you fellows.... Here is Petya!\r\nGood man!\" cried he, addressing Pierre.\r\n\r\nAnother voice, from a man of medium height with clear blue eyes,\r\nparticularly striking among all these drunken voices by its sober ring,\r\ncried from the window: \"Come here; part the bets!\" This was Dolokhov,\r\nan officer of the Semenov regiment, a notorious gambler and duelist, who\r\nwas living with Anatole. Pierre smiled, looking about him merrily.\r\n\r\n\"I don't understand. What's it all about?\"\r\n\r\n\"Wait a bit, he is not drunk yet! A bottle here,\" said Anatole, taking a\r\nglass from the table he went up to Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"First of all you must drink!\"\r\n\r\nPierre drank one glass after another, looking from under his brows at\r\nthe tipsy guests who were again crowding round the window, and listening\r\nto their chatter. Anatole kept on refilling Pierre's glass while\r\nexplaining that Dolokhov was betting with Stevens, an English naval\r\nofficer, that he would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the outer ledge\r\nof the third floor window with his legs hanging out.\r\n\r\n\"Go on, you must drink it all,\" said Anatole, giving Pierre the last\r\nglass, \"or I won't let you go!\"\r\n\r\n\"No, I won't,\" said Pierre, pushing Anatole aside, and he went up to the\r\nwindow.\r\n\r\nDolokhov was holding the Englishman's hand and clearly and distinctly\r\nrepeating the terms of the bet, addressing himself particularly to\r\nAnatole and Pierre.\r\n\r\nDolokhov was of medium height, with curly hair and light-blue eyes. He\r\nwas about twenty-five. Like all infantry officers he wore no mustache,\r\nso that his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was clearly\r\nseen. The lines of that mouth were remarkably finely curved. The middle\r\nof the upper lip formed a sharp wedge and closed firmly on the firm\r\nlower one, and something like two distinct smiles played continually\r\nround the two corners of the mouth; this, together with the resolute,\r\ninsolent intelligence of his eyes, produced an effect which made it\r\nimpossible not to notice his face. Dolokhov was a man of small means and\r\nno connections. Yet, though Anatole spent tens of thousands of rubles,\r\nDolokhov lived with him and had placed himself on such a footing that\r\nall who knew them, including Anatole himself, respected him more than\r\nthey did Anatole. Dolokhov could play all games and nearly always won.\r\nHowever much he drank, he never lost his clearheadedness. Both Kuragin\r\nand Dolokhov were at that time notorious among the rakes and scapegraces\r\nof Petersburg.\r\n\r\nThe bottle of rum was brought. The window frame which prevented anyone\r\nfrom sitting on the outer sill was being forced out by two footmen, who\r\nwere evidently flurried and intimidated by the directions and shouts of\r\nthe gentlemen around.\r\n\r\nAnatole with his swaggering air strode up to the window. He wanted to\r\nsmash something. Pushing away the footmen he tugged at the frame, but\r\ncould not move it. He smashed a pane.\r\n\r\n\"You have a try, Hercules,\" said he, turning to Pierre.\r\n\r\nPierre seized the crossbeam, tugged, and wrenched the oak frame out with\r\na crash.\r\n\r\n\"Take it right out, or they'll think I'm holding on,\" said Dolokhov.\r\n\r\n\"Is the Englishman bragging?... Eh? Is it all right?\" said Anatole.\r\n\r\n\"First-rate,\" said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle of rum\r\nin his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of the sky,\r\nthe dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible.\r\n\r\nDolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto the window\r\nsill. \"Listen!\" cried he, standing there and addressing those in the\r\nroom. All were silent.\r\n\r\n\"I bet fifty imperials\"--he spoke French that the Englishman might\r\nunderstand him, but he did, not speak it very well--\"I bet fifty\r\nimperials... or do you wish to make it a hundred?\" added he, addressing\r\nthe Englishman.\r\n\r\n\"No, fifty,\" replied the latter.\r\n\r\n\"All right. Fifty imperials... that I will drink a whole bottle of rum\r\nwithout taking it from my mouth, sitting outside the window on this\r\nspot\" (he stooped and pointed to the sloping ledge outside the window)\r\n\"and without holding on to anything. Is that right?\"\r\n\r\n\"Quite right,\" said the Englishman.\r\n\r\nAnatole turned to the Englishman and taking him by one of the buttons\r\nof his coat and looking down at him--the Englishman was short--began\r\nrepeating the terms of the wager to him in English.\r\n\r\n\"Wait!\" cried Dolokhov, hammering with the bottle on the window sill to\r\nattract attention. \"Wait a bit, Kuragin. Listen! If anyone else does the\r\nsame, I will pay him a hundred imperials. Do you understand?\"\r\n\r\nThe Englishman nodded, but gave no indication whether he intended to\r\naccept this challenge or not. Anatole did not release him, and though\r\nhe kept nodding to show that he understood, Anatole went on translating\r\nDolokhov's words into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the Life\r\nGuards, who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window sill,\r\nleaned over, and looked down.\r\n\r\n\"Oh! Oh! Oh!\" he muttered, looking down from the window at the stones of\r\nthe pavement.\r\n\r\n\"Shut up!\" cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the window. The lad\r\njumped awkwardly back into the room, tripping over his spurs.\r\n\r\nPlacing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach it easily,\r\nDolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the window and lowered his\r\nlegs. Pressing against both sides of the window, he adjusted himself on\r\nhis seat, lowered his hands, moved a little to the right and then to\r\nthe left, and took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and placed\r\nthem on the window sill, though it was already quite light. Dolokhov's\r\nback in his white shirt, and his curly head, were lit up from both\r\nsides. Everyone crowded to the window, the Englishman in front. Pierre\r\nstood smiling but silent. One man, older than the others present,\r\nsuddenly pushed forward with a scared and angry look and wanted to seize\r\nhold of Dolokhov's shirt.\r\n\r\n\"I say, this is folly! He'll be killed,\" said this more sensible man.\r\n\r\nAnatole stopped him.\r\n\r\n\"Don't touch him! You'll startle him and then he'll be killed. Eh?...\r\nWhat then?... Eh?\"\r\n\r\nDolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both hands, arranged\r\nhimself on his seat.\r\n\r\n\"If anyone comes meddling again,\" said he, emitting the words separately\r\nthrough his thin compressed lips, \"I will throw him down there. Now\r\nthen!\"\r\n\r\nSaying this he again turned round, dropped his hands, took the bottle\r\nand lifted it to his lips, threw back his head, and raised his free hand\r\nto balance himself. One of the footmen who had stooped to pick up some\r\nbroken glass remained in that position without taking his eyes from the\r\nwindow and from Dolokhov's back. Anatole stood erect with staring eyes.\r\nThe Englishman looked on sideways, pursing up his lips. The man who had\r\nwished to stop the affair ran to a corner of the room and threw himself\r\non a sofa with his face to the wall. Pierre hid his face, from which a\r\nfaint smile forgot to fade though his features now expressed horror\r\nand fear. All were still. Pierre took his hands from his eyes. Dolokhov\r\nstill sat in the same position, only his head was thrown further back\r\ntill his curly hair touched his shirt collar, and the hand holding the\r\nbottle was lifted higher and higher and trembled with the effort. The\r\nbottle was emptying perceptibly and rising still higher and his head\r\ntilting yet further back. \"Why is it so long?\" thought Pierre. It seemed\r\nto him that more than half an hour had elapsed. Suddenly Dolokhov made\r\na backward movement with his spine, and his arm trembled nervously; this\r\nwas sufficient to cause his whole body to slip as he sat on the sloping\r\nledge. As he began slipping down, his head and arm wavered still more\r\nwith the strain. One hand moved as if to clutch the window sill, but\r\nrefrained from touching it. Pierre again covered his eyes and thought he\r\nwould never open them again. Suddenly he was aware of a stir all around.\r\nHe looked up: Dolokhov was standing on the window sill, with a pale but\r\nradiant face.\r\n\r\n\"It's empty.\"\r\n\r\nHe threw the bottle to the Englishman, who caught it neatly. Dolokhov\r\njumped down. He smelt strongly of rum.\r\n\r\n\"Well done!... Fine fellow!... There's a bet for you!... Devil take\r\nyou!\" came from different sides.\r\n\r\nThe Englishman took out his purse and began counting out the money.\r\nDolokhov stood frowning and did not speak. Pierre jumped upon the window\r\nsill.\r\n\r\n\"Gentlemen, who wishes to bet with me? I'll do the same thing!\" he\r\nsuddenly cried. \"Even without a bet, there! Tell them to bring me a\r\nbottle. I'll do it.... Bring a bottle!\"\r\n\r\n\"Let him do it, let him do it,\" said Dolokhov, smiling.\r\n\r\n\"What next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go\r\ngiddy even on a staircase,\" exclaimed several voices.\r\n\r\n\"I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of rum!\" shouted Pierre, banging the\r\ntable with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climb out\r\nof the window.\r\n\r\nThey seized him by his arms; but he was so strong that everyone who\r\ntouched him was sent flying.\r\n\r\n\"No, you'll never manage him that way,\" said Anatole. \"Wait a bit and\r\nI'll get round him.... Listen! I'll take your bet tomorrow, but now we\r\nare all going to ----'s.\"\r\n\r\n\"Come on then,\" cried Pierre. \"Come on!... And we'll take Bruin with\r\nus.\"\r\n\r\nAnd he caught the bear, took it in his arms, lifted it from the ground,\r\nand began dancing round the room with it.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER X\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili kept the promise he had given to Princess Drubetskaya who\r\nhad spoken to him on behalf of her only son Boris on the evening of Anna\r\nPavlovna's soiree. The matter was mentioned to the Emperor, an exception\r\nmade, and Boris transferred into the regiment of Semenov Guards with the\r\nrank of cornet. He received, however, no appointment to Kutuzov's staff\r\ndespite all Anna Mikhaylovna's endeavors and entreaties. Soon after\r\nAnna Pavlovna's reception Anna Mikhaylovna returned to Moscow and went\r\nstraight to her rich relations, the Rostovs, with whom she stayed when\r\nin the town and where her darling Bory, who had only just entered a\r\nregiment of the line and was being at once transferred to the Guards\r\nas a cornet, had been educated from childhood and lived for years at a\r\ntime. The Guards had already left Petersburg on the tenth of August, and\r\nher son, who had remained in Moscow for his equipment, was to join them\r\non the march to Radzivilov.\r\n\r\nIt was St. Natalia's day and the name day of two of the Rostovs--the\r\nmother and the youngest daughter--both named Nataly. Ever since\r\nthe morning, carriages with six horses had been coming and going\r\ncontinually, bringing visitors to the Countess Rostova's big house on\r\nthe Povarskaya, so well known to all Moscow. The countess herself and\r\nher handsome eldest daughter were in the drawing-room with the visitors\r\nwho came to congratulate, and who constantly succeeded one another in\r\nrelays.\r\n\r\nThe countess was a woman of about forty-five, with a thin Oriental type\r\nof face, evidently worn out with childbearing--she had had twelve.\r\nA languor of motion and speech, resulting from weakness, gave her a\r\ndistinguished air which inspired respect. Princess Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nDrubetskaya, who as a member of the household was also seated in the\r\ndrawing room, helped to receive and entertain the visitors. The young\r\npeople were in one of the inner rooms, not considering it necessary to\r\ntake part in receiving the visitors. The count met the guests and saw\r\nthem off, inviting them all to dinner.\r\n\r\n\"I am very, very grateful to you, mon cher,\" or \"ma chere\"--he called\r\neveryone without exception and without the slightest variation in his\r\ntone, \"my dear,\" whether they were above or below him in rank--\"I thank\r\nyou for myself and for our two dear ones whose name day we are keeping.\r\nBut mind you come to dinner or I shall be offended, ma chere! On\r\nbehalf of the whole family I beg you to come, mon cher!\" These words he\r\nrepeated to everyone without exception or variation, and with the same\r\nexpression on his full, cheerful, clean-shaven face, the same firm\r\npressure of the hand and the same quick, repeated bows. As soon as he\r\nhad seen a visitor off he returned to one of those who were still in the\r\ndrawing room, drew a chair toward him or her, and jauntily spreading out\r\nhis legs and putting his hands on his knees with the air of a man who\r\nenjoys life and knows how to live, he swayed to and fro with dignity,\r\noffered surmises about the weather, or touched on questions of health,\r\nsometimes in Russian and sometimes in very bad but self-confident\r\nFrench; then again, like a man weary but unflinching in the fulfillment\r\nof duty, he rose to see some visitors off and, stroking his scanty gray\r\nhairs over his bald patch, also asked them to dinner. Sometimes on his\r\nway back from the anteroom he would pass through the conservatory and\r\npantry into the large marble dining hall, where tables were being set\r\nout for eighty people; and looking at the footmen, who were bringing in\r\nsilver and china, moving tables, and unfolding damask table linen, he\r\nwould call Dmitri Vasilevich, a man of good family and the manager of\r\nall his affairs, and while looking with pleasure at the enormous table\r\nwould say: \"Well, Dmitri, you'll see that things are all as they should\r\nbe? That's right! The great thing is the serving, that's it.\" And with a\r\ncomplacent sigh he would return to the drawing room.\r\n\r\n\"Marya Lvovna Karagina and her daughter!\" announced the countess'\r\ngigantic footman in his bass voice, entering the drawing room. The\r\ncountess reflected a moment and took a pinch from a gold snuffbox with\r\nher husband's portrait on it.\r\n\r\n\"I'm quite worn out by these callers. However, I'll see her and no more.\r\nShe is so affected. Ask her in,\" she said to the footman in a sad voice,\r\nas if saying: \"Very well, finish me off.\"\r\n\r\nA tall, stout, and proud-looking woman, with a round-faced smiling\r\ndaughter, entered the drawing room, their dresses rustling.\r\n\r\n\"Dear Countess, what an age... She has been laid up, poor child...\r\nat the Razumovski's ball... and Countess Apraksina... I was so\r\ndelighted...\" came the sounds of animated feminine voices, interrupting\r\none another and mingling with the rustling of dresses and the scraping\r\nof chairs. Then one of those conversations began which last out until,\r\nat the first pause, the guests rise with a rustle of dresses and say,\r\n\"I am so delighted... Mamma's health... and Countess Apraksina...\" and\r\nthen, again rustling, pass into the anteroom, put on cloaks or mantles,\r\nand drive away. The conversation was on the chief topic of the day: the\r\nillness of the wealthy and celebrated beau of Catherine's day, Count\r\nBezukhov, and about his illegitimate son Pierre, the one who had behaved\r\nso improperly at Anna Pavlovna's reception.\r\n\r\n\"I am so sorry for the poor count,\" said the visitor. \"He is in such bad\r\nhealth, and now this vexation about his son is enough to kill him!\"\r\n\r\n\"What is that?\" asked the countess as if she did not know what the\r\nvisitor alluded to, though she had already heard about the cause of\r\nCount Bezukhov's distress some fifteen times.\r\n\r\n\"That's what comes of a modern education,\" exclaimed the visitor. \"It\r\nseems that while he was abroad this young man was allowed to do as he\r\nliked, now in Petersburg I hear he has been doing such terrible things\r\nthat he has been expelled by the police.\"\r\n\r\n\"You don't say so!\" replied the countess.\r\n\r\n\"He chose his friends badly,\" interposed Anna Mikhaylovna. \"Prince\r\nVasili's son, he, and a certain Dolokhov have, it is said, been up to\r\nheaven only knows what! And they have had to suffer for it. Dolokhov\r\nhas been degraded to the ranks and Bezukhov's son sent back to Moscow.\r\nAnatole Kuragin's father managed somehow to get his son's affair hushed\r\nup, but even he was ordered out of Petersburg.\"\r\n\r\n\"But what have they been up to?\" asked the countess.\r\n\r\n\"They are regular brigands, especially Dolokhov,\" replied the visitor.\r\n\"He is a son of Marya Ivanovna Dolokhova, such a worthy woman, but\r\nthere, just fancy! Those three got hold of a bear somewhere, put it in a\r\ncarriage, and set off with it to visit some actresses! The police tried\r\nto interfere, and what did the young men do? They tied a policeman and\r\nthe bear back to back and put the bear into the Moyka Canal. And there\r\nwas the bear swimming about with the policeman on his back!\"\r\n\r\n\"What a nice figure the policeman must have cut, my dear!\" shouted the\r\ncount, dying with laughter.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, how dreadful! How can you laugh at it, Count?\"\r\n\r\nYet the ladies themselves could not help laughing.\r\n\r\n\"It was all they could do to rescue the poor man,\" continued the\r\nvisitor. \"And to think it is Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov's son who\r\namuses himself in this sensible manner! And he was said to be so well\r\neducated and clever. This is all that his foreign education has done for\r\nhim! I hope that here in Moscow no one will receive him, in spite of his\r\nmoney. They wanted to introduce him to me, but I quite declined: I have\r\nmy daughters to consider.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why do you say this young man is so rich?\" asked the countess, turning\r\naway from the girls, who at once assumed an air of inattention. \"His\r\nchildren are all illegitimate. I think Pierre also is illegitimate.\"\r\n\r\nThe visitor made a gesture with her hand.\r\n\r\n\"I should think he has a score of them.\"\r\n\r\nPrincess Anna Mikhaylovna intervened in the conversation, evidently\r\nwishing to show her connections and knowledge of what went on in\r\nsociety.\r\n\r\n\"The fact of the matter is,\" said she significantly, and also in a half\r\nwhisper, \"everyone knows Count Cyril's reputation.... He has lost count\r\nof his children, but this Pierre was his favorite.\"\r\n\r\n\"How handsome the old man still was only a year ago!\" remarked the\r\ncountess. \"I have never seen a handsomer man.\"\r\n\r\n\"He is very much altered now,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna. \"Well, as I was\r\nsaying, Prince Vasili is the next heir through his wife, but the count\r\nis very fond of Pierre, looked after his education, and wrote to the\r\nEmperor about him; so that in the case of his death--and he is so\r\nill that he may die at any moment, and Dr. Lorrain has come from\r\nPetersburg--no one knows who will inherit his immense fortune, Pierre\r\nor Prince Vasili. Forty thousand serfs and millions of rubles! I know\r\nit all very well for Prince Vasili told me himself. Besides, Cyril\r\nVladimirovich is my mother's second cousin. He's also my Bory's\r\ngodfather,\" she added, as if she attached no importance at all to the\r\nfact.\r\n\r\n\"Prince Vasili arrived in Moscow yesterday. I hear he has come on some\r\ninspection business,\" remarked the visitor.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, but between ourselves,\" said the princess, \"that is a pretext. The\r\nfact is he has come to see Count Cyril Vladimirovich, hearing how ill he\r\nis.\"\r\n\r\n\"But do you know, my dear, that was a capital joke,\" said the count; and\r\nseeing that the elder visitor was not listening, he turned to the young\r\nladies. \"I can just imagine what a funny figure that policeman cut!\"\r\n\r\nAnd as he waved his arms to impersonate the policeman, his portly form\r\nagain shook with a deep ringing laugh, the laugh of one who always eats\r\nwell and, in particular, drinks well. \"So do come and dine with us!\" he\r\nsaid.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XI\r\n\r\n\r\nSilence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling affably,\r\nbut not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed if they now\r\nrose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter was already smoothing\r\ndown her dress with an inquiring look at her mother, when suddenly from\r\nthe next room were heard the footsteps of boys and girls running to\r\nthe door and the noise of a chair falling over, and a girl of thirteen,\r\nhiding something in the folds of her short muslin frock, darted in and\r\nstopped short in the middle of the room. It was evident that she had\r\nnot intended her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in the doorway\r\nappeared a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the Guards,\r\na girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short jacket.\r\n\r\nThe count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread his arms wide\r\nand threw them round the little girl who had run in.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, here she is!\" he exclaimed laughing. \"My pet, whose name day it is.\r\nMy dear pet!\"\r\n\r\n\"Ma chere, there is a time for everything,\" said the countess with\r\nfeigned severity. \"You spoil her, Ilya,\" she added, turning to her\r\nhusband.\r\n\r\n\"How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns of your name\r\nday,\" said the visitor. \"What a charming child,\" she added, addressing\r\nthe mother.\r\n\r\nThis black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of life--with\r\nchildish bare shoulders which after her run heaved and shook her\r\nbodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare arms, little legs\r\nin lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers--was just at that\r\ncharming age when a girl is no longer a child, though the child is not\r\nyet a young woman. Escaping from her father she ran to hide her\r\nflushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla--not paying the least\r\nattention to her severe remark--and began to laugh. She laughed, and in\r\nfragmentary sentences tried to explain about a doll which she produced\r\nfrom the folds of her frock.\r\n\r\n\"Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see...\" was all Natasha managed\r\nto utter (to her everything seemed funny). She leaned against her mother\r\nand burst into such a loud, ringing fit of laughter that even the prim\r\nvisitor could not help joining in.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you,\" said the mother,\r\npushing away her daughter with pretended sternness, and turning to the\r\nvisitor she added: \"She is my youngest girl.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha, raising her face for a moment from her mother's mantilla,\r\nglanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her face.\r\n\r\nThe visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought it\r\nnecessary to take some part in it.\r\n\r\n\"Tell me, my dear,\" said she to Natasha, \"is Mimi a relation of yours? A\r\ndaughter, I suppose?\"\r\n\r\nNatasha did not like the visitor's tone of condescension to childish\r\nthings. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile the younger generation: Boris, the officer, Anna Mikhaylovna's\r\nson; Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count's eldest son; Sonya, the\r\ncount's fifteen-year-old niece, and little Petya, his youngest boy,\r\nhad all settled down in the drawing room and were obviously trying to\r\nrestrain within the bounds of decorum the excitement and mirth that\r\nshone in all their faces. Evidently in the back rooms, from which they\r\nhad dashed out so impetuously, the conversation had been more amusing\r\nthan the drawing-room talk of society scandals, the weather, and\r\nCountess Apraksina. Now and then they glanced at one another, hardly\r\nable to suppress their laughter.\r\n\r\nThe two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood,\r\nwere of the same age and both handsome fellows, though not alike. Boris\r\nwas tall and fair, and his calm and handsome face had regular, delicate\r\nfeatures. Nicholas was short with curly hair and an open expression.\r\nDark hairs were already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face\r\nexpressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nicholas blushed when he entered\r\nthe drawing room. He evidently tried to find something to say, but\r\nfailed. Boris on the contrary at once found his footing, and related\r\nquietly and humorously how he had known that doll Mimi when she was\r\nstill quite a young lady, before her nose was broken; how she had aged\r\nduring the five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked\r\nright across the skull. Having said this he glanced at Natasha. She\r\nturned away from him and glanced at her younger brother, who was\r\nscrewing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter, and unable\r\nto control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed from the room as\r\nfast as her nimble little feet would carry her. Boris did not laugh.\r\n\r\n\"You were meaning to go out, weren't you, Mamma? Do you want the\r\ncarriage?\" he asked his mother with a smile.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready,\" she answered, returning\r\nhis smile.\r\n\r\nBoris quietly left the room and went in search of Natasha. The plump\r\nboy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program had been\r\ndisturbed.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XII\r\n\r\n\r\nThe only young people remaining in the drawing room, not counting the\r\nyoung lady visitor and the countess' eldest daughter (who was four years\r\nolder than her sister and behaved already like a grown-up person), were\r\nNicholas and Sonya, the niece. Sonya was a slender little brunette with\r\na tender look in her eyes which were veiled by long lashes, thick black\r\nplaits coiling twice round her head, and a tawny tint in her complexion\r\nand especially in the color of her slender but graceful and muscular\r\narms and neck. By the grace of her movements, by the softness and\r\nflexibility of her small limbs, and by a certain coyness and reserve of\r\nmanner, she reminded one of a pretty, half-grown kitten which promises\r\nto become a beautiful little cat. She evidently considered it proper to\r\nshow an interest in the general conversation by smiling, but in spite\r\nof herself her eyes under their thick long lashes watched her cousin who\r\nwas going to join the army, with such passionate girlish adoration that\r\nher smile could not for a single instant impose upon anyone, and it\r\nwas clear that the kitten had settled down only to spring up with more\r\nenergy and again play with her cousin as soon as they too could, like\r\nNatasha and Boris, escape from the drawing room.\r\n\r\n\"Ah yes, my dear,\" said the count, addressing the visitor and pointing\r\nto Nicholas, \"his friend Boris has become an officer, and so for\r\nfriendship's sake he is leaving the university and me, his old father,\r\nand entering the military service, my dear. And there was a place\r\nand everything waiting for him in the Archives Department! Isn't that\r\nfriendship?\" remarked the count in an inquiring tone.\r\n\r\n\"But they say that war has been declared,\" replied the visitor.\r\n\r\n\"They've been saying so a long while,\" said the count, \"and they'll say\r\nso again and again, and that will be the end of it. My dear, there's\r\nfriendship for you,\" he repeated. \"He's joining the hussars.\"\r\n\r\nThe visitor, not knowing what to say, shook her head.\r\n\r\n\"It's not at all from friendship,\" declared Nicholas, flaring up and\r\nturning away as if from a shameful aspersion. \"It is not from friendship\r\nat all; I simply feel that the army is my vocation.\"\r\n\r\nHe glanced at his cousin and the young lady visitor; and they were both\r\nregarding him with a smile of approbation.\r\n\r\n\"Schubert, the colonel of the Pavlograd Hussars, is dining with us\r\ntoday. He has been here on leave and is taking Nicholas back with\r\nhim. It can't be helped!\" said the count, shrugging his shoulders and\r\nspeaking playfully of a matter that evidently distressed him.\r\n\r\n\"I have already told you, Papa,\" said his son, \"that if you don't wish\r\nto let me go, I'll stay. But I know I am no use anywhere except in the\r\narmy; I am not a diplomat or a government clerk.--I don't know how to\r\nhide what I feel.\" As he spoke he kept glancing with the flirtatiousness\r\nof a handsome youth at Sonya and the young lady visitor.\r\n\r\nThe little kitten, feasting her eyes on him, seemed ready at any moment\r\nto start her gambols again and display her kittenish nature.\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right!\" said the old count. \"He always flares up! This\r\nBuonaparte has turned all their heads; they all think of how he rose\r\nfrom an ensign and became Emperor. Well, well, God grant it,\" he added,\r\nnot noticing his visitor's sarcastic smile.\r\n\r\nThe elders began talking about Bonaparte. Julie Karagina turned to young\r\nRostov.\r\n\r\n\"What a pity you weren't at the Arkharovs' on Thursday. It was so dull\r\nwithout you,\" said she, giving him a tender smile.\r\n\r\nThe young man, flattered, sat down nearer to her with a coquettish\r\nsmile, and engaged the smiling Julie in a confidential conversation\r\nwithout at all noticing that his involuntary smile had stabbed the heart\r\nof Sonya, who blushed and smiled unnaturally. In the midst of his talk\r\nhe glanced round at her. She gave him a passionately angry glance, and\r\nhardly able to restrain her tears and maintain the artificial smile\r\non her lips, she got up and left the room. All Nicholas' animation\r\nvanished. He waited for the first pause in the conversation, and then\r\nwith a distressed face left the room to find Sonya.\r\n\r\n\"How plainly all these young people wear their hearts on their\r\nsleeves!\" said Anna Mikhaylovna, pointing to Nicholas as he went out.\r\n\"Cousinage--dangereux voisinage;\" * she added.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * Cousinhood is a dangerous neighborhood.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Yes,\" said the countess when the brightness these young people had\r\nbrought into the room had vanished; and as if answering a question no\r\none had put but which was always in her mind, \"and how much suffering,\r\nhow much anxiety one has had to go through that we might rejoice in\r\nthem now! And yet really the anxiety is greater now than the joy. One is\r\nalways, always anxious! Especially just at this age, so dangerous both\r\nfor girls and boys.\"\r\n\r\n\"It all depends on the bringing up,\" remarked the visitor.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, you're quite right,\" continued the countess. \"Till now I have\r\nalways, thank God, been my children's friend and had their full\r\nconfidence,\" said she, repeating the mistake of so many parents who\r\nimagine that their children have no secrets from them. \"I know I shall\r\nalways be my daughters' first confidante, and that if Nicholas, with his\r\nimpulsive nature, does get into mischief (a boy can't help it), he will\r\nall the same never be like those Petersburg young men.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, they are splendid, splendid youngsters,\" chimed in the count, who\r\nalways solved questions that seemed to him perplexing by deciding that\r\neverything was splendid. \"Just fancy: wants to be an hussar. What's one\r\nto do, my dear?\"\r\n\r\n\"What a charming creature your younger girl is,\" said the visitor; \"a\r\nlittle volcano!\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, a regular volcano,\" said the count. \"Takes after me! And what a\r\nvoice she has; though she's my daughter, I tell the truth when I say\r\nshe'll be a singer, a second Salomoni! We have engaged an Italian to\r\ngive her lessons.\"\r\n\r\n\"Isn't she too young? I have heard that it harms the voice to train it\r\nat that age.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh no, not at all too young!\" replied the count. \"Why, our mothers used\r\nto be married at twelve or thirteen.\"\r\n\r\n\"And she's in love with Boris already. Just fancy!\" said the countess\r\nwith a gentle smile, looking at Boris' and went on, evidently concerned\r\nwith a thought that always occupied her: \"Now you see if I were to be\r\nsevere with her and to forbid it... goodness knows what they might be up\r\nto on the sly\" (she meant that they would be kissing), \"but as it is,\r\nI know every word she utters. She will come running to me of her own\r\naccord in the evening and tell me everything. Perhaps I spoil her, but\r\nreally that seems the best plan. With her elder sister I was stricter.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I was brought up quite differently,\" remarked the handsome elder\r\ndaughter, Countess Vera, with a smile.\r\n\r\nBut the smile did not enhance Vera's beauty as smiles generally do;\r\non the contrary it gave her an unnatural, and therefore unpleasant,\r\nexpression. Vera was good-looking, not at all stupid, quick at learning,\r\nwas well brought up, and had a pleasant voice; what she said was\r\ntrue and appropriate, yet, strange to say, everyone--the visitors and\r\ncountess alike--turned to look at her as if wondering why she had said\r\nit, and they all felt awkward.\r\n\r\n\"People are always too clever with their eldest children and try to make\r\nsomething exceptional of them,\" said the visitor.\r\n\r\n\"What's the good of denying it, my dear? Our dear countess was too\r\nclever with Vera,\" said the count. \"Well, what of that? She's turned out\r\nsplendidly all the same,\" he added, winking at Vera.\r\n\r\nThe guests got up and took their leave, promising to return to dinner.\r\n\r\n\"What manners! I thought they would never go,\" said the countess, when\r\nshe had seen her guests out.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIII\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen Natasha ran out of the drawing room she only went as far as the\r\nconservatory. There she paused and stood listening to the conversation\r\nin the drawing room, waiting for Boris to come out. She was already\r\ngrowing impatient, and stamped her foot, ready to cry at his not coming\r\nat once, when she heard the young man's discreet steps approaching\r\nneither quickly nor slowly. At this Natasha dashed swiftly among the\r\nflower tubs and hid there.\r\n\r\nBoris paused in the middle of the room, looked round, brushed a little\r\ndust from the sleeve of his uniform, and going up to a mirror examined\r\nhis handsome face. Natasha, very still, peered out from her ambush,\r\nwaiting to see what he would do. He stood a little while before the\r\nglass, smiled, and walked toward the other door. Natasha was about\r\nto call him but changed her mind. \"Let him look for me,\" thought she.\r\nHardly had Boris gone than Sonya, flushed, in tears, and muttering\r\nangrily, came in at the other door. Natasha checked her first impulse to\r\nrun out to her, and remained in her hiding place, watching--as under an\r\ninvisible cap--to see what went on in the world. She was experiencing\r\na new and peculiar pleasure. Sonya, muttering to herself, kept looking\r\nround toward the drawing-room door. It opened and Nicholas came in.\r\n\r\n\"Sonya, what is the matter with you? How can you?\" said he, running up\r\nto her.\r\n\r\n\"It's nothing, nothing; leave me alone!\" sobbed Sonya.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, I know what it is.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, if you do, so much the better, and you can go back to her!\"\r\n\r\n\"So-o-onya! Look here! How can you torture me and yourself like that,\r\nfor a mere fancy?\" said Nicholas taking her hand.\r\n\r\nSonya did not pull it away, and left off crying. Natasha, not stirring\r\nand scarcely breathing, watched from her ambush with sparkling eyes.\r\n\"What will happen now?\" thought she.\r\n\r\n\"Sonya! What is anyone in the world to me? You alone are everything!\"\r\nsaid Nicholas. \"And I will prove it to you.\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't like you to talk like that.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, then, I won't; only forgive me, Sonya!\" He drew her to him and\r\nkissed her.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, how nice,\" thought Natasha; and when Sonya and Nicholas had gone\r\nout of the conservatory she followed and called Boris to her.\r\n\r\n\"Boris, come here,\" said she with a sly and significant look. \"I\r\nhave something to tell you. Here, here!\" and she led him into the\r\nconservatory to the place among the tubs where she had been hiding.\r\n\r\nBoris followed her, smiling.\r\n\r\n\"What is the something?\" asked he.\r\n\r\nShe grew confused, glanced round, and, seeing the doll she had thrown\r\ndown on one of the tubs, picked it up.\r\n\r\n\"Kiss the doll,\" said she.\r\n\r\nBoris looked attentively and kindly at her eager face, but did not\r\nreply.\r\n\r\n\"Don't you want to? Well, then, come here,\" said she, and went further\r\nin among the plants and threw down the doll. \"Closer, closer!\" she\r\nwhispered.\r\n\r\nShe caught the young officer by his cuffs, and a look of solemnity and\r\nfear appeared on her flushed face.\r\n\r\n\"And me? Would you like to kiss me?\" she whispered almost inaudibly,\r\nglancing up at him from under her brows, smiling, and almost crying from\r\nexcitement.\r\n\r\nBoris blushed.\r\n\r\n\"How funny you are!\" he said, bending down to her and blushing still\r\nmore, but he waited and did nothing.\r\n\r\nSuddenly she jumped up onto a tub to be higher than he, embraced him so\r\nthat both her slender bare arms clasped him above his neck, and, tossing\r\nback her hair, kissed him full on the lips.\r\n\r\nThen she slipped down among the flowerpots on the other side of the tubs\r\nand stood, hanging her head.\r\n\r\n\"Natasha,\" he said, \"you know that I love you, but...\"\r\n\r\n\"You are in love with me?\" Natasha broke in.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I am, but please don't let us do like that.... In another four\r\nyears... then I will ask for your hand.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha considered.\r\n\r\n\"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,\" she counted on her slender\r\nlittle fingers. \"All right! Then it's settled?\"\r\n\r\nA smile of joy and satisfaction lit up her eager face.\r\n\r\n\"Settled!\" replied Boris.\r\n\r\n\"Forever?\" said the little girl. \"Till death itself?\"\r\n\r\nShe took his arm and with a happy face went with him into the adjoining\r\nsitting room.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIV\r\n\r\n\r\nAfter receiving her visitors, the countess was so tired that she gave\r\norders to admit no more, but the porter was told to be sure to invite\r\nto dinner all who came \"to congratulate.\" The countess wished to have\r\na tete-a-tete talk with the friend of her childhood, Princess Anna\r\nMikhaylovna, whom she had not seen properly since she returned from\r\nPetersburg. Anna Mikhaylovna, with her tear-worn but pleasant face, drew\r\nher chair nearer to that of the countess.\r\n\r\n\"With you I will be quite frank,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna. \"There are not\r\nmany left of us old friends! That's why I so value your friendship.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna looked at Vera and paused. The countess pressed her\r\nfriend's hand.\r\n\r\n\"Vera,\" she said to her eldest daughter who was evidently not a\r\nfavorite, \"how is it you have so little tact? Don't you see you are not\r\nwanted here? Go to the other girls, or...\"\r\n\r\nThe handsome Vera smiled contemptuously but did not seem at all hurt.\r\n\r\n\"If you had told me sooner, Mamma, I would have gone,\" she replied as\r\nshe rose to go to her own room.\r\n\r\nBut as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting,\r\none pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully. Sonya was\r\nsitting close to Nicholas who was copying out some verses for her, the\r\nfirst he had ever written. Boris and Natasha were at the other window\r\nand ceased talking when Vera entered. Sonya and Natasha looked at Vera\r\nwith guilty, happy faces.\r\n\r\nIt was pleasant and touching to see these little girls in love; but\r\napparently the sight of them roused no pleasant feeling in Vera.\r\n\r\n\"How often have I asked you not to take my things?\" she said. \"You have\r\na room of your own,\" and she took the inkstand from Nicholas.\r\n\r\n\"In a minute, in a minute,\" he said, dipping his pen.\r\n\r\n\"You always manage to do things at the wrong time,\" continued Vera.\r\n\"You came rushing into the drawing room so that everyone felt ashamed of\r\nyou.\"\r\n\r\nThough what she said was quite just, perhaps for that very reason no one\r\nreplied, and the four simply looked at one another. She lingered in the\r\nroom with the inkstand in her hand.\r\n\r\n\"And at your age what secrets can there be between Natasha and Boris, or\r\nbetween you two? It's all nonsense!\"\r\n\r\n\"Now, Vera, what does it matter to you?\" said Natasha in defense,\r\nspeaking very gently.\r\n\r\nShe seemed that day to be more than ever kind and affectionate to\r\neveryone.\r\n\r\n\"Very silly,\" said Vera. \"I am ashamed of you. Secrets indeed!\"\r\n\r\n\"All have secrets of their own,\" answered Natasha, getting warmer. \"We\r\ndon't interfere with you and Berg.\"\r\n\r\n\"I should think not,\" said Vera, \"because there can never be anything\r\nwrong in my behavior. But I'll just tell Mamma how you are behaving with\r\nBoris.\"\r\n\r\n\"Natalya Ilynichna behaves very well to me,\" remarked Boris. \"I have\r\nnothing to complain of.\"\r\n\r\n\"Don't, Boris! You are such a diplomat that it is really tiresome,\" said\r\nNatasha in a mortified voice that trembled slightly. (She used the word\r\n\"diplomat,\" which was just then much in vogue among the children, in the\r\nspecial sense they attached to it.) \"Why does she bother me?\" And she\r\nadded, turning to Vera, \"You'll never understand it, because you've\r\nnever loved anyone. You have no heart! You are a Madame de Genlis\r\nand nothing more\" (this nickname, bestowed on Vera by Nicholas,\r\nwas considered very stinging), \"and your greatest pleasure is to be\r\nunpleasant to people! Go and flirt with Berg as much as you please,\" she\r\nfinished quickly.\r\n\r\n\"I shall at any rate not run after a young man before visitors...\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, now you've done what you wanted,\" put in Nicholas--\"said\r\nunpleasant things to everyone and upset them. Let's go to the nursery.\"\r\n\r\nAll four, like a flock of scared birds, got up and left the room.\r\n\r\n\"The unpleasant things were said to me,\" remarked Vera, \"I said none to\r\nanyone.\"\r\n\r\n\"Madame de Genlis! Madame de Genlis!\" shouted laughing voices through\r\nthe door.\r\n\r\nThe handsome Vera, who produced such an irritating and unpleasant effect\r\non everyone, smiled and, evidently unmoved by what had been said to her,\r\nwent to the looking glass and arranged her hair and scarf. Looking at\r\nher own handsome face she seemed to become still colder and calmer.\r\n\r\n\r\nIn the drawing room the conversation was still going on.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear,\" said the countess, \"my life is not all roses either.\r\nDon't I know that at the rate we are living our means won't last long?\r\nIt's all the Club and his easygoing nature. Even in the country do we\r\nget any rest? Theatricals, hunting, and heaven knows what besides! But\r\ndon't let's talk about me; tell me how you managed everything. I often\r\nwonder at you, Annette--how at your age you can rush off alone in a\r\ncarriage to Moscow, to Petersburg, to those ministers and great people,\r\nand know how to deal with them all! It's quite astonishing. How did you\r\nget things settled? I couldn't possibly do it.\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my love,\" answered Anna Mikhaylovna, \"God grant you never know\r\nwhat it is to be left a widow without means and with a son you love\r\nto distraction! One learns many things then,\" she added with a certain\r\npride. \"That lawsuit taught me much. When I want to see one of those big\r\npeople I write a note: 'Princess So-and-So desires an interview with\r\nSo and-So,' and then I take a cab and go myself two, three, or four\r\ntimes--till I get what I want. I don't mind what they think of me.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, and to whom did you apply about Bory?\" asked the countess. \"You\r\nsee yours is already an officer in the Guards, while my Nicholas is\r\ngoing as a cadet. There's no one to interest himself for him. To whom\r\ndid you apply?\"\r\n\r\n\"To Prince Vasili. He was so kind. He at once agreed to everything,\r\nand put the matter before the Emperor,\" said Princess Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nenthusiastically, quite forgetting all the humiliation she had endured\r\nto gain her end.\r\n\r\n\"Has Prince Vasili aged much?\" asked the countess. \"I have not seen him\r\nsince we acted together at the Rumyantsovs' theatricals. I expect he has\r\nforgotten me. He paid me attentions in those days,\" said the countess,\r\nwith a smile.\r\n\r\n\"He is just the same as ever,\" replied Anna Mikhaylovna, \"overflowing\r\nwith amiability. His position has not turned his head at all. He said to\r\nme, 'I am sorry I can do so little for you, dear Princess. I am at\r\nyour command.' Yes, he is a fine fellow and a very kind relation.\r\nBut, Nataly, you know my love for my son: I would do anything for his\r\nhappiness! And my affairs are in such a bad way that my position is now\r\na terrible one,\" continued Anna Mikhaylovna, sadly, dropping her voice.\r\n\"My wretched lawsuit takes all I have and makes no progress. Would you\r\nbelieve it, I have literally not a penny and don't know how to equip\r\nBoris.\" She took out her handkerchief and began to cry. \"I need five\r\nhundred rubles, and have only one twenty-five-ruble note. I am in such a\r\nstate.... My only hope now is in Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov.\r\nIf he will not assist his godson--you know he is Bory's godfather--and\r\nallow him something for his maintenance, all my trouble will have been\r\nthrown away.... I shall not be able to equip him.\"\r\n\r\nThe countess' eyes filled with tears and she pondered in silence.\r\n\r\n\"I often think, though, perhaps it's a sin,\" said the princess, \"that\r\nhere lives Count Cyril Vladimirovich Bezukhov so rich, all alone... that\r\ntremendous fortune... and what is his life worth? It's a burden to him,\r\nand Bory's life is only just beginning....\"\r\n\r\n\"Surely he will leave something to Boris,\" said the countess.\r\n\r\n\"Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so selfish. Still,\r\nI will take Boris and go to see him at once, and I shall speak to him\r\nstraight out. Let people think what they will of me, it's really all the\r\nsame to me when my son's fate is at stake.\" The princess rose. \"It's now\r\ntwo o'clock and you dine at four. There will just be time.\"\r\n\r\nAnd like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to make the most of\r\ntime, Anna Mikhaylovna sent someone to call her son, and went into the\r\nanteroom with him.\r\n\r\n\"Good-by, my dear,\" said she to the countess who saw her to the door,\r\nand added in a whisper so that her son should not hear, \"Wish me good\r\nluck.\"\r\n\r\n\"Are you going to Count Cyril Vladimirovich, my dear?\" said the count\r\ncoming out from the dining hall into the anteroom, and he added: \"If\r\nhe is better, ask Pierre to dine with us. He has been to the house, you\r\nknow, and danced with the children. Be sure to invite him, my dear.\r\nWe will see how Taras distinguishes himself today. He says Count Orlov\r\nnever gave such a dinner as ours will be!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XV\r\n\r\n\r\n\"My dear Boris,\" said Princess Anna Mikhaylovna to her son as Countess\r\nRostova's carriage in which they were seated drove over the straw\r\ncovered street and turned into the wide courtyard of Count Cyril\r\nVladimirovich Bezukhov's house. \"My dear Boris,\" said the mother,\r\ndrawing her hand from beneath her old mantle and laying it timidly and\r\ntenderly on her son's arm, \"be affectionate and attentive to him. Count\r\nCyril Vladimirovich is your godfather after all, your future depends on\r\nhim. Remember that, my dear, and be nice to him, as you so well know how\r\nto be.\"\r\n\r\n\"If only I knew that anything besides humiliation would come of it...\"\r\nanswered her son coldly. \"But I have promised and will do it for your\r\nsake.\"\r\n\r\nAlthough the hall porter saw someone's carriage standing at the\r\nentrance, after scrutinizing the mother and son (who without asking to\r\nbe announced had passed straight through the glass porch between the\r\nrows of statues in niches) and looking significantly at the lady's old\r\ncloak, he asked whether they wanted the count or the princesses, and,\r\nhearing that they wished to see the count, said his excellency was worse\r\ntoday, and that his excellency was not receiving anyone.\r\n\r\n\"We may as well go back,\" said the son in French.\r\n\r\n\"My dear!\" exclaimed his mother imploringly, again laying her hand on\r\nhis arm as if that touch might soothe or rouse him.\r\n\r\nBoris said no more, but looked inquiringly at his mother without taking\r\noff his cloak.\r\n\r\n\"My friend,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna in gentle tones, addressing the hall\r\nporter, \"I know Count Cyril Vladimirovich is very ill... that's why I\r\nhave come... I am a relation. I shall not disturb him, my friend... I\r\nonly need see Prince Vasili Sergeevich: he is staying here, is he not?\r\nPlease announce me.\"\r\n\r\nThe hall porter sullenly pulled a bell that rang upstairs, and turned\r\naway.\r\n\r\n\"Princess Drubetskaya to see Prince Vasili Sergeevich,\" he called to a\r\nfootman dressed in knee breeches, shoes, and a swallow-tail coat, who\r\nran downstairs and looked over from the halfway landing.\r\n\r\nThe mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress before a large\r\nVenetian mirror in the wall, and in her trodden-down shoes briskly\r\nascended the carpeted stairs.\r\n\r\n\"My dear,\" she said to her son, once more stimulating him by a touch,\r\n\"you promised me!\"\r\n\r\nThe son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.\r\n\r\nThey entered the large hall, from which one of the doors led to the\r\napartments assigned to Prince Vasili.\r\n\r\nJust as the mother and son, having reached the middle of the hall, were\r\nabout to ask their way of an elderly footman who had sprung up as they\r\nentered, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned and Prince Vasili\r\ncame out--wearing a velvet coat with a single star on his breast, as\r\nwas his custom when at home--taking leave of a good-looking, dark-haired\r\nman. This was the celebrated Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.\r\n\r\n\"Then it is certain?\" said the prince.\r\n\r\n\"Prince, humanum est errare, * but...\" replied the doctor, swallowing\r\nhis r's, and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * To err is human.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Very well, very well...\"\r\n\r\nSeeing Anna Mikhaylovna and her son, Prince Vasili dismissed the doctor\r\nwith a bow and approached them silently and with a look of inquiry. The\r\nson noticed that an expression of profound sorrow suddenly clouded his\r\nmother's face, and he smiled slightly.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Prince! In what sad circumstances we meet again! And how is our\r\ndear invalid?\" said she, as though unaware of the cold offensive look\r\nfixed on her.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili stared at her and at Boris questioningly and perplexed.\r\nBoris bowed politely. Prince Vasili without acknowledging the bow turned\r\nto Anna Mikhaylovna, answering her query by a movement of the head and\r\nlips indicating very little hope for the patient.\r\n\r\n\"Is it possible?\" exclaimed Anna Mikhaylovna. \"Oh, how awful! It is\r\nterrible to think.... This is my son,\" she added, indicating Boris. \"He\r\nwanted to thank you himself.\"\r\n\r\nBoris bowed again politely.\r\n\r\n\"Believe me, Prince, a mother's heart will never forget what you have\r\ndone for us.\"\r\n\r\n\"I am glad I was able to do you a service, my dear Anna Mikhaylovna,\"\r\nsaid Prince Vasili, arranging his lace frill, and in tone and manner,\r\nhere in Moscow to Anna Mikhaylovna whom he had placed under an\r\nobligation, assuming an air of much greater importance than he had done\r\nin Petersburg at Anna Scherer's reception.\r\n\r\n\"Try to serve well and show yourself worthy,\" added he, addressing Boris\r\nwith severity. \"I am glad.... Are you here on leave?\" he went on in his\r\nusual tone of indifference.\r\n\r\n\"I am awaiting orders to join my new regiment, your excellency,\" replied\r\nBoris, betraying neither annoyance at the prince's brusque manner nor\r\na desire to enter into conversation, but speaking so quietly and\r\nrespectfully that the prince gave him a searching glance.\r\n\r\n\"Are you living with your mother?\"\r\n\r\n\"I am living at Countess Rostova's,\" replied Boris, again adding, \"your\r\nexcellency.\"\r\n\r\n\"That is, with Ilya Rostov who married Nataly Shinshina,\" said Anna\r\nMikhaylovna.\r\n\r\n\"I know, I know,\" answered Prince Vasili in his monotonous voice.\r\n\"I never could understand how Nataly made up her mind to marry that\r\nunlicked bear! A perfectly absurd and stupid fellow, and a gambler too,\r\nI am told.\"\r\n\r\n\"But a very kind man, Prince,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna with a pathetic\r\nsmile, as though she too knew that Count Rostov deserved this censure,\r\nbut asked him not to be too hard on the poor old man. \"What do the\r\ndoctors say?\" asked the princess after a pause, her worn face again\r\nexpressing deep sorrow.\r\n\r\n\"They give little hope,\" replied the prince.\r\n\r\n\"And I should so like to thank Uncle once for all his kindness to me and\r\nBoris. He is his godson,\" she added, her tone suggesting that this fact\r\nought to give Prince Vasili much satisfaction.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili became thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikhaylovna saw that\r\nhe was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezukhov's fortune,\r\nand hastened to reassure him.\r\n\r\n\"If it were not for my sincere affection and devotion to Uncle,\" said\r\nshe, uttering the word with peculiar assurance and unconcern, \"I know\r\nhis character: noble, upright... but you see he has no one with him\r\nexcept the young princesses.... They are still young....\" She bent\r\nher head and continued in a whisper: \"Has he performed his final duty,\r\nPrince? How priceless are those last moments! It can make things no\r\nworse, and it is absolutely necessary to prepare him if he is so ill. We\r\nwomen, Prince,\" and she smiled tenderly, \"always know how to say these\r\nthings. I absolutely must see him, however painful it may be for me. I\r\nam used to suffering.\"\r\n\r\nEvidently the prince understood her, and also understood, as he had\r\ndone at Anna Pavlovna's, that it would be difficult to get rid of Anna\r\nMikhaylovna.\r\n\r\n\"Would not such a meeting be too trying for him, dear Anna Mikhaylovna?\"\r\nsaid he. \"Let us wait until evening. The doctors are expecting a\r\ncrisis.\"\r\n\r\n\"But one cannot delay, Prince, at such a moment! Consider that the\r\nwelfare of his soul is at stake. Ah, it is awful: the duties of a\r\nChristian...\"\r\n\r\nA door of one of the inner rooms opened and one of the princesses, the\r\ncount's niece, entered with a cold, stern face. The length of her body\r\nwas strikingly out of proportion to her short legs. Prince Vasili turned\r\nto her.\r\n\r\n\"Well, how is he?\"\r\n\r\n\"Still the same; but what can you expect, this noise...\" said the\r\nprincess, looking at Anna Mikhaylovna as at a stranger.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear, I hardly knew you,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna with a happy\r\nsmile, ambling lightly up to the count's niece. \"I have come, and am at\r\nyour service to help you nurse my uncle. I imagine what you have gone\r\nthrough,\" and she sympathetically turned up her eyes.\r\n\r\nThe princess gave no reply and did not even smile, but left the room as\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna took off her gloves and, occupying the position she had\r\nconquered, settled down in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasili to take a\r\nseat beside her.\r\n\r\n\"Boris,\" she said to her son with a smile, \"I shall go in to see the\r\ncount, my uncle; but you, my dear, had better go to Pierre meanwhile\r\nand don't forget to give him the Rostovs' invitation. They ask him to\r\ndinner. I suppose he won't go?\" she continued, turning to the prince.\r\n\r\n\"On the contrary,\" replied the prince, who had plainly become depressed,\r\n\"I shall be only too glad if you relieve me of that young man.... Here\r\nhe is, and the count has not once asked for him.\"\r\n\r\nHe shrugged his shoulders. A footman conducted Boris down one flight of\r\nstairs and up another, to Pierre's rooms.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVI\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre, after all, had not managed to choose a career for himself in\r\nPetersburg, and had been expelled from there for riotous conduct and\r\nsent to Moscow. The story told about him at Count Rostov's was true.\r\nPierre had taken part in tying a policeman to a bear. He had now been\r\nfor some days in Moscow and was staying as usual at his father's house.\r\nThough he expected that the story of his escapade would be already known\r\nin Moscow and that the ladies about his father--who were never favorably\r\ndisposed toward him--would have used it to turn the count against him,\r\nhe nevertheless on the day of his arrival went to his father's part of\r\nthe house. Entering the drawing room, where the princesses spent most\r\nof their time, he greeted the ladies, two of whom were sitting at\r\nembroidery frames while a third read aloud. It was the eldest who was\r\nreading--the one who had met Anna Mikhaylovna. The two younger ones were\r\nembroidering: both were rosy and pretty and they differed only in that\r\none had a little mole on her lip which made her much prettier. Pierre\r\nwas received as if he were a corpse or a leper. The eldest princess\r\npaused in her reading and silently stared at him with frightened eyes;\r\nthe second assumed precisely the same expression; while the youngest,\r\nthe one with the mole, who was of a cheerful and lively disposition,\r\nbent over her frame to hide a smile probably evoked by the amusing scene\r\nshe foresaw. She drew her wool down through the canvas and, scarcely\r\nable to refrain from laughing, stooped as if trying to make out the\r\npattern.\r\n\r\n\"How do you do, cousin?\" said Pierre. \"You don't recognize me?\"\r\n\r\n\"I recognize you only too well, too well.\"\r\n\r\n\"How is the count? Can I see him?\" asked Pierre, awkwardly as usual, but\r\nunabashed.\r\n\r\n\"The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparently you have\r\ndone your best to increase his mental sufferings.\"\r\n\r\n\"Can I see the count?\" Pierre again asked.\r\n\r\n\"Hm.... If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see\r\nhim... Olga, go and see whether Uncle's beef tea is ready--it is almost\r\ntime,\" she added, giving Pierre to understand that they were busy, and\r\nbusy making his father comfortable, while evidently he, Pierre, was only\r\nbusy causing him annoyance.\r\n\r\nOlga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters; then he bowed and\r\nsaid: \"Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see\r\nhim.\"\r\n\r\nAnd he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the\r\nsister with the mole.\r\n\r\nNext day Prince Vasili had arrived and settled in the count's house. He\r\nsent for Pierre and said to him: \"My dear fellow, if you are going to\r\nbehave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end very badly; that is\r\nall I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill, and you must not\r\nsee him at all.\"\r\n\r\nSince then Pierre had not been disturbed and had spent the whole time in\r\nhis rooms upstairs.\r\n\r\nWhen Boris appeared at his door Pierre was pacing up and down his room,\r\nstopping occasionally at a corner to make menacing gestures at the wall,\r\nas if running a sword through an invisible foe, and glaring savagely\r\nover his spectacles, and then again resuming his walk, muttering\r\nindistinct words, shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating.\r\n\r\n\"England is done for,\" said he, scowling and pointing his finger at\r\nsomeone unseen. \"Mr. Pitt, as a traitor to the nation and to the rights\r\nof man, is sentenced to...\" But before Pierre--who at that moment\r\nimagined himself to be Napoleon in person and to have just effected the\r\ndangerous crossing of the Straits of Dover and captured London--could\r\npronounce Pitt's sentence, he saw a well-built and handsome young\r\nofficer entering his room. Pierre paused. He had left Moscow when Boris\r\nwas a boy of fourteen, and had quite forgotten him, but in his usual\r\nimpulsive and hearty way he took Boris by the hand with a friendly\r\nsmile.\r\n\r\n\"Do you remember me?\" asked Boris quietly with a pleasant smile. \"I have\r\ncome with my mother to see the count, but it seems he is not well.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it seems he is ill. People are always disturbing him,\" answered\r\nPierre, trying to remember who this young man was.\r\n\r\nBoris felt that Pierre did not recognize him but did not consider it\r\nnecessary to introduce himself, and without experiencing the least\r\nembarrassment looked Pierre straight in the face.\r\n\r\n\"Count Rostov asks you to come to dinner today,\" said he, after a\r\nconsiderable pause which made Pierre feel uncomfortable.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Count Rostov!\" exclaimed Pierre joyfully. \"Then you are his son,\r\nIlya? Only fancy, I didn't know you at first. Do you remember how we\r\nwent to the Sparrow Hills with Madame Jacquot?... It's such an age...\"\r\n\r\n\"You are mistaken,\" said Boris deliberately, with a bold and slightly\r\nsarcastic smile. \"I am Boris, son of Princess Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nDrubetskaya. Rostov, the father, is Ilya, and his son is Nicholas. I\r\nnever knew any Madame Jacquot.\"\r\n\r\nPierre shook his head and arms as if attacked by mosquitoes or bees.\r\n\r\n\"Oh dear, what am I thinking about? I've mixed everything up. One has so\r\nmany relatives in Moscow! So you are Boris? Of course. Well, now we\r\nknow where we are. And what do you think of the Boulogne expedition?\r\nThe English will come off badly, you know, if Napoleon gets across the\r\nChannel. I think the expedition is quite feasible. If only Villeneuve\r\ndoesn't make a mess of things!\"\r\n\r\nBoris knew nothing about the Boulogne expedition; he did not read the\r\npapers and it was the first time he had heard Villeneuve's name.\r\n\r\n\"We here in Moscow are more occupied with dinner parties and scandal\r\nthan with politics,\" said he in his quiet ironical tone. \"I know nothing\r\nabout it and have not thought about it. Moscow is chiefly busy with\r\ngossip,\" he continued. \"Just now they are talking about you and your\r\nfather.\"\r\n\r\nPierre smiled in his good-natured way as if afraid for his companion's\r\nsake that the latter might say something he would afterwards regret.\r\nBut Boris spoke distinctly, clearly, and dryly, looking straight into\r\nPierre's eyes.\r\n\r\n\"Moscow has nothing else to do but gossip,\" Boris went on. \"Everybody\r\nis wondering to whom the count will leave his fortune, though he may\r\nperhaps outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he will...\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it is all very horrid,\" interrupted Pierre, \"very horrid.\"\r\n\r\nPierre was still afraid that this officer might inadvertently say\r\nsomething disconcerting to himself.\r\n\r\n\"And it must seem to you,\" said Boris flushing slightly, but not\r\nchanging his tone or attitude, \"it must seem to you that everyone is\r\ntrying to get something out of the rich man?\"\r\n\r\n\"So it does,\" thought Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"But I just wish to say, to avoid misunderstandings, that you are quite\r\nmistaken if you reckon me or my mother among such people. We are very\r\npoor, but for my own part at any rate, for the very reason that your\r\nfather is rich, I don't regard myself as a relation of his, and neither\r\nI nor my mother would ever ask or take anything from him.\"\r\n\r\nFor a long time Pierre could not understand, but when he did, he jumped\r\nup from the sofa, seized Boris under the elbow in his quick, clumsy\r\nway, and, blushing far more than Boris, began to speak with a feeling of\r\nmingled shame and vexation.\r\n\r\n\"Well, this is strange! Do you suppose I... who could think?... I know\r\nvery well...\"\r\n\r\nBut Boris again interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"I am glad I have spoken out fully. Perhaps you did not like it? You\r\nmust excuse me,\" said he, putting Pierre at ease instead of being put\r\nat ease by him, \"but I hope I have not offended you. I always make it\r\na rule to speak out... Well, what answer am I to take? Will you come to\r\ndinner at the Rostovs'?\"\r\n\r\nAnd Boris, having apparently relieved himself of an onerous duty and\r\nextricated himself from an awkward situation and placed another in it,\r\nbecame quite pleasant again.\r\n\r\n\"No, but I say,\" said Pierre, calming down, \"you are a wonderful fellow!\r\nWhat you have just said is good, very good. Of course you don't know me.\r\nWe have not met for such a long time... not since we were children. You\r\nmight think that I... I understand, quite understand. I could not have\r\ndone it myself, I should not have had the courage, but it's splendid. I\r\nam very glad to have made your acquaintance. It's queer,\" he added after\r\na pause, \"that you should have suspected me!\" He began to laugh. \"Well,\r\nwhat of it! I hope we'll get better acquainted,\" and he pressed Boris'\r\nhand. \"Do you know, I have not once been in to see the count. He has not\r\nsent for me.... I am sorry for him as a man, but what can one do?\"\r\n\r\n\"And so you think Napoleon will manage to get an army across?\" asked\r\nBoris with a smile.\r\n\r\nPierre saw that Boris wished to change the subject, and being of the\r\nsame mind he began explaining the advantages and disadvantages of the\r\nBoulogne expedition.\r\n\r\nA footman came in to summon Boris--the princess was going. Pierre, in\r\norder to make Boris' better acquaintance, promised to come to dinner,\r\nand warmly pressing his hand looked affectionately over his spectacles\r\ninto Boris' eyes. After he had gone Pierre continued pacing up and down\r\nthe room for a long time, no longer piercing an imaginary foe with\r\nhis imaginary sword, but smiling at the remembrance of that pleasant,\r\nintelligent, and resolute young man.\r\n\r\nAs often happens in early youth, especially to one who leads a lonely\r\nlife, he felt an unaccountable tenderness for this young man and made up\r\nhis mind that they would be friends.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili saw the princess off. She held a handkerchief to her eyes\r\nand her face was tearful.\r\n\r\n\"It is dreadful, dreadful!\" she was saying, \"but cost me what it may I\r\nshall do my duty. I will come and spend the night. He must not be left\r\nlike this. Every moment is precious. I can't think why his nieces put\r\nit off. Perhaps God will help me to find a way to prepare him!... Adieu,\r\nPrince! May God support you...\"\r\n\r\n\"Adieu, ma bonne,\" answered Prince Vasili turning away from her.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, he is in a dreadful state,\" said the mother to her son when they\r\nwere in the carriage. \"He hardly recognizes anybody.\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't understand, Mamma--what is his attitude to Pierre?\" asked the\r\nson.\r\n\r\n\"The will will show that, my dear; our fate also depends on it.\"\r\n\r\n\"But why do you expect that he will leave us anything?\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear! He is so rich, and we are so poor!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, that is hardly a sufficient reason, Mamma...\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, Heaven! How ill he is!\" exclaimed the mother.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVII\r\n\r\n\r\nAfter Anna Mikhaylovna had driven off with her son to visit Count Cyril\r\nVladimirovich Bezukhov, Countess Rostova sat for a long time all alone\r\napplying her handkerchief to her eyes. At last she rang.\r\n\r\n\"What is the matter with you, my dear?\" she said crossly to the maid who\r\nkept her waiting some minutes. \"Don't you wish to serve me? Then I'll\r\nfind you another place.\"\r\n\r\nThe countess was upset by her friend's sorrow and humiliating poverty,\r\nand was therefore out of sorts, a state of mind which with her always\r\nfound expression in calling her maid \"my dear\" and speaking to her with\r\nexaggerated politeness.\r\n\r\n\"I am very sorry, ma'am,\" answered the maid.\r\n\r\n\"Ask the count to come to me.\"\r\n\r\nThe count came waddling in to see his wife with a rather guilty look as\r\nusual.\r\n\r\n\"Well, little countess? What a saute of game au madere we are to have,\r\nmy dear! I tasted it. The thousand rubles I paid for Taras were not\r\nill-spent. He is worth it!\"\r\n\r\nHe sat down by his wife, his elbows on his knees and his hands ruffling\r\nhis gray hair.\r\n\r\n\"What are your commands, little countess?\"\r\n\r\n\"You see, my dear... What's that mess?\" she said, pointing to his\r\nwaistcoat. \"It's the saute, most likely,\" she added with a smile. \"Well,\r\nyou see, Count, I want some money.\"\r\n\r\nHer face became sad.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, little countess!\"... and the count began bustling to get out his\r\npocketbook.\r\n\r\n\"I want a great deal, Count! I want five hundred rubles,\" and taking out\r\nher cambric handkerchief she began wiping her husband's waistcoat.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, immediately, immediately! Hey, who's there?\" he called out in a\r\ntone only used by persons who are certain that those they call will rush\r\nto obey the summons. \"Send Dmitri to me!\"\r\n\r\nDmitri, a man of good family who had been brought up in the count's\r\nhouse and now managed all his affairs, stepped softly into the room.\r\n\r\n\"This is what I want, my dear fellow,\" said the count to the deferential\r\nyoung man who had entered. \"Bring me...\" he reflected a moment, \"yes,\r\nbring me seven hundred rubles, yes! But mind, don't bring me such\r\ntattered and dirty notes as last time, but nice clean ones for the\r\ncountess.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, Dmitri, clean ones, please,\" said the countess, sighing deeply.\r\n\r\n\"When would you like them, your excellency?\" asked Dmitri. \"Allow me to\r\ninform you... But, don't be uneasy,\" he added, noticing that the count\r\nwas beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which was always a sign of\r\napproaching anger. \"I was forgetting... Do you wish it brought at once?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes; just so! Bring it. Give it to the countess.\"\r\n\r\n\"What a treasure that Dmitri is,\" added the count with a smile when\r\nthe young man had departed. \"There is never any 'impossible' with him.\r\nThat's a thing I hate! Everything is possible.\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, money, Count, money! How much sorrow it causes in the world,\" said\r\nthe countess. \"But I am in great need of this sum.\"\r\n\r\n\"You, my little countess, are a notorious spendthrift,\" said the count,\r\nand having kissed his wife's hand he went back to his study.\r\n\r\nWhen Anna Mikhaylovna returned from Count Bezukhov's the money, all\r\nin clean notes, was lying ready under a handkerchief on the countess'\r\nlittle table, and Anna Mikhaylovna noticed that something was agitating\r\nher.\r\n\r\n\"Well, my dear?\" asked the countess.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One would not know him, he is so\r\nill! I was only there a few moments and hardly said a word...\"\r\n\r\n\"Annette, for heaven's sake don't refuse me,\" the countess began, with a\r\nblush that looked very strange on her thin, dignified, elderly face, and\r\nshe took the money from under the handkerchief.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna instantly guessed her intention and stooped to be ready\r\nto embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.\r\n\r\n\"This is for Boris from me, for his outfit.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna was already embracing her and weeping. The countess\r\nwept too. They wept because they were friends, and because they were\r\nkindhearted, and because they--friends from childhood--had to think\r\nabout such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over....\r\nBut those tears were pleasant to them both.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVIII\r\n\r\n\r\nCountess Rostova, with her daughters and a large number of guests, was\r\nalready seated in the drawing room. The count took the gentlemen into\r\nhis study and showed them his choice collection of Turkish pipes.\r\nFrom time to time he went out to ask: \"Hasn't she come yet?\" They were\r\nexpecting Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova, known in society as le terrible\r\ndragon, a lady distinguished not for wealth or rank, but for common\r\nsense and frank plainness of speech. Marya Dmitrievna was known to the\r\nImperial family as well as to all Moscow and Petersburg, and both cities\r\nwondered at her, laughed privately at her rudenesses, and told good\r\nstories about her, while none the less all without exception respected\r\nand feared her.\r\n\r\nIn the count's room, which was full of tobacco smoke, they talked of war\r\nthat had been announced in a manifesto, and about the recruiting. None\r\nof them had yet seen the manifesto, but they all knew it had appeared.\r\nThe count sat on the sofa between two guests who were smoking and\r\ntalking. He neither smoked nor talked, but bending his head first to one\r\nside and then to the other watched the smokers with evident pleasure\r\nand listened to the conversation of his two neighbors, whom he egged on\r\nagainst each other.\r\n\r\nOne of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and wrinkled\r\nface, already growing old, though he was dressed like a most fashionable\r\nyoung man. He sat with his legs up on the sofa as if quite at home and,\r\nhaving stuck an amber mouthpiece far into his mouth, was inhaling the\r\nsmoke spasmodically and screwing up his eyes. This was an old bachelor,\r\nShinshin, a cousin of the countess', a man with \"a sharp tongue\" as they\r\nsaid in Moscow society. He seemed to be condescending to his companion.\r\nThe latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably washed,\r\nbrushed, and buttoned, held his pipe in the middle of his mouth and with\r\nred lips gently inhaled the smoke, letting it escape from his handsome\r\nmouth in rings. This was Lieutenant Berg, an officer in the Semenov\r\nregiment with whom Boris was to travel to join the army, and about\r\nwhom Natasha had, teased her elder sister Vera, speaking of Berg as her\r\n\"intended.\" The count sat between them and listened attentively. His\r\nfavorite occupation when not playing boston, a card game he was very\r\nfond of, was that of listener, especially when he succeeded in setting\r\ntwo loquacious talkers at one another.\r\n\r\n\"Well, then, old chap, mon tres honorable Alphonse Karlovich,\" said\r\nShinshin, laughing ironically and mixing the most ordinary Russian\r\nexpressions with the choicest French phrases--which was a peculiarity of\r\nhis speech. \"Vous comptez vous faire des rentes sur l'etat; * you want\r\nto make something out of your company?\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * You expect to make an income out of the government.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"No, Peter Nikolaevich; I only want to show that in the cavalry the\r\nadvantages are far less than in the infantry. Just consider my own\r\nposition now, Peter Nikolaevich...\"\r\n\r\nBerg always spoke quietly, politely, and with great precision. His\r\nconversation always related entirely to himself; he would remain calm\r\nand silent when the talk related to any topic that had no direct bearing\r\non himself. He could remain silent for hours without being at all put\r\nout of countenance himself or making others uncomfortable, but as\r\nsoon as the conversation concerned himself he would begin to talk\r\ncircumstantially and with evident satisfaction.\r\n\r\n\"Consider my position, Peter Nikolaevich. Were I in the cavalry I should\r\nget not more than two hundred rubles every four months, even with the\r\nrank of lieutenant; but as it is I receive two hundred and thirty,\" said\r\nhe, looking at Shinshin and the count with a joyful, pleasant smile,\r\nas if it were obvious to him that his success must always be the chief\r\ndesire of everyone else.\r\n\r\n\"Besides that, Peter Nikolaevich, by exchanging into the Guards I shall\r\nbe in a more prominent position,\" continued Berg, \"and vacancies occur\r\nmuch more frequently in the Foot Guards. Then just think what can be\r\ndone with two hundred and thirty rubles! I even manage to put a little\r\naside and to send something to my father,\" he went on, emitting a smoke\r\nring.\r\n\r\n\"La balance y est... * A German knows how to skin a flint, as the\r\nproverb says,\" remarked Shinshin, moving his pipe to the other side of\r\nhis mouth and winking at the count.\r\n\r\n\r\n      * So that squares matters.\r\n\r\n\r\nThe count burst out laughing. The other guests seeing that Shinshin was\r\ntalking came up to listen. Berg, oblivious of irony or indifference,\r\ncontinued to explain how by exchanging into the Guards he had already\r\ngained a step on his old comrades of the Cadet Corps; how in wartime\r\nthe company commander might get killed and he, as senior in the company,\r\nmight easily succeed to the post; how popular he was with everyone in\r\nthe regiment, and how satisfied his father was with him. Berg evidently\r\nenjoyed narrating all this, and did not seem to suspect that others,\r\ntoo, might have their own interests. But all he said was so prettily\r\nsedate, and the naivete of his youthful egotism was so obvious, that he\r\ndisarmed his hearers.\r\n\r\n\"Well, my boy, you'll get along wherever you go--foot or horse--that\r\nI'll warrant,\" said Shinshin, patting him on the shoulder and taking his\r\nfeet off the sofa.\r\n\r\nBerg smiled joyously. The count, by his guests, went into the drawing\r\nroom.\r\n\r\nIt was just the moment before a big dinner when the assembled guests,\r\nexpecting the summons to zakuska, * avoid engaging in any long\r\nconversation but think it necessary to move about and talk, in order\r\nto show that they are not at all impatient for their food. The host and\r\nhostess look toward the door, and now and then glance at one another,\r\nand the visitors try to guess from these glances who, or what, they are\r\nwaiting for--some important relation who has not yet arrived, or a dish\r\nthat is not yet ready.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * Hors d'oeuvres.\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre had come just at dinnertime and was sitting awkwardly in the\r\nmiddle of the drawing room on the first chair he had come across,\r\nblocking the way for everyone. The countess tried to make him talk, but\r\nhe went on naively looking around through his spectacles as if in search\r\nof somebody and answered all her questions in monosyllables. He was in\r\nthe way and was the only one who did not notice the fact. Most of the\r\nguests, knowing of the affair with the bear, looked with curiosity at\r\nthis big, stout, quiet man, wondering how such a clumsy, modest fellow\r\ncould have played such a prank on a policeman.\r\n\r\n\"You have only lately arrived?\" the countess asked him.\r\n\r\n\"Oui, madame,\" replied he, looking around him.\r\n\r\n\"You have not yet seen my husband?\"\r\n\r\n\"Non, madame.\" He smiled quite inappropriately.\r\n\r\n\"You have been in Paris recently, I believe? I suppose it's very\r\ninteresting.\"\r\n\r\n\"Very interesting.\"\r\n\r\nThe countess exchanged glances with Anna Mikhaylovna. The latter\r\nunderstood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, and\r\nsitting down beside him she began to speak about his father; but he\r\nanswered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables. The other\r\nguests were all conversing with one another. \"The Razumovskis... It was\r\ncharming... You are very kind... Countess Apraksina...\" was heard on all\r\nsides. The countess rose and went into the ballroom.\r\n\r\n\"Marya Dmitrievna?\" came her voice from there.\r\n\r\n\"Herself,\" came the answer in a rough voice, and Marya Dmitrievna\r\nentered the room.\r\n\r\nAll the unmarried ladies and even the married ones except the very\r\noldest rose. Marya Dmitrievna paused at the door. Tall and stout,\r\nholding high her fifty-year-old head with its gray curls, she stood\r\nsurveying the guests, and leisurely arranged her wide sleeves as if\r\nrolling them up. Marya Dmitrievna always spoke in Russian.\r\n\r\n\"Health and happiness to her whose name day we are keeping and to her\r\nchildren,\" she said, in her loud, full-toned voice which drowned all\r\nothers. \"Well, you old sinner,\" she went on, turning to the count who\r\nwas kissing her hand, \"you're feeling dull in Moscow, I daresay? Nowhere\r\nto hunt with your dogs? But what is to be done, old man? Just see how\r\nthese nestlings are growing up,\" and she pointed to the girls. \"You must\r\nlook for husbands for them whether you like it or not....\"\r\n\r\n\"Well,\" said she, \"how's my Cossack?\" (Marya Dmitrievna always called\r\nNatasha a Cossack) and she stroked the child's arm as she came up\r\nfearless and gay to kiss her hand. \"I know she's a scamp of a girl, but\r\nI like her.\"\r\n\r\nShe took a pair of pear-shaped ruby earrings from her huge reticule and,\r\nhaving given them to the rosy Natasha, who beamed with the pleasure\r\nof her saint's-day fete, turned away at once and addressed herself to\r\nPierre.\r\n\r\n\"Eh, eh, friend! Come here a bit,\" said she, assuming a soft high tone\r\nof voice. \"Come here, my friend...\" and she ominously tucked up her\r\nsleeves still higher. Pierre approached, looking at her in a childlike\r\nway through his spectacles.\r\n\r\n\"Come nearer, come nearer, friend! I used to be the only one to tell\r\nyour father the truth when he was in favor, and in your case it's my\r\nevident duty.\" She paused. All were silent, expectant of what was to\r\nfollow, for this was clearly only a prelude.\r\n\r\n\"A fine lad! My word! A fine lad!... His father lies on his deathbed and\r\nhe amuses himself setting a policeman astride a bear! For shame, sir,\r\nfor shame! It would be better if you went to the war.\"\r\n\r\nShe turned away and gave her hand to the count, who could hardly keep\r\nfrom laughing.\r\n\r\n\"Well, I suppose it is time we were at table?\" said Marya Dmitrievna.\r\n\r\nThe count went in first with Marya Dmitrievna, the countess followed\r\non the arm of a colonel of hussars, a man of importance to them because\r\nNicholas was to go with him to the regiment; then came Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nwith Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera. The smiling Julie Karagina\r\nwent in with Nicholas. After them other couples followed, filling the\r\nwhole dining hall, and last of all the children, tutors, and governesses\r\nfollowed singly. The footmen began moving about, chairs scraped, the\r\nband struck up in the gallery, and the guests settled down in their\r\nplaces. Then the strains of the count's household band were replaced by\r\nthe clatter of knives and forks, the voices of visitors, and the soft\r\nsteps of the footmen. At one end of the table sat the countess with\r\nMarya Dmitrievna on her right and Anna Mikhaylovna on her left, the\r\nother lady visitors were farther down. At the other end sat the count,\r\nwith the hussar colonel on his left and Shinshin and the other male\r\nvisitors on his right. Midway down the long table on one side sat the\r\ngrownup young people: Vera beside Berg, and Pierre beside Boris; and on\r\nthe other side, the children, tutors, and governesses. From behind the\r\ncrystal decanters and fruit vases the count kept glancing at his wife\r\nand her tall cap with its light-blue ribbons, and busily filled his\r\nneighbors' glasses, not neglecting his own. The countess in turn,\r\nwithout omitting her duties as hostess, threw significant glances from\r\nbehind the pineapples at her husband whose face and bald head seemed\r\nby their redness to contrast more than usual with his gray hair. At the\r\nladies' end an even chatter of voices was heard all the time, at the\r\nmen's end the voices sounded louder and louder, especially that of the\r\ncolonel of hussars who, growing more and more flushed, ate and drank so\r\nmuch that the count held him up as a pattern to the other guests. Berg\r\nwith tender smiles was saying to Vera that love is not an earthly but a\r\nheavenly feeling. Boris was telling his new friend Pierre who the guests\r\nwere and exchanging glances with Natasha, who was sitting opposite.\r\nPierre spoke little but examined the new faces, and ate a great deal.\r\nOf the two soups he chose turtle with savory patties and went on to the\r\ngame without omitting a single dish or one of the wines. These latter\r\nthe butler thrust mysteriously forward, wrapped in a napkin, from behind\r\nthe next man's shoulders and whispered: \"Dry Madeira\"... \"Hungarian\"...\r\nor \"Rhine wine\" as the case might be. Of the four crystal glasses\r\nengraved with the count's monogram that stood before his plate,\r\nPierre held out one at random and drank with enjoyment, gazing with\r\never-increasing amiability at the other guests. Natasha, who sat\r\nopposite, was looking at Boris as girls of thirteen look at the boy they\r\nare in love with and have just kissed for the first time. Sometimes that\r\nsame look fell on Pierre, and that funny lively little girl's look made\r\nhim inclined to laugh without knowing why.\r\n\r\nNicholas sat at some distance from Sonya, beside Julie Karagina, to\r\nwhom he was again talking with the same involuntary smile. Sonya wore\r\na company smile but was evidently tormented by jealousy; now she turned\r\npale, now blushed and strained every nerve to overhear what Nicholas\r\nand Julie were saying to one another. The governess kept looking round\r\nuneasily as if preparing to resent any slight that might be put upon the\r\nchildren. The German tutor was trying to remember all the dishes, wines,\r\nand kinds of dessert, in order to send a full description of the dinner\r\nto his people in Germany; and he felt greatly offended when the butler\r\nwith a bottle wrapped in a napkin passed him by. He frowned, trying to\r\nappear as if he did not want any of that wine, but was mortified because\r\nno one would understand that it was not to quench his thirst or from\r\ngreediness that he wanted it, but simply from a conscientious desire for\r\nknowledge.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIX\r\n\r\n\r\nAt the men's end of the table the talk grew more and more animated. The\r\ncolonel told them that the declaration of war had already appeared in\r\nPetersburg and that a copy, which he had himself seen, had that day been\r\nforwarded by courier to the commander in chief.\r\n\r\n\"And why the deuce are we going to fight Bonaparte?\" remarked Shinshin.\r\n\"He has stopped Austria's cackle and I fear it will be our turn next.\"\r\n\r\nThe colonel was a stout, tall, plethoric German, evidently devoted to\r\nthe service and patriotically Russian. He resented Shinshin's remark.\r\n\r\n\"It is for the reasson, my goot sir,\" said he, speaking with a German\r\naccent, \"for the reasson zat ze Emperor knows zat. He declares in ze\r\nmanifessto zat he cannot fiew wiz indifference ze danger vreatening\r\nRussia and zat ze safety and dignity of ze Empire as vell as ze sanctity\r\nof its alliances...\" he spoke this last word with particular emphasis as\r\nif in it lay the gist of the matter.\r\n\r\nThen with the unerring official memory that characterized him he\r\nrepeated from the opening words of the manifesto:\r\n\r\n... and the wish, which constitutes the Emperor's sole and absolute\r\naim--to establish peace in Europe on firm foundations--has now decided\r\nhim to despatch part of the army abroad and to create a new condition\r\nfor the attainment of that purpose.\r\n\r\n\"Zat, my dear sir, is vy...\" he concluded, drinking a tumbler of wine\r\nwith dignity and looking to the count for approval.\r\n\r\n\"Connaissez-vous le Proverbe: * 'Jerome, Jerome, do not roam, but turn\r\nspindles at home!'?\" said Shinshin, puckering his brows and smiling.\r\n\"Cela nous convient a merveille.*(2) Suvorov now--he knew what he was\r\nabout; yet they beat him a plate couture,*(3) and where are we to find\r\nSuvorovs now? Je vous demande un peu,\"*(4) said he, continually changing\r\nfrom French to Russian.\r\n\r\n\r\n     *Do you know the proverb?\r\n\r\n     *(2) That suits us down to the ground.\r\n\r\n     *(3) Hollow.\r\n\r\n     *(4) I just ask you that.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Ve must vight to the last tr-r-op of our plood!\" said the colonel,\r\nthumping the table; \"and ve must tie for our Emperor, and zen all vill\r\npe vell. And ve must discuss it as little as po-o-ossible\"... he dwelt\r\nparticularly on the word possible... \"as po-o-ossible,\" he ended, again\r\nturning to the count. \"Zat is how ve old hussars look at it, and zere's\r\nan end of it! And how do you, a young man and a young hussar, how do you\r\njudge of it?\" he added, addressing Nicholas, who when he heard that the\r\nwar was being discussed had turned from his partner with eyes and ears\r\nintent on the colonel.\r\n\r\n\"I am quite of your opinion,\" replied Nicholas, flaming up, turning his\r\nplate round and moving his wineglasses about with as much decision and\r\ndesperation as though he were at that moment facing some great danger.\r\n\"I am convinced that we Russians must die or conquer,\" he concluded,\r\nconscious--as were others--after the words were uttered that his remarks\r\nwere too enthusiastic and emphatic for the occasion and were therefore\r\nawkward.\r\n\r\n\"What you said just now was splendid!\" said his partner Julie.\r\n\r\nSonya trembled all over and blushed to her ears and behind them and down\r\nto her neck and shoulders while Nicholas was speaking.\r\n\r\nPierre listened to the colonel's speech and nodded approvingly.\r\n\r\n\"That's fine,\" said he.\r\n\r\n\"The young man's a real hussar!\" shouted the colonel, again thumping the\r\ntable.\r\n\r\n\"What are you making such a noise about over there?\" Marya Dmitrievna's\r\ndeep voice suddenly inquired from the other end of the table. \"What are\r\nyou thumping the table for?\" she demanded of the hussar, \"and why are\r\nyou exciting yourself? Do you think the French are here?\"\r\n\r\n\"I am speaking ze truce,\" replied the hussar with a smile.\r\n\r\n\"It's all about the war,\" the count shouted down the table. \"You know my\r\nson's going, Marya Dmitrievna? My son is going.\"\r\n\r\n\"I have four sons in the army but still I don't fret. It is all in\r\nGod's hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you in a battle,\"\r\nreplied Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice, which easily carried the whole\r\nlength of the table.\r\n\r\n\"That's true!\"\r\n\r\nOnce more the conversations concentrated, the ladies' at the one end and\r\nthe men's at the other.\r\n\r\n\"You won't ask,\" Natasha's little brother was saying; \"I know you won't\r\nask!\"\r\n\r\n\"I will,\" replied Natasha.\r\n\r\nHer face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half\r\nrose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what\r\nwas coming, and turning to her mother:\r\n\r\n\"Mamma!\" rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish voice,\r\naudible the whole length of the table.\r\n\r\n\"What is it?\" asked the countess, startled; but seeing by her daughter's\r\nface that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at her sternly with a\r\nthreatening and forbidding movement of her head.\r\n\r\nThe conversation was hushed.\r\n\r\n\"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?\" and Natasha's voice sounded\r\nstill more firm and resolute.\r\n\r\nThe countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitrievna shook her\r\nfat finger.\r\n\r\n\"Cossack!\" she said threateningly.\r\n\r\nMost of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at the\r\nelders.\r\n\r\n\"You had better take care!\" said the countess.\r\n\r\n\"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?\" Natasha again cried boldly,\r\nwith saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be taken in good part.\r\n\r\nSonya and fat little Petya doubled up with laughter.\r\n\r\n\"You see! I have asked,\" whispered Natasha to her little brother and to\r\nPierre, glancing at him again.\r\n\r\n\"Ice pudding, but you won't get any,\" said Marya Dmitrievna.\r\n\r\nNatasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of and so she braved even\r\nMarya Dmitrievna.\r\n\r\n\"Marya Dmitrievna! What kind of ice pudding? I don't like ice cream.\"\r\n\r\n\"Carrot ices.\"\r\n\r\n\"No! What kind, Marya Dmitrievna? What kind?\" she almost screamed; \"I\r\nwant to know!\"\r\n\r\nMarya Dmitrievna and the countess burst out laughing, and all the guests\r\njoined in. Everyone laughed, not at Marya Dmitrievna's answer but at the\r\nincredible boldness and smartness of this little girl who had dared to\r\ntreat Marya Dmitrievna in this fashion.\r\n\r\nNatasha only desisted when she had been told that there would be\r\npineapple ice. Before the ices, champagne was served round. The band\r\nagain struck up, the count and countess kissed, and the guests, leaving\r\ntheir seats, went up to \"congratulate\" the countess, and reached across\r\nthe table to clink glasses with the count, with the children, and with\r\none another. Again the footmen rushed about, chairs scraped, and in the\r\nsame order in which they had entered but with redder faces, the guests\r\nreturned to the drawing room and to the count's study.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XX\r\n\r\n\r\nThe card tables were drawn out, sets made up for boston, and the count's\r\nvisitors settled themselves, some in the two drawing rooms, some in the\r\nsitting room, some in the library.\r\n\r\nThe count, holding his cards fanwise, kept himself with difficulty from\r\ndropping into his usual after-dinner nap, and laughed at everything.\r\nThe young people, at the countess' instigation, gathered round the\r\nclavichord and harp. Julie by general request played first. After she\r\nhad played a little air with variations on the harp, she joined the\r\nother young ladies in begging Natasha and Nicholas, who were noted for\r\ntheir musical talent, to sing something. Natasha, who was treated as\r\nthough she were grown up, was evidently very proud of this but at the\r\nsame time felt shy.\r\n\r\n\"What shall we sing?\" she said.\r\n\r\n\"'The Brook,'\" suggested Nicholas.\r\n\r\n\"Well, then, let's be quick. Boris, come here,\" said Natasha. \"But where\r\nis Sonya?\"\r\n\r\nShe looked round and seeing that her friend was not in the room ran to\r\nlook for her.\r\n\r\nRunning into Sonya's room and not finding her there, Natasha ran to the\r\nnursery, but Sonya was not there either. Natasha concluded that she must\r\nbe on the chest in the passage. The chest in the passage was the place\r\nof mourning for the younger female generation in the Rostov household.\r\nAnd there in fact was Sonya lying face downward on Nurse's dirty feather\r\nbed on the top of the chest, crumpling her gauzy pink dress under her,\r\nhiding her face with her slender fingers, and sobbing so convulsively\r\nthat her bare little shoulders shook. Natasha's face, which had been so\r\nradiantly happy all that saint's day, suddenly changed: her eyes became\r\nfixed, and then a shiver passed down her broad neck and the corners of\r\nher mouth drooped.\r\n\r\n\"Sonya! What is it? What is the matter?... Oo... Oo... Oo...!\" And\r\nNatasha's large mouth widened, making her look quite ugly, and she began\r\nto wail like a baby without knowing why, except that Sonya was crying.\r\nSonya tried to lift her head to answer but could not, and hid her face\r\nstill deeper in the bed. Natasha wept, sitting on the blue-striped\r\nfeather bed and hugging her friend. With an effort Sonya sat up and\r\nbegan wiping her eyes and explaining.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas is going away in a week's time, his... papers... have come...\r\nhe told me himself... but still I should not cry,\" and she showed\r\na paper she held in her hand--with the verses Nicholas had written,\r\n\"still, I should not cry, but you can't... no one can understand... what\r\na soul he has!\"\r\n\r\nAnd she began to cry again because he had such a noble soul.\r\n\r\n\"It's all very well for you... I am not envious... I love you and Boris\r\nalso,\" she went on, gaining a little strength; \"he is nice... there are\r\nno difficulties in your way.... But Nicholas is my cousin... one would\r\nhave to... the Metropolitan himself... and even then it can't be done.\r\nAnd besides, if she tells Mamma\" (Sonya looked upon the countess as her\r\nmother and called her so) \"that I am spoiling Nicholas' career and am\r\nheartless and ungrateful, while truly... God is my witness,\" and she\r\nmade the sign of the cross, \"I love her so much, and all of you, only\r\nVera... And what for? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you\r\nthat I would willingly sacrifice everything, only I have nothing....\"\r\n\r\nSonya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and in the\r\nfeather bed. Natasha began consoling her, but her face showed that she\r\nunderstood all the gravity of her friend's trouble.\r\n\r\n\"Sonya,\" she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the true reason\r\nof her friend's sorrow, \"I'm sure Vera has said something to you since\r\ndinner? Hasn't she?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, these verses Nicholas wrote himself and I copied some others, and\r\nshe found them on my table and said she'd show them to Mamma, and that\r\nI was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry me,\r\nbut that he'll marry Julie. You see how he's been with her all day...\r\nNatasha, what have I done to deserve it?...\"\r\n\r\nAnd again she began to sob, more bitterly than before. Natasha lifted\r\nher up, hugged her, and, smiling through her tears, began comforting\r\nher.\r\n\r\n\"Sonya, don't believe her, darling! Don't believe her! Do you remember\r\nhow we and Nicholas, all three of us, talked in the sitting room after\r\nsupper? Why, we settled how everything was to be. I don't quite remember\r\nhow, but don't you remember that it could all be arranged and how nice\r\nit all was? There's Uncle Shinshin's brother has married his first\r\ncousin. And we are only second cousins, you know. And Boris says it\r\nis quite possible. You know I have told him all about it. And he is so\r\nclever and so good!\" said Natasha. \"Don't you cry, Sonya, dear love,\r\ndarling Sonya!\" and she kissed her and laughed. \"Vera's spiteful; never\r\nmind her! And all will come right and she won't say anything to Mamma.\r\nNicholas will tell her himself, and he doesn't care at all for Julie.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha kissed her on the hair.\r\n\r\nSonya sat up. The little kitten brightened, its eyes shone, and it\r\nseemed ready to lift its tail, jump down on its soft paws, and begin\r\nplaying with the ball of worsted as a kitten should.\r\n\r\n\"Do you think so?... Really? Truly?\" she said, quickly smoothing her\r\nfrock and hair.\r\n\r\n\"Really, truly!\" answered Natasha, pushing in a crisp lock that had\r\nstrayed from under her friend's plaits.\r\n\r\nBoth laughed.\r\n\r\n\"Well, let's go and sing 'The Brook.'\"\r\n\r\n\"Come along!\"\r\n\r\n\"Do you know, that fat Pierre who sat opposite me is so funny!\" said\r\nNatasha, stopping suddenly. \"I feel so happy!\"\r\n\r\nAnd she set off at a run along the passage.\r\n\r\nSonya, shaking off some down which clung to her and tucking away the\r\nverses in the bosom of her dress close to her bony little chest, ran\r\nafter Natasha down the passage into the sitting room with flushed face\r\nand light, joyous steps. At the visitors' request the young people sang\r\nthe quartette, \"The Brook,\" with which everyone was delighted. Then\r\nNicholas sang a song he had just learned:\r\n\r\n\r\n   At nighttime in the moon's fair glow\r\n     How sweet, as fancies wander free,\r\n   To feel that in this world there's one\r\n     Who still is thinking but of thee!\r\n\r\n   That while her fingers touch the harp\r\n     Wafting sweet music o'er the lea,\r\n   It is for thee thus swells her heart,\r\n     Sighing its message out to thee...\r\n\r\n   A day or two, then bliss unspoilt,\r\n     But oh! till then I cannot live!...\r\n\r\n\r\nHe had not finished the last verse before the young people began to\r\nget ready to dance in the large hall, and the sound of the feet and the\r\ncoughing of the musicians were heard from the gallery.\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre was sitting in the drawing-room where Shinshin had engaged him,\r\nas a man recently returned from abroad, in a political conversation in\r\nwhich several others joined but which bored Pierre. When the music began\r\nNatasha came in and walking straight up to Pierre said, laughing and\r\nblushing:\r\n\r\n\"Mamma told me to ask you to join the dancers.\"\r\n\r\n\"I am afraid of mixing the figures,\" Pierre replied; \"but if you will\r\nbe my teacher...\" And lowering his big arm he offered it to the slender\r\nlittle girl.\r\n\r\nWhile the couples were arranging themselves and the musicians tuning up,\r\nPierre sat down with his little partner. Natasha was perfectly happy;\r\nshe was dancing with a grown-up man, who had been abroad. She was\r\nsitting in a conspicuous place and talking to him like a grown-up lady.\r\nShe had a fan in her hand that one of the ladies had given her to hold.\r\nAssuming quite the pose of a society woman (heaven knows when and where\r\nshe had learned it) she talked with her partner, fanning herself and\r\nsmiling over the fan.\r\n\r\n\"Dear, dear! Just look at her!\" exclaimed the countess as she crossed\r\nthe ballroom, pointing to Natasha.\r\n\r\nNatasha blushed and laughed.\r\n\r\n\"Well, really, Mamma! Why should you? What is there to be surprised at?\"\r\n\r\n\r\nIn the midst of the third ecossaise there was a clatter of chairs being\r\npushed back in the sitting room where the count and Marya Dmitrievna had\r\nbeen playing cards with the majority of the more distinguished and older\r\nvisitors. They now, stretching themselves after sitting so long, and\r\nreplacing their purses and pocketbooks, entered the ballroom. First came\r\nMarya Dmitrievna and the count, both with merry countenances. The count,\r\nwith playful ceremony somewhat in ballet style, offered his bent arm to\r\nMarya Dmitrievna. He drew himself up, a smile of debonair gallantry lit\r\nup his face and as soon as the last figure of the ecossaise was ended,\r\nhe clapped his hands to the musicians and shouted up to their gallery,\r\naddressing the first violin:\r\n\r\n\"Semen! Do you know the Daniel Cooper?\"\r\n\r\nThis was the count's favorite dance, which he had danced in his youth.\r\n(Strictly speaking, Daniel Cooper was one figure of the anglaise.)\r\n\r\n\"Look at Papa!\" shouted Natasha to the whole company, and quite\r\nforgetting that she was dancing with a grown-up partner she bent her\r\ncurly head to her knees and made the whole room ring with her laughter.\r\n\r\nAnd indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the\r\njovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stout partner,\r\nMarya Dmitrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightened his\r\nshoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, by\r\na smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared the\r\nonlookers for what was to follow. As soon as the provocatively gay\r\nstrains of Daniel Cooper (somewhat resembling those of a merry peasant\r\ndance) began to sound, all the doorways of the ballroom were suddenly\r\nfilled by the domestic serfs--the men on one side and the women on the\r\nother--who with beaming faces had come to see their master making merry.\r\n\r\n\"Just look at the master! A regular eagle he is!\" loudly remarked the\r\nnurse, as she stood in one of the doorways.\r\n\r\nThe count danced well and knew it. But his partner could not and did not\r\nwant to dance well. Her enormous figure stood erect, her powerful arms\r\nhanging down (she had handed her reticule to the countess), and only her\r\nstern but handsome face really joined in the dance. What was expressed\r\nby the whole of the count's plump figure, in Marya Dmitrievna found\r\nexpression only in her more and more beaming face and quivering nose.\r\nBut if the count, getting more and more into the swing of it, charmed\r\nthe spectators by the unexpectedness of his adroit maneuvers and the\r\nagility with which he capered about on his light feet, Marya Dmitrievna\r\nproduced no less impression by slight exertions--the least effort\r\nto move her shoulders or bend her arms when turning, or stamp her\r\nfoot--which everyone appreciated in view of her size and habitual\r\nseverity. The dance grew livelier and livelier. The other couples could\r\nnot attract a moment's attention to their own evolutions and did not\r\neven try to do so. All were watching the count and Marya Dmitrievna.\r\nNatasha kept pulling everyone by sleeve or dress, urging them to \"look\r\nat Papa!\" though as it was they never took their eyes off the couple.\r\nIn the intervals of the dance the count, breathing deeply, waved and\r\nshouted to the musicians to play faster. Faster, faster, and faster;\r\nlightly, more lightly, and yet more lightly whirled the count, flying\r\nround Marya Dmitrievna, now on his toes, now on his heels; until,\r\nturning his partner round to her seat, he executed the final pas,\r\nraising his soft foot backwards, bowing his perspiring head, smiling\r\nand making a wide sweep with his arm, amid a thunder of applause and\r\nlaughter led by Natasha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily\r\nand wiping their faces with their cambric handkerchiefs.\r\n\r\n\"That's how we used to dance in our time, ma chere,\" said the count.\r\n\r\n\"That was a Daniel Cooper!\" exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna, tucking up her\r\nsleeves and puffing heavily.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXI\r\n\r\n\r\nWhile in the Rostovs' ballroom the sixth anglaise was being danced, to a\r\ntune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while tired footmen and\r\ncooks were getting the supper, Count Bezukhov had a sixth stroke.\r\nThe doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After a mute confession,\r\ncommunion was administered to the dying man, preparations made for the\r\nsacrament of unction, and in his house there was the bustle and thrill\r\nof suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house, beyond the gates,\r\na group of undertakers, who hid whenever a carriage drove up, waited in\r\nexpectation of an important order for an expensive funeral. The Military\r\nGovernor of Moscow, who had been assiduous in sending aides-de-camp to\r\ninquire after the count's health, came himself that evening to bid a\r\nlast farewell to the celebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count\r\nBezukhov.\r\n\r\nThe magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood up\r\nrespectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half an\r\nhour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledging their\r\nbows and trying to escape as quickly as possible from the glances fixed\r\non him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. Prince\r\nVasili, who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days,\r\nescorted him to the door, repeating something to him several times in\r\nlow tones.\r\n\r\nWhen the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down all alone on\r\na chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning\r\nhis elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand. After sitting\r\nso for a while he rose, and, looking about him with frightened eyes,\r\nwent with unusually hurried steps down the long corridor leading to the\r\nback of the house, to the room of the eldest princess.\r\n\r\nThose who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous\r\nwhispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dying man's\r\nroom, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity or expectancy at\r\nhis door, which creaked slightly when opened.\r\n\r\n\"The limits of human life... are fixed and may not be o'erpassed,\"\r\nsaid an old priest to a lady who had taken a seat beside him and was\r\nlistening naively to his words.\r\n\r\n\"I wonder, is it not too late to administer unction?\" asked the lady,\r\nadding the priest's clerical title, as if she had no opinion of her own\r\non the subject.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, madam, it is a great sacrament,\" replied the priest, passing his\r\nhand over the thin grizzled strands of hair combed back across his bald\r\nhead.\r\n\r\n\"Who was that? The Military Governor himself?\" was being asked at the\r\nother side of the room. \"How young-looking he is!\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, and he is over sixty. I hear the count no longer recognizes\r\nanyone. They wished to administer the sacrament of unction.\"\r\n\r\n\"I knew someone who received that sacrament seven times.\"\r\n\r\nThe second princess had just come from the sickroom with her eyes red\r\nfrom weeping and sat down beside Dr. Lorrain, who was sitting in a\r\ngraceful pose under a portrait of Catherine, leaning his elbow on a\r\ntable.\r\n\r\n\"Beautiful,\" said the doctor in answer to a remark about the weather.\r\n\"The weather is beautiful, Princess; and besides, in Moscow one feels as\r\nif one were in the country.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, indeed,\" replied the princess with a sigh. \"So he may have\r\nsomething to drink?\"\r\n\r\nLorrain considered.\r\n\r\n\"Has he taken his medicine?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes.\"\r\n\r\nThe doctor glanced at his watch.\r\n\r\n\"Take a glass of boiled water and put a pinch of cream of tartar,\" and\r\nhe indicated with his delicate fingers what he meant by a pinch.\r\n\r\n\"Dere has neffer been a gase,\" a German doctor was saying to an\r\naide-de-camp, \"dat one liffs after de sird stroke.\"\r\n\r\n\"And what a well-preserved man he was!\" remarked the aide-de-camp. \"And\r\nwho will inherit his wealth?\" he added in a whisper.\r\n\r\n\"It von't go begging,\" replied the German with a smile.\r\n\r\nEveryone again looked toward the door, which creaked as the second\r\nprincess went in with the drink she had prepared according to Lorrain's\r\ninstructions. The German doctor went up to Lorrain.\r\n\r\n\"Do you think he can last till morning?\" asked the German, addressing\r\nLorrain in French which he pronounced badly.\r\n\r\nLorrain, pursing up his lips, waved a severely negative finger before\r\nhis nose.\r\n\r\n\"Tonight, not later,\" said he in a low voice, and he moved away with a\r\ndecorous smile of self-satisfaction at being able clearly to understand\r\nand state the patient's condition.\r\n\r\n\r\nMeanwhile Prince Vasili had opened the door into the princess' room.\r\n\r\nIn this room it was almost dark; only two tiny lamps were burning before\r\nthe icons and there was a pleasant scent of flowers and burnt pastilles.\r\nThe room was crowded with small pieces of furniture, whatnots,\r\ncupboards, and little tables. The quilt of a high, white feather bed was\r\njust visible behind a screen. A small dog began to bark.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, is it you, cousin?\"\r\n\r\nShe rose and smoothed her hair, which was as usual so extremely smooth\r\nthat it seemed to be made of one piece with her head and covered with\r\nvarnish.\r\n\r\n\"Has anything happened?\" she asked. \"I am so terrified.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, there is no change. I only came to have a talk about business,\r\nCatiche,\" * muttered the prince, seating himself wearily on the chair\r\nshe had just vacated. \"You have made the place warm, I must say,\" he\r\nremarked. \"Well, sit down: let's have a talk.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     *Catherine.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"I thought perhaps something had happened,\" she said with her unchanging\r\nstonily severe expression; and, sitting down opposite the prince, she\r\nprepared to listen.\r\n\r\n\"I wished to get a nap, mon cousin, but I can't.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, my dear?\" said Prince Vasili, taking her hand and bending it\r\ndownwards as was his habit.\r\n\r\nIt was plain that this \"well?\" referred to much that they both\r\nunderstood without naming.\r\n\r\nThe princess, who had a straight, rigid body, abnormally long for her\r\nlegs, looked directly at Prince Vasili with no sign of emotion in her\r\nprominent gray eyes. Then she shook her head and glanced up at the icons\r\nwith a sigh. This might have been taken as an expression of sorrow and\r\ndevotion, or of weariness and hope of resting before long. Prince Vasili\r\nunderstood it as an expression of weariness.\r\n\r\n\"And I?\" he said; \"do you think it is easier for me? I am as worn out\r\nas a post horse, but still I must have a talk with you, Catiche, a very\r\nserious talk.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili said no more and his cheeks began to twitch nervously, now\r\non one side, now on the other, giving his face an unpleasant expression\r\nwhich was never to be seen on it in a drawing room. His eyes too seemed\r\nstrange; at one moment they looked impudently sly and at the next\r\nglanced round in alarm.\r\n\r\nThe princess, holding her little dog on her lap with her thin bony\r\nhands, looked attentively into Prince Vasili's eyes evidently resolved\r\nnot to be the first to break silence, if she had to wait till morning.\r\n\r\n\"Well, you see, my dear princess and cousin, Catherine Semenovna,\"\r\ncontinued Prince Vasili, returning to his theme, apparently not\r\nwithout an inner struggle; \"at such a moment as this one must think of\r\neverything. One must think of the future, of all of you... I love you\r\nall, like children of my own, as you know.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess continued to look at him without moving, and with the same\r\ndull expression.\r\n\r\n\"And then of course my family has also to be considered,\" Prince Vasili\r\nwent on, testily pushing away a little table without looking at her.\r\n\"You know, Catiche, that we--you three sisters, Mamontov, and my\r\nwife--are the count's only direct heirs. I know, I know how hard it is\r\nfor you to talk or think of such matters. It is no easier for me; but,\r\nmy dear, I am getting on for sixty and must be prepared for anything. Do\r\nyou know I have sent for Pierre? The count,\" pointing to his portrait,\r\n\"definitely demanded that he should be called.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili looked questioningly at the princess, but could not make\r\nout whether she was considering what he had just said or whether she was\r\nsimply looking at him.\r\n\r\n\"There is one thing I constantly pray God to grant, mon cousin,\" she\r\nreplied, \"and it is that He would be merciful to him and would allow his\r\nnoble soul peacefully to leave this...\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes, of course,\" interrupted Prince Vasili impatiently, rubbing\r\nhis bald head and angrily pulling back toward him the little table that\r\nhe had pushed away. \"But... in short, the fact is... you know yourself\r\nthat last winter the count made a will by which he left all his\r\nproperty, not to us his direct heirs, but to Pierre.\"\r\n\r\n\"He has made wills enough!\" quietly remarked the princess. \"But he\r\ncannot leave the estate to Pierre. Pierre is illegitimate.\"\r\n\r\n\"But, my dear,\" said Prince Vasili suddenly, clutching the little table\r\nand becoming more animated and talking more rapidly: \"what if a letter\r\nhas been written to the Emperor in which the count asks for Pierre's\r\nlegitimation? Do you understand that in consideration of the count's\r\nservices, his request would be granted?...\"\r\n\r\nThe princess smiled as people do who think they know more about the\r\nsubject under discussion than those they are talking with.\r\n\r\n\"I can tell you more,\" continued Prince Vasili, seizing her hand, \"that\r\nletter was written, though it was not sent, and the Emperor knew of it.\r\nThe only question is, has it been destroyed or not? If not, then as soon\r\nas all is over,\" and Prince Vasili sighed to intimate what he meant by\r\nthe words all is over, \"and the count's papers are opened, the will and\r\nletter will be delivered to the Emperor, and the petition will certainly\r\nbe granted. Pierre will get everything as the legitimate son.\"\r\n\r\n\"And our share?\" asked the princess smiling ironically, as if anything\r\nmight happen, only not that.\r\n\r\n\"But, my poor Catiche, it is as clear as daylight! He will then be the\r\nlegal heir to everything and you won't get anything. You must know, my\r\ndear, whether the will and letter were written, and whether they have\r\nbeen destroyed or not. And if they have somehow been overlooked, you\r\nought to know where they are, and must find them, because...\"\r\n\r\n\"What next?\" the princess interrupted, smiling sardonically and not\r\nchanging the expression of her eyes. \"I am a woman, and you think we are\r\nall stupid; but I know this: an illegitimate son cannot inherit... un\r\nbatard!\" * she added, as if supposing that this translation of the\r\nword would effectively prove to Prince Vasili the invalidity of his\r\ncontention.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * A bastard.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Well, really, Catiche! Can't you understand! You are so intelligent,\r\nhow is it you don't see that if the count has written a letter to the\r\nEmperor begging him to recognize Pierre as legitimate, it follows that\r\nPierre will not be Pierre but will become Count Bezukhov, and will then\r\ninherit everything under the will? And if the will and letter are not\r\ndestroyed, then you will have nothing but the consolation of having been\r\ndutiful et tout ce qui s'ensuit! * That's certain.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * And all that follows therefrom.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"I know the will was made, but I also know that it is invalid; and you,\r\nmon cousin, seem to consider me a perfect fool,\" said the princess with\r\nthe expression women assume when they suppose they are saying something\r\nwitty and stinging.\r\n\r\n\"My dear Princess Catherine Semenovna,\" began Prince Vasili impatiently,\r\n\"I came here not to wrangle with you, but to talk about your interests\r\nas with a kinswoman, a good, kind, true relation. And I tell you for the\r\ntenth time that if the letter to the Emperor and the will in Pierre's\r\nfavor are among the count's papers, then, my dear girl, you and your\r\nsisters are not heiresses! If you don't believe me, then believe\r\nan expert. I have just been talking to Dmitri Onufrich\" (the family\r\nsolicitor) \"and he says the same.\"\r\n\r\nAt this a sudden change evidently took place in the princess' ideas; her\r\nthin lips grew white, though her eyes did not change, and her voice\r\nwhen she began to speak passed through such transitions as she herself\r\nevidently did not expect.\r\n\r\n\"That would be a fine thing!\" said she. \"I never wanted anything and I\r\ndon't now.\"\r\n\r\nShe pushed the little dog off her lap and smoothed her dress.\r\n\r\n\"And this is gratitude--this is recognition for those who have\r\nsacrificed everything for his sake!\" she cried. \"It's splendid! Fine! I\r\ndon't want anything, Prince.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, but you are not the only one. There are your sisters...\" replied\r\nPrince Vasili.\r\n\r\nBut the princess did not listen to him.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I knew it long ago but had forgotten. I knew that I could expect\r\nnothing but meanness, deceit, envy, intrigue, and ingratitude--the\r\nblackest ingratitude--in this house...\"\r\n\r\n\"Do you or do you not know where that will is?\" insisted Prince Vasili,\r\nhis cheeks twitching more than ever.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I was a fool! I still believed in people, loved them, and\r\nsacrificed myself. But only the base, the vile succeed! I know who has\r\nbeen intriguing!\"\r\n\r\nThe princess wished to rise, but the prince held her by the hand. She\r\nhad the air of one who has suddenly lost faith in the whole human race.\r\nShe gave her companion an angry glance.\r\n\r\n\"There is still time, my dear. You must remember, Catiche, that it was\r\nall done casually in a moment of anger, of illness, and was afterwards\r\nforgotten. Our duty, my dear, is to rectify his mistake, to ease his\r\nlast moments by not letting him commit this injustice, and not to let\r\nhim die feeling that he is rendering unhappy those who...\"\r\n\r\n\"Who sacrificed everything for him,\" chimed in the princess, who would\r\nagain have risen had not the prince still held her fast, \"though he\r\nnever could appreciate it. No, mon cousin,\" she added with a sigh, \"I\r\nshall always remember that in this world one must expect no reward, that\r\nin this world there is neither honor nor justice. In this world one has\r\nto be cunning and cruel.\"\r\n\r\n\"Now come, come! Be reasonable. I know your excellent heart.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, I have a wicked heart.\"\r\n\r\n\"I know your heart,\" repeated the prince. \"I value your friendship and\r\nwish you to have as good an opinion of me. Don't upset yourself, and let\r\nus talk sensibly while there is still time, be it a day or be it but an\r\nhour.... Tell me all you know about the will, and above all where it is.\r\nYou must know. We will take it at once and show it to the count. He has,\r\nno doubt, forgotten it and will wish to destroy it. You understand that\r\nmy sole desire is conscientiously to carry out his wishes; that is my\r\nonly reason for being here. I came simply to help him and you.\"\r\n\r\n\"Now I see it all! I know who has been intriguing--I know!\" cried the\r\nprincess.\r\n\r\n\"That's not the point, my dear.\"\r\n\r\n\"It's that protege of yours, that sweet Princess Drubetskaya, that Anna\r\nMikhaylovna whom I would not take for a housemaid... the infamous, vile\r\nwoman!\"\r\n\r\n\"Do not let us lose any time...\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, don't talk to me! Last winter she wheedled herself in here and\r\ntold the count such vile, disgraceful things about us, especially about\r\nSophie--I can't repeat them--that it made the count quite ill and he\r\nwould not see us for a whole fortnight. I know it was then he wrote this\r\nvile, infamous paper, but I thought the thing was invalid.\"\r\n\r\n\"We've got to it at last--why did you not tell me about it sooner?\"\r\n\r\n\"It's in the inlaid portfolio that he keeps under his pillow,\" said the\r\nprincess, ignoring his question. \"Now I know! Yes; if I have a sin,\r\na great sin, it is hatred of that vile woman!\" almost shrieked the\r\nprincess, now quite changed. \"And what does she come worming herself in\r\nhere for? But I will give her a piece of my mind. The time will come!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXII\r\n\r\n\r\nWhile these conversations were going on in the reception room and the\r\nprincess' room, a carriage containing Pierre (who had been sent for) and\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna (who found it necessary to accompany him) was driving\r\ninto the court of Count Bezukhov's house. As the wheels rolled softly\r\nover the straw beneath the windows, Anna Mikhaylovna, having turned with\r\nwords of comfort to her companion, realized that he was asleep in\r\nhis corner and woke him up. Rousing himself, Pierre followed Anna\r\nMikhaylovna out of the carriage, and only then began to think of the\r\ninterview with his dying father which awaited him. He noticed that they\r\nhad not come to the front entrance but to the back door. While he\r\nwas getting down from the carriage steps two men, who looked like\r\ntradespeople, ran hurriedly from the entrance and hid in the shadow of\r\nthe wall. Pausing for a moment, Pierre noticed several other men of the\r\nsame kind hiding in the shadow of the house on both sides. But neither\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna nor the footman nor the coachman, who could not help\r\nseeing these people, took any notice of them. \"It seems to be all\r\nright,\" Pierre concluded, and followed Anna Mikhaylovna. She hurriedly\r\nascended the narrow dimly lit stone staircase, calling to Pierre,\r\nwho was lagging behind, to follow. Though he did not see why it was\r\nnecessary for him to go to the count at all, still less why he had to go\r\nby the back stairs, yet judging by Anna Mikhaylovna's air of assurance\r\nand haste, Pierre concluded that it was all absolutely necessary.\r\nHalfway up the stairs they were almost knocked over by some men who,\r\ncarrying pails, came running downstairs, their boots clattering. These\r\nmen pressed close to the wall to let Pierre and Anna Mikhaylovna pass\r\nand did not evince the least surprise at seeing them there.\r\n\r\n\"Is this the way to the princesses' apartments?\" asked Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nof one of them.\r\n\r\n\"Yes,\" replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything were now\r\npermissible; \"the door to the left, ma'am.\"\r\n\r\n\"Perhaps the count did not ask for me,\" said Pierre when he reached the\r\nlanding. \"I'd better go to my own room.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for him to come up.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my friend!\" she said, touching his arm as she had done her son's\r\nwhen speaking to him that afternoon, \"believe me I suffer no less than\r\nyou do, but be a man!\"\r\n\r\n\"But really, hadn't I better go away?\" he asked, looking kindly at her\r\nover his spectacles.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been done you.\r\nThink that he is your father... perhaps in the agony of death.\" She\r\nsighed. \"I have loved you like a son from the first. Trust yourself to\r\nme, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests.\"\r\n\r\nPierre did not understand a word, but the conviction that all this had\r\nto be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna Mikhaylovna who was\r\nalready opening a door.\r\n\r\nThis door led into a back anteroom. An old man, a servant of the\r\nprincesses, sat in a corner knitting a stocking. Pierre had never been\r\nin this part of the house and did not even know of the existence of\r\nthese rooms. Anna Mikhaylovna, addressing a maid who was hurrying past\r\nwith a decanter on a tray as \"my dear\" and \"my sweet,\" asked about the\r\nprincess' health and then led Pierre along a stone passage. The first\r\ndoor on the left led into the princesses' apartments. The maid with the\r\ndecanter in her haste had not closed the door (everything in the house\r\nwas done in haste at that time), and Pierre and Anna Mikhaylovna in\r\npassing instinctively glanced into the room, where Prince Vasili and the\r\neldest princess were sitting close together talking. Seeing them pass,\r\nPrince Vasili drew back with obvious impatience, while the princess\r\njumped up and with a gesture of desperation slammed the door with all\r\nher might.\r\n\r\nThis action was so unlike her usual composure and the fear depicted\r\non Prince Vasili's face so out of keeping with his dignity that Pierre\r\nstopped and glanced inquiringly over his spectacles at his guide. Anna\r\nMikhaylovna evinced no surprise, she only smiled faintly and sighed, as\r\nif to say that this was no more than she had expected.\r\n\r\n\"Be a man, my friend. I will look after your interests,\" said she in\r\nreply to his look, and went still faster along the passage.\r\n\r\nPierre could not make out what it was all about, and still less what\r\n\"watching over his interests\" meant, but he decided that all these\r\nthings had to be. From the passage they went into a large, dimly lit\r\nroom adjoining the count's reception room. It was one of those sumptuous\r\nbut cold apartments known to Pierre only from the front approach, but\r\neven in this room there now stood an empty bath, and water had been\r\nspilled on the carpet. They were met by a deacon with a censer and by\r\na servant who passed out on tiptoe without heeding them. They went into\r\nthe reception room familiar to Pierre, with two Italian windows opening\r\ninto the conservatory, with its large bust and full length portrait of\r\nCatherine the Great. The same people were still sitting here in almost\r\nthe same positions as before, whispering to one another. All became\r\nsilent and turned to look at the pale tear-worn Anna Mikhaylovna as she\r\nentered, and at the big stout figure of Pierre who, hanging his head,\r\nmeekly followed her.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna's face expressed a consciousness that the decisive\r\nmoment had arrived. With the air of a practical Petersburg lady she now,\r\nkeeping Pierre close beside her, entered the room even more boldly than\r\nthat afternoon. She felt that as she brought with her the person the\r\ndying man wished to see, her own admission was assured. Casting a rapid\r\nglance at all those in the room and noticing the count's confessor\r\nthere, she glided up to him with a sort of amble, not exactly bowing yet\r\nseeming to grow suddenly smaller, and respectfully received the blessing\r\nfirst of one and then of another priest.\r\n\r\n\"God be thanked that you are in time,\" said she to one of the priests;\r\n\"all we relatives have been in such anxiety. This young man is the\r\ncount's son,\" she added more softly. \"What a terrible moment!\"\r\n\r\nHaving said this she went up to the doctor.\r\n\r\n\"Dear doctor,\" said she, \"this young man is the count's son. Is there\r\nany hope?\"\r\n\r\nThe doctor cast a rapid glance upwards and silently shrugged his\r\nshoulders. Anna Mikhaylovna with just the same movement raised her\r\nshoulders and eyes, almost closing the latter, sighed, and moved away\r\nfrom the doctor to Pierre. To him, in a particularly respectful and\r\ntenderly sad voice, she said:\r\n\r\n\"Trust in His mercy!\" and pointing out a small sofa for him to sit\r\nand wait for her, she went silently toward the door that everyone was\r\nwatching and it creaked very slightly as she disappeared behind it.\r\n\r\nPierre, having made up his mind to obey his monitress implicitly, moved\r\ntoward the sofa she had indicated. As soon as Anna Mikhaylovna had\r\ndisappeared he noticed that the eyes of all in the room turned to him\r\nwith something more than curiosity and sympathy. He noticed that they\r\nwhispered to one another, casting significant looks at him with a kind\r\nof awe and even servility. A deference such as he had never before\r\nreceived was shown him. A strange lady, the one who had been talking to\r\nthe priests, rose and offered him her seat; an aide-de-camp picked up\r\nand returned a glove Pierre had dropped; the doctors became respectfully\r\nsilent as he passed by, and moved to make way for him. At first Pierre\r\nwished to take another seat so as not to trouble the lady, and also to\r\npick up the glove himself and to pass round the doctors who were not\r\neven in his way; but all at once he felt that this would not do, and\r\nthat tonight he was a person obliged to perform some sort of awful\r\nrite which everyone expected of him, and that he was therefore bound\r\nto accept their services. He took the glove in silence from the\r\naide-de-camp, and sat down in the lady's chair, placing his huge hands\r\nsymmetrically on his knees in the naive attitude of an Egyptian statue,\r\nand decided in his own mind that all was as it should be, and that in\r\norder not to lose his head and do foolish things he must not act on his\r\nown ideas tonight, but must yield himself up entirely to the will of\r\nthose who were guiding him.\r\n\r\nNot two minutes had passed before Prince Vasili with head erect\r\nmajestically entered the room. He was wearing his long coat with three\r\nstars on his breast. He seemed to have grown thinner since the morning;\r\nhis eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round and noticed\r\nPierre. He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he never used to do),\r\nand drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain whether it was firmly\r\nfixed on.\r\n\r\n\"Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you. That is well!\"\r\nand he turned to go.\r\n\r\nBut Pierre thought it necessary to ask: \"How is...\" and hesitated, not\r\nknowing whether it would be proper to call the dying man \"the count,\"\r\nyet ashamed to call him \"father.\"\r\n\r\n\"He had another stroke about half an hour ago. Courage, my friend...\"\r\n\r\nPierre's mind was in such a confused state that the word \"stroke\"\r\nsuggested to him a blow from something. He looked at Prince Vasili\r\nin perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an attack of\r\nillness. Prince Vasili said something to Lorrain in passing and went\r\nthrough the door on tiptoe. He could not walk well on tiptoe and his\r\nwhole body jerked at each step. The eldest princess followed him, and\r\nthe priests and deacons and some servants also went in at the door.\r\nThrough that door was heard a noise of things being moved about, and at\r\nlast Anna Mikhaylovna, still with the same expression, pale but resolute\r\nin the discharge of duty, ran out and touching Pierre lightly on the arm\r\nsaid:\r\n\r\n\"The divine mercy is inexhaustible! Unction is about to be administered.\r\nCome.\"\r\n\r\nPierre went in at the door, stepping on the soft carpet, and noticed\r\nthat the strange lady, the aide-de-camp, and some of the servants, all\r\nfollowed him in, as if there were now no further need for permission to\r\nenter that room.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXIII\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre well knew this large room divided by columns and an arch, its\r\nwalls hung round with Persian carpets. The part of the room behind the\r\ncolumns, with a high silk-curtained mahogany bedstead on one side and\r\non the other an immense case containing icons, was brightly illuminated\r\nwith red light like a Russian church during evening service. Under\r\nthe gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and in that chair\r\non snowy-white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed, Pierre\r\nsaw--covered to the waist by a bright green quilt--the familiar,\r\nmajestic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with that gray mane of\r\nhair above his broad forehead which reminded one of a lion, and the deep\r\ncharacteristically noble wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face. He lay\r\njust under the icons; his large thick hands outside the quilt. Into the\r\nright hand, which was lying palm downwards, a wax taper had been thrust\r\nbetween forefinger and thumb, and an old servant, bending over from\r\nbehind the chair, held it in position. By the chair stood the priests,\r\ntheir long hair falling over their magnificent glittering vestments,\r\nwith lighted tapers in their hands, slowly and solemnly conducting the\r\nservice. A little behind them stood the two younger princesses holding\r\nhandkerchiefs to their eyes, and just in front of them their eldest\r\nsister, Catiche, with a vicious and determined look steadily fixed on\r\nthe icons, as though declaring to all that she could not answer\r\nfor herself should she glance round. Anna Mikhaylovna, with a meek,\r\nsorrowful, and all-forgiving expression on her face, stood by the door\r\nnear the strange lady. Prince Vasili in front of the door, near the\r\ninvalid chair, a wax taper in his left hand, was leaning his left arm on\r\nthe carved back of a velvet chair he had turned round for the purpose,\r\nand was crossing himself with his right hand, turning his eyes upward\r\neach time he touched his forehead. His face wore a calm look of piety\r\nand resignation to the will of God. \"If you do not understand these\r\nsentiments,\" he seemed to be saying, \"so much the worse for you!\"\r\n\r\nBehind him stood the aide-de-camp, the doctors, and the menservants;\r\nthe men and women had separated as in church. All were silently crossing\r\nthemselves, and the reading of the church service, the subdued chanting\r\nof deep bass voices, and in the intervals sighs and the shuffling of\r\nfeet were the only sounds that could be heard. Anna Mikhaylovna, with an\r\nair of importance that showed that she felt she quite knew what she was\r\nabout, went across the room to where Pierre was standing and gave him\r\na taper. He lit it and, distracted by observing those around him, began\r\ncrossing himself with the hand that held the taper.\r\n\r\nSophie, the rosy, laughter-loving, youngest princess with the mole,\r\nwatched him. She smiled, hid her face in her handkerchief, and remained\r\nwith it hidden for awhile; then looking up and seeing Pierre she\r\nagain began to laugh. She evidently felt unable to look at him\r\nwithout laughing, but could not resist looking at him: so to be out of\r\ntemptation she slipped quietly behind one of the columns. In the midst\r\nof the service the voices of the priests suddenly ceased, they whispered\r\nto one another, and the old servant who was holding the count's hand got\r\nup and said something to the ladies. Anna Mikhaylovna stepped forward\r\nand, stooping over the dying man, beckoned to Lorrain from behind her\r\nback. The French doctor held no taper; he was leaning against one of the\r\ncolumns in a respectful attitude implying that he, a foreigner, in spite\r\nof all differences of faith, understood the full importance of the rite\r\nnow being performed and even approved of it. He now approached the\r\nsick man with the noiseless step of one in full vigor of life, with his\r\ndelicate white fingers raised from the green quilt the hand that was\r\nfree, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflected a moment. The\r\nsick man was given something to drink, there was a stir around him, then\r\nthe people resumed their places and the service continued. During this\r\ninterval Pierre noticed that Prince Vasili left the chair on which he\r\nhad been leaning, and--with an air which intimated that he knew what he\r\nwas about and if others did not understand him it was so much the worse\r\nfor them--did not go up to the dying man, but passed by him, joined the\r\neldest princess, and moved with her to the side of the room where stood\r\nthe high bedstead with its silken hangings. On leaving the bed both\r\nPrince Vasili and the princess passed out by a back door, but returned\r\nto their places one after the other before the service was concluded.\r\nPierre paid no more attention to this occurrence than to the rest of\r\nwhat went on, having made up his mind once for all that what he saw\r\nhappening around him that evening was in some way essential.\r\n\r\nThe chanting of the service ceased, and the voice of the priest was\r\nheard respectfully congratulating the dying man on having received the\r\nsacrament. The dying man lay as lifeless and immovable as before. Around\r\nhim everyone began to stir: steps were audible and whispers, among which\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna's was the most distinct.\r\n\r\nPierre heard her say:\r\n\r\n\"Certainly he must be moved onto the bed; here it will be impossible...\"\r\n\r\nThe sick man was so surrounded by doctors, princesses, and servants\r\nthat Pierre could no longer see the reddish-yellow face with its gray\r\nmane--which, though he saw other faces as well, he had not lost sight of\r\nfor a single moment during the whole service. He judged by the cautious\r\nmovements of those who crowded round the invalid chair that they had\r\nlifted the dying man and were moving him.\r\n\r\n\"Catch hold of my arm or you'll drop him!\" he heard one of the servants\r\nsay in a frightened whisper. \"Catch hold from underneath. Here!\"\r\nexclaimed different voices; and the heavy breathing of the bearers and\r\nthe shuffling of their feet grew more hurried, as if the weight they\r\nwere carrying were too much for them.\r\n\r\nAs the bearers, among whom was Anna Mikhaylovna, passed the young man\r\nhe caught a momentary glimpse between their heads and backs of the dying\r\nman's high, stout, uncovered chest and powerful shoulders, raised by\r\nthose who were holding him under the armpits, and of his gray, curly,\r\nleonine head. This head, with its remarkably broad brow and cheekbones,\r\nits handsome, sensual mouth, and its cold, majestic expression, was\r\nnot disfigured by the approach of death. It was the same as Pierre\r\nremembered it three months before, when the count had sent him to\r\nPetersburg. But now this head was swaying helplessly with the uneven\r\nmovements of the bearers, and the cold listless gaze fixed itself upon\r\nnothing.\r\n\r\nAfter a few minutes' bustle beside the high bedstead, those who had\r\ncarried the sick man dispersed. Anna Mikhaylovna touched Pierre's hand\r\nand said, \"Come.\" Pierre went with her to the bed on which the sick\r\nman had been laid in a stately pose in keeping with the ceremony just\r\ncompleted. He lay with his head propped high on the pillows. His hands\r\nwere symmetrically placed on the green silk quilt, the palms downward.\r\nWhen Pierre came up the count was gazing straight at him, but with a\r\nlook the significance of which could not be understood by mortal man.\r\nEither this look meant nothing but that as long as one has eyes they\r\nmust look somewhere, or it meant too much. Pierre hesitated, not knowing\r\nwhat to do, and glanced inquiringly at his guide. Anna Mikhaylovna made\r\na hurried sign with her eyes, glancing at the sick man's hand and moving\r\nher lips as if to send it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his neck\r\nso as not to touch the quilt, followed her suggestion and pressed his\r\nlips to the large boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a\r\nsingle muscle of the count's face stirred. Once more Pierre looked\r\nquestioningly at Anna Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next. Anna\r\nMikhaylovna with her eyes indicated a chair that stood beside the bed.\r\nPierre obediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing right.\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the naively\r\nsymmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently distressed that his\r\nstout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing his utmost to look\r\nas small as possible. He looked at the count, who still gazed at the\r\nspot where Pierre's face had been before he sat down. Anna Mikhaylovna\r\nindicated by her attitude her consciousness of the pathetic importance\r\nof these last moments of meeting between the father and son. This lasted\r\nabout two minutes, which to Pierre seemed an hour. Suddenly the broad\r\nmuscles and lines of the count's face began to twitch. The twitching\r\nincreased, the handsome mouth was drawn to one side (only now did Pierre\r\nrealize how near death his father was), and from that distorted mouth\r\nissued an indistinct, hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked attentively\r\nat the sick man's eyes, trying to guess what he wanted; she pointed\r\nfirst to Pierre, then to some drink, then named Prince Vasili in an\r\ninquiring whisper, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the\r\nsick man showed impatience. He made an effort to look at the servant who\r\nstood constantly at the head of the bed.\r\n\r\n\"Wants to turn on the other side,\" whispered the servant, and got up to\r\nturn the count's heavy body toward the wall.\r\n\r\nPierre rose to help him.\r\n\r\nWhile the count was being turned over, one of his arms fell back\r\nhelplessly and he made a fruitless effort to pull it forward. Whether he\r\nnoticed the look of terror with which Pierre regarded that lifeless arm,\r\nor whether some other thought flitted across his dying brain, at any\r\nrate he glanced at the refractory arm, at Pierre's terror-stricken face,\r\nand again at the arm, and on his face a feeble, piteous smile appeared,\r\nquite out of keeping with his features, that seemed to deride his own\r\nhelplessness. At sight of this smile Pierre felt an unexpected quivering\r\nin his breast and a tickling in his nose, and tears dimmed his eyes. The\r\nsick man was turned on to his side with his face to the wall. He sighed.\r\n\r\n\"He is dozing,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna, observing that one of the\r\nprincesses was coming to take her turn at watching. \"Let us go.\"\r\n\r\nPierre went out.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXIV\r\n\r\n\r\nThere was now no one in the reception room except Prince Vasili and the\r\neldest princess, who were sitting under the portrait of Catherine the\r\nGreat and talking eagerly. As soon as they saw Pierre and his companion\r\nthey became silent, and Pierre thought he saw the princess hide\r\nsomething as she whispered:\r\n\r\n\"I can't bear the sight of that woman.\"\r\n\r\n\"Catiche has had tea served in the small drawing room,\" said Prince\r\nVasili to Anna Mikhaylovna. \"Go and take something, my poor Anna\r\nMikhaylovna, or you will not hold out.\"\r\n\r\nTo Pierre he said nothing, merely giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze\r\nbelow the shoulder. Pierre went with Anna Mikhaylovna into the small\r\ndrawing room.\r\n\r\n\"There is nothing so refreshing after a sleepless night as a cup of this\r\ndelicious Russian tea,\" Lorrain was saying with an air of restrained\r\nanimation as he stood sipping tea from a delicate Chinese handleless\r\ncup before a table on which tea and a cold supper were laid in the small\r\ncircular room. Around the table all who were at Count Bezukhov's house\r\nthat night had gathered to fortify themselves. Pierre well remembered\r\nthis small circular drawing room with its mirrors and little tables.\r\nDuring balls given at the house Pierre, who did not know how to dance,\r\nhad liked sitting in this room to watch the ladies who, as they passed\r\nthrough in their ball dresses with diamonds and pearls on their bare\r\nshoulders, looked at themselves in the brilliantly lighted mirrors which\r\nrepeated their reflections several times. Now this same room was dimly\r\nlighted by two candles. On one small table tea things and supper dishes\r\nstood in disorder, and in the middle of the night a motley throng\r\nof people sat there, not merrymaking, but somberly whispering, and\r\nbetraying by every word and movement that they none of them forgot what\r\nwas happening and what was about to happen in the bedroom. Pierre did\r\nnot eat anything though he would very much have liked to. He looked\r\ninquiringly at his monitress and saw that she was again going on tiptoe\r\nto the reception room where they had left Prince Vasili and the eldest\r\nprincess. Pierre concluded that this also was essential, and after a\r\nshort interval followed her. Anna Mikhaylovna was standing beside the\r\nprincess, and they were both speaking in excited whispers.\r\n\r\n\"Permit me, Princess, to know what is necessary and what is not\r\nnecessary,\" said the younger of the two speakers, evidently in the same\r\nstate of excitement as when she had slammed the door of her room.\r\n\r\n\"But, my dear princess,\" answered Anna Mikhaylovna blandly but\r\nimpressively, blocking the way to the bedroom and preventing the other\r\nfrom passing, \"won't this be too much for poor Uncle at a moment when he\r\nneeds repose? Worldly conversation at a moment when his soul is already\r\nprepared...\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili was seated in an easy chair in his familiar attitude, with\r\none leg crossed high above the other. His cheeks, which were so flabby\r\nthat they looked heavier below, were twitching violently; but he wore\r\nthe air of a man little concerned in what the two ladies were saying.\r\n\r\n\"Come, my dear Anna Mikhaylovna, let Catiche do as she pleases. You know\r\nhow fond the count is of her.\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't even know what is in this paper,\" said the younger of the two\r\nladies, addressing Prince Vasili and pointing to an inlaid portfolio she\r\nheld in her hand. \"All I know is that his real will is in his writing\r\ntable, and this is a paper he has forgotten....\"\r\n\r\nShe tried to pass Anna Mikhaylovna, but the latter sprang so as to bar\r\nher path.\r\n\r\n\"I know, my dear, kind princess,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna, seizing the\r\nportfolio so firmly that it was plain she would not let go easily.\r\n\"Dear princess, I beg and implore you, have some pity on him! Je vous en\r\nconjure...\"\r\n\r\nThe princess did not reply. Their efforts in the struggle for the\r\nportfolio were the only sounds audible, but it was evident that if\r\nthe princess did speak, her words would not be flattering to Anna\r\nMikhaylovna. Though the latter held on tenaciously, her voice lost none\r\nof its honeyed firmness and softness.\r\n\r\n\"Pierre, my dear, come here. I think he will not be out of place in a\r\nfamily consultation; is it not so, Prince?\"\r\n\r\n\"Why don't you speak, cousin?\" suddenly shrieked the princess so loud\r\nthat those in the drawing room heard her and were startled. \"Why do you\r\nremain silent when heaven knows who permits herself to interfere, making\r\na scene on the very threshold of a dying man's room? Intriguer!\" she\r\nhissed viciously, and tugged with all her might at the portfolio.\r\n\r\nBut Anna Mikhaylovna went forward a step or two to keep her hold on the\r\nportfolio, and changed her grip.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili rose. \"Oh!\" said he with reproach and surprise, \"this is\r\nabsurd! Come, let go I tell you.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess let go.\r\n\r\n\"And you too!\"\r\n\r\nBut Anna Mikhaylovna did not obey him.\r\n\r\n\"Let go, I tell you! I will take the responsibility. I myself will go\r\nand ask him, I!... does that satisfy you?\"\r\n\r\n\"But, Prince,\" said Anna Mikhaylovna, \"after such a solemn sacrament,\r\nallow him a moment's peace! Here, Pierre, tell them your opinion,\" said\r\nshe, turning to the young man who, having come quite close, was gazing\r\nwith astonishment at the angry face of the princess which had lost all\r\ndignity, and at the twitching cheeks of Prince Vasili.\r\n\r\n\"Remember that you will answer for the consequences,\" said Prince Vasili\r\nseverely. \"You don't know what you are doing.\"\r\n\r\n\"Vile woman!\" shouted the princess, darting unexpectedly at Anna\r\nMikhaylovna and snatching the portfolio from her.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili bent his head and spread out his hands.\r\n\r\nAt this moment that terrible door, which Pierre had watched so long\r\nand which had always opened so quietly, burst noisily open and banged\r\nagainst the wall, and the second of the three sisters rushed out\r\nwringing her hands.\r\n\r\n\"What are you doing!\" she cried vehemently. \"He is dying and you leave\r\nme alone with him!\"\r\n\r\nHer sister dropped the portfolio. Anna Mikhaylovna, stooping, quickly\r\ncaught up the object of contention and ran into the bedroom. The eldest\r\nprincess and Prince Vasili, recovering themselves, followed her. A few\r\nminutes later the eldest sister came out with a pale hard face, again\r\nbiting her underlip. At sight of Pierre her expression showed an\r\nirrepressible hatred.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, now you may be glad!\" said she; \"this is what you have been\r\nwaiting for.\" And bursting into tears she hid her face in her\r\nhandkerchief and rushed from the room.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili came next. He staggered to the sofa on which Pierre was\r\nsitting and dropped onto it, covering his face with his hand. Pierre\r\nnoticed that he was pale and that his jaw quivered and shook as if in an\r\nague.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my friend!\" said he, taking Pierre by the elbow; and there was\r\nin his voice a sincerity and weakness Pierre had never observed in it\r\nbefore. \"How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? I am\r\nnear sixty, dear friend... I too... All will end in death, all! Death is\r\nawful...\" and he burst into tears.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna came out last. She approached Pierre with slow, quiet\r\nsteps.\r\n\r\n\"Pierre!\" she said.\r\n\r\nPierre gave her an inquiring look. She kissed the young man on his\r\nforehead, wetting him with her tears. Then after a pause she said:\r\n\r\n\"He is no more....\"\r\n\r\nPierre looked at her over his spectacles.\r\n\r\n\"Come, I will go with you. Try to weep, nothing gives such relief as\r\ntears.\"\r\n\r\nShe led him into the dark drawing room and Pierre was glad no one could\r\nsee his face. Anna Mikhaylovna left him, and when she returned he was\r\nfast asleep with his head on his arm.\r\n\r\nIn the morning Anna Mikhaylovna said to Pierre:\r\n\r\n\"Yes, my dear, this is a great loss for us all, not to speak of you. But\r\nGod will support you: you are young, and are now, I hope, in command of\r\nan immense fortune. The will has not yet been opened. I know you well\r\nenough to be sure that this will not turn your head, but it imposes\r\nduties on you, and you must be a man.\"\r\n\r\nPierre was silent.\r\n\r\n\"Perhaps later on I may tell you, my dear boy, that if I had not been\r\nthere, God only knows what would have happened! You know, Uncle promised\r\nme only the day before yesterday not to forget Boris. But he had no\r\ntime. I hope, my dear friend, you will carry out your father's wish?\"\r\n\r\nPierre understood nothing of all this and coloring shyly looked in\r\nsilence at Princess Anna Mikhaylovna. After her talk with Pierre, Anna\r\nMikhaylovna returned to the Rostovs' and went to bed. On waking in the\r\nmorning she told the Rostovs and all her acquaintances the details of\r\nCount Bezukhov's death. She said the count had died as she would herself\r\nwish to die, that his end was not only touching but edifying. As to the\r\nlast meeting between father and son, it was so touching that she could\r\nnot think of it without tears, and did not know which had behaved better\r\nduring those awful moments--the father who so remembered everything\r\nand everybody at last and had spoken such pathetic words to the son, or\r\nPierre, whom it had been pitiful to see, so stricken was he with grief,\r\nthough he tried hard to hide it in order not to sadden his dying father.\r\n\"It is painful, but it does one good. It uplifts the soul to see such\r\nmen as the old count and his worthy son,\" said she. Of the behavior of\r\nthe eldest princess and Prince Vasili she spoke disapprovingly, but in\r\nwhispers and as a great secret.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXV\r\n\r\n\r\nAt Bald Hills, Prince Nicholas Andreevich Bolkonski's estate, the\r\narrival of young Prince Andrew and his wife was daily expected, but\r\nthis expectation did not upset the regular routine of life in the\r\nold prince's household. General in Chief Prince Nicholas Andreevich\r\n(nicknamed in society, \"the King of Prussia\") ever since the Emperor\r\nPaul had exiled him to his country estate had lived there continuously\r\nwith his daughter, Princess Mary, and her companion, Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne. Though in the new reign he was free to return to the\r\ncapitals, he still continued to live in the country, remarking that\r\nanyone who wanted to see him could come the hundred miles from Moscow to\r\nBald Hills, while he himself needed no one and nothing. He used to\r\nsay that there are only two sources of human vice--idleness and\r\nsuperstition, and only two virtues--activity and intelligence. He\r\nhimself undertook his daughter's education, and to develop these two\r\ncardinal virtues in her gave her lessons in algebra and geometry\r\ntill she was twenty, and arranged her life so that her whole time was\r\noccupied. He was himself always occupied: writing his memoirs, solving\r\nproblems in higher mathematics, turning snuffboxes on a lathe, working\r\nin the garden, or superintending the building that was always going on\r\nat his estate. As regularity is a prime condition facilitating activity,\r\nregularity in his household was carried to the highest point of\r\nexactitude. He always came to table under precisely the same conditions,\r\nand not only at the same hour but at the same minute. With those about\r\nhim, from his daughter to his serfs, the prince was sharp and invariably\r\nexacting, so that without being a hardhearted man he inspired such fear\r\nand respect as few hardhearted men would have aroused. Although he was\r\nin retirement and had now no influence in political affairs, every high\r\nofficial appointed to the province in which the prince's estate lay\r\nconsidered it his duty to visit him and waited in the lofty antechamber\r\njust as the architect, gardener, or Princess Mary did, till the prince\r\nappeared punctually to the appointed hour. Everyone sitting in this\r\nantechamber experienced the same feeling of respect and even fear when\r\nthe enormously high study door opened and showed the figure of a rather\r\nsmall old man, with powdered wig, small withered hands, and bushy gray\r\neyebrows which, when he frowned, sometimes hid the gleam of his shrewd,\r\nyouthfully glittering eyes.\r\n\r\nOn the morning of the day that the young couple were to arrive, Princess\r\nMary entered the antechamber as usual at the time appointed for the\r\nmorning greeting, crossing herself with trepidation and repeating a\r\nsilent prayer. Every morning she came in like that, and every morning\r\nprayed that the daily interview might pass off well.\r\n\r\nAn old powdered manservant who was sitting in the antechamber rose\r\nquietly and said in a whisper: \"Please walk in.\"\r\n\r\nThrough the door came the regular hum of a lathe. The princess timidly\r\nopened the door which moved noiselessly and easily. She paused at the\r\nentrance. The prince was working at the lathe and after glancing round\r\ncontinued his work.\r\n\r\nThe enormous study was full of things evidently in constant use.\r\nThe large table covered with books and plans, the tall glass-fronted\r\nbookcases with keys in the locks, the high desk for writing while\r\nstanding up, on which lay an open exercise book, and the lathe with\r\ntools laid ready to hand and shavings scattered around--all indicated\r\ncontinuous, varied, and orderly activity. The motion of the small foot\r\nshod in a Tartar boot embroidered with silver, and the firm pressure\r\nof the lean sinewy hand, showed that the prince still possessed the\r\ntenacious endurance and vigor of hardy old age. After a few more turns\r\nof the lathe he removed his foot from the pedal, wiped his chisel,\r\ndropped it into a leather pouch attached to the lathe, and, approaching\r\nthe table, summoned his daughter. He never gave his children a blessing,\r\nso he simply held out his bristly cheek (as yet unshaven) and, regarding\r\nher tenderly and attentively, said severely:\r\n\r\n\"Quite well? All right then, sit down.\" He took the exercise book\r\ncontaining lessons in geometry written by himself and drew up a chair\r\nwith his foot.\r\n\r\n\"For tomorrow!\" said he, quickly finding the page and making a scratch\r\nfrom one paragraph to another with his hard nail.\r\n\r\nThe princess bent over the exercise book on the table.\r\n\r\n\"Wait a bit, here's a letter for you,\" said the old man suddenly, taking\r\na letter addressed in a woman's hand from a bag hanging above the table,\r\nonto which he threw it.\r\n\r\nAt the sight of the letter red patches showed themselves on the\r\nprincess' face. She took it quickly and bent her head over it.\r\n\r\n\"From Heloise?\" asked the prince with a cold smile that showed his still\r\nsound, yellowish teeth.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it's from Julie,\" replied the princess with a timid glance and a\r\ntimid smile.\r\n\r\n\"I'll let two more letters pass, but the third I'll read,\" said the\r\nprince sternly; \"I'm afraid you write much nonsense. I'll read the\r\nthird!\"\r\n\r\n\"Read this if you like, Father,\" said the princess, blushing still more\r\nand holding out the letter.\r\n\r\n\"The third, I said the third!\" cried the prince abruptly, pushing the\r\nletter away, and leaning his elbows on the table he drew toward him the\r\nexercise book containing geometrical figures.\r\n\r\n\"Well, madam,\" he began, stooping over the book close to his daughter\r\nand placing an arm on the back of the chair on which she sat, so that\r\nshe felt herself surrounded on all sides by the acrid scent of old age\r\nand tobacco, which she had known so long. \"Now, madam, these triangles\r\nare equal; please note that the angle ABC...\"\r\n\r\nThe princess looked in a scared way at her father's eyes glittering\r\nclose to her; the red patches on her face came and went, and it was\r\nplain that she understood nothing and was so frightened that her\r\nfear would prevent her understanding any of her father's further\r\nexplanations, however clear they might be. Whether it was the teacher's\r\nfault or the pupil's, this same thing happened every day: the princess'\r\neyes grew dim, she could not see and could not hear anything, but was\r\nonly conscious of her stern father's withered face close to her, of his\r\nbreath and the smell of him, and could think only of how to get away\r\nquickly to her own room to make out the problem in peace. The old man\r\nwas beside himself: moved the chair on which he was sitting noisily\r\nbackward and forward, made efforts to control himself and not become\r\nvehement, but almost always did become vehement, scolded, and sometimes\r\nflung the exercise book away.\r\n\r\nThe princess gave a wrong answer.\r\n\r\n\"Well now, isn't she a fool!\" shouted the prince, pushing the book aside\r\nand turning sharply away; but rising immediately, he paced up and down,\r\nlightly touched his daughter's hair and sat down again.\r\n\r\nHe drew up his chair, and continued to explain.\r\n\r\n\"This won't do, Princess; it won't do,\" said he, when Princess Mary,\r\nhaving taken and closed the exercise book with the next day's lesson,\r\nwas about to leave: \"Mathematics are most important, madam! I don't want\r\nto have you like our silly ladies. Get used to it and you'll like it,\"\r\nand he patted her cheek. \"It will drive all the nonsense out of your\r\nhead.\"\r\n\r\nShe turned to go, but he stopped her with a gesture and took an uncut\r\nbook from the high desk.\r\n\r\n\"Here is some sort of Key to the Mysteries that your Heloise has sent\r\nyou. Religious! I don't interfere with anyone's belief... I have looked\r\nat it. Take it. Well, now go. Go.\"\r\n\r\nHe patted her on the shoulder and himself closed the door after her.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary went back to her room with the sad, scared expression that\r\nrarely left her and which made her plain, sickly face yet plainer. She\r\nsat down at her writing table, on which stood miniature portraits and\r\nwhich was littered with books and papers. The princess was as untidy as\r\nher father was tidy. She put down the geometry book and eagerly broke\r\nthe seal of her letter. It was from her most intimate friend from\r\nchildhood; that same Julie Karagina who had been at the Rostovs'\r\nname-day party.\r\n\r\nJulie wrote in French:\r\n\r\n\r\nDear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing is\r\nseparation! Though I tell myself that half my life and half my happiness\r\nare wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance separating us\r\nour hearts are united by indissoluble bonds, my heart rebels against\r\nfate and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot\r\novercome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever since\r\nwe parted. Why are we not together as we were last summer, in your big\r\nstudy, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa? Why cannot I now, as\r\nthree months ago, draw fresh moral strength from your look, so gentle,\r\ncalm, and penetrating, a look I loved so well and seem to see before me\r\nas I write?\r\n\r\n\r\nHaving read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced into the mirror\r\nwhich stood on her right. It reflected a weak, ungraceful figure and\r\nthin face. Her eyes, always sad, now looked with particular hopelessness\r\nat her reflection in the glass. \"She flatters me,\" thought the princess,\r\nturning away and continuing to read. But Julie did not flatter her\r\nfriend, the princess' eyes--large, deep and luminous (it seemed as if at\r\ntimes there radiated from them shafts of warm light)--were so beautiful\r\nthat very often in spite of the plainness of her face they gave her an\r\nattraction more powerful than that of beauty. But the princess never saw\r\nthe beautiful expression of her own eyes--the look they had when she\r\nwas not thinking of herself. As with everyone, her face assumed a forced\r\nunnatural expression as soon as she looked in a glass. She went on\r\nreading:\r\n\r\n\r\nAll Moscow talks of nothing but war. One of my two brothers is already\r\nabroad, the other is with the Guards, who are starting on their march\r\nto the frontier. Our dear Emperor has left Petersburg and it is thought\r\nintends to expose his precious person to the chances of war. God grant\r\nthat the Corsican monster who is destroying the peace of Europe may\r\nbe overthrown by the angel whom it has pleased the Almighty, in His\r\ngoodness, to give us as sovereign! To say nothing of my brothers, this\r\nwar has deprived me of one of the associations nearest my heart. I mean\r\nyoung Nicholas Rostov, who with his enthusiasm could not bear to remain\r\ninactive and has left the university to join the army. I will confess to\r\nyou, dear Mary, that in spite of his extreme youth his departure for\r\nthe army was a great grief to me. This young man, of whom I spoke to you\r\nlast summer, is so noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which\r\none seldom finds nowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly,\r\nhe is so frank and has so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that\r\nmy relations with him, transient as they were, have been one of the\r\nsweetest comforts to my poor heart, which has already suffered so much.\r\nSomeday I will tell you about our parting and all that was said then.\r\nThat is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend, you are happy not to know\r\nthese poignant joys and sorrows. You are fortunate, for the latter are\r\ngenerally the stronger! I know very well that Count Nicholas is too\r\nyoung ever to be more to me than a friend, but this sweet friendship,\r\nthis poetic and pure intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of\r\nthis! The chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of\r\nold Count Bezukhov, and his inheritance. Fancy! The three princesses\r\nhave received very little, Prince Vasili nothing, and it is Monsieur\r\nPierre who has inherited all the property and has besides been\r\nrecognized as legitimate; so that he is now Count Bezukhov and possessor\r\nof the finest fortune in Russia. It is rumored that Prince Vasili played\r\na very despicable part in this affair and that he returned to Petersburg\r\nquite crestfallen.\r\n\r\nI confess I understand very little about all these matters of wills and\r\ninheritance; but I do know that since this young man, whom we all used\r\nto know as plain Monsieur Pierre, has become Count Bezukhov and the\r\nowner of one of the largest fortunes in Russia, I am much amused to\r\nwatch the change in the tone and manners of the mammas burdened by\r\nmarriageable daughters, and of the young ladies themselves, toward\r\nhim, though, between you and me, he always seemed to me a poor sort\r\nof fellow. As for the past two years people have amused themselves\r\nby finding husbands for me (most of whom I don't even know), the\r\nmatchmaking chronicles of Moscow now speak of me as the future Countess\r\nBezukhova. But you will understand that I have no desire for the post. A\r\npropos of marriages: do you know that a while ago that universal auntie\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna told me, under the seal of strict secrecy, of a plan of\r\nmarriage for you. It is neither more nor less than with Prince Vasili's\r\nson Anatole, whom they wish to reform by marrying him to someone rich\r\nand distinguee, and it is on you that his relations' choice has fallen.\r\nI don't know what you will think of it, but I consider it my duty to\r\nlet you know of it. He is said to be very handsome and a terrible\r\nscapegrace. That is all I have been able to find out about him.\r\n\r\nBut enough of gossip. I am at the end of my second sheet of paper,\r\nand Mamma has sent for me to go and dine at the Apraksins'. Read the\r\nmystical book I am sending you; it has an enormous success here. Though\r\nthere are things in it difficult for the feeble human mind to grasp, it\r\nis an admirable book which calms and elevates the soul. Adieu! Give\r\nmy respects to monsieur your father and my compliments to Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne. I embrace you as I love you.\r\n\r\nJULIE\r\n\r\nP.S. Let me have news of your brother and his charming little wife.\r\n\r\n\r\nThe princess pondered awhile with a thoughtful smile and her luminous\r\neyes lit up so that her face was entirely transformed. Then she suddenly\r\nrose and with her heavy tread went up to the table. She took a sheet of\r\npaper and her hand moved rapidly over it. This is the reply she wrote,\r\nalso in French:\r\n\r\n\r\nDear and precious Friend, Your letter of the 13th has given me great\r\ndelight. So you still love me, my romantic Julie? Separation, of which\r\nyou say so much that is bad, does not seem to have had its usual effect\r\non you. You complain of our separation. What then should I say, if I\r\ndared complain, I who am deprived of all who are dear to me? Ah, if\r\nwe had not religion to console us life would be very sad. Why do you\r\nsuppose that I should look severely on your affection for that young\r\nman? On such matters I am only severe with myself. I understand such\r\nfeelings in others, and if never having felt them I cannot approve of\r\nthem, neither do I condemn them. Only it seems to me that Christian\r\nlove, love of one's neighbor, love of one's enemy, is worthier, sweeter,\r\nand better than the feelings which the beautiful eyes of a young man can\r\ninspire in a romantic and loving young girl like yourself.\r\n\r\nThe news of Count Bezukhov's death reached us before your letter and\r\nmy father was much affected by it. He says the count was the last\r\nrepresentative but one of the great century, and that it is his own\r\nturn now, but that he will do all he can to let his turn come as late as\r\npossible. God preserve us from that terrible misfortune!\r\n\r\nI cannot agree with you about Pierre, whom I knew as a child. He always\r\nseemed to me to have an excellent heart, and that is the quality I value\r\nmost in people. As to his inheritance and the part played by Prince\r\nVasili, it is very sad for both. Ah, my dear friend, our divine\r\nSaviour's words, that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of\r\na needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God, are terribly\r\ntrue. I pity Prince Vasili but am still more sorry for Pierre. So young,\r\nand burdened with such riches--to what temptations he will be exposed!\r\nIf I were asked what I desire most on earth, it would be to be poorer\r\nthan the poorest beggar. A thousand thanks, dear friend, for the volume\r\nyou have sent me and which has such success in Moscow. Yet since you\r\ntell me that among some good things it contains others which our weak\r\nhuman understanding cannot grasp, it seems to me rather useless to spend\r\ntime in reading what is unintelligible and can therefore bear no fruit.\r\nI never could understand the fondness some people have for confusing\r\ntheir minds by dwelling on mystical books that merely awaken their\r\ndoubts and excite their imagination, giving them a bent for exaggeration\r\nquite contrary to Christian simplicity. Let us rather read the Epistles\r\nand Gospels. Let us not seek to penetrate what mysteries they contain;\r\nfor how can we, miserable sinners that we are, know the terrible and\r\nholy secrets of Providence while we remain in this flesh which forms\r\nan impenetrable veil between us and the Eternal? Let us rather confine\r\nourselves to studying those sublime rules which our divine Saviour has\r\nleft for our guidance here below. Let us try to conform to them and\r\nfollow them, and let us be persuaded that the less we let our feeble\r\nhuman minds roam, the better we shall please God, who rejects all\r\nknowledge that does not come from Him; and the less we seek to fathom\r\nwhat He has been pleased to conceal from us, the sooner will He\r\nvouchsafe its revelation to us through His divine Spirit.\r\n\r\nMy father has not spoken to me of a suitor, but has only told me that\r\nhe has received a letter and is expecting a visit from Prince Vasili. In\r\nregard to this project of marriage for me, I will tell you, dear sweet\r\nfriend, that I look on marriage as a divine institution to which we must\r\nconform. However painful it may be to me, should the Almighty lay\r\nthe duties of wife and mother upon me I shall try to perform them as\r\nfaithfully as I can, without disquieting myself by examining my feelings\r\ntoward him whom He may give me for husband.\r\n\r\nI have had a letter from my brother, who announces his speedy arrival\r\nat Bald Hills with his wife. This pleasure will be but a brief one,\r\nhowever, for he will leave, us again to take part in this unhappy war\r\ninto which we have been drawn, God knows how or why. Not only where you\r\nare--at the heart of affairs and of the world--is the talk all of\r\nwar, even here amid fieldwork and the calm of nature--which townsfolk\r\nconsider characteristic of the country--rumors of war are heard\r\nand painfully felt. My father talks of nothing but marches and\r\ncountermarches, things of which I understand nothing; and the day\r\nbefore yesterday during my daily walk through the village I witnessed a\r\nheartrending scene.... It was a convoy of conscripts enrolled from our\r\npeople and starting to join the army. You should have seen the state of\r\nthe mothers, wives, and children of the men who were going and should\r\nhave heard the sobs. It seems as though mankind has forgotten the\r\nlaws of its divine Saviour, Who preached love and forgiveness of\r\ninjuries--and that men attribute the greatest merit to skill in killing\r\none another.\r\n\r\nAdieu, dear and kind friend; may our divine Saviour and His most Holy\r\nMother keep you in their holy and all-powerful care!\r\n\r\nMARY\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Ah, you are sending off a letter, Princess? I have already dispatched\r\nmine. I have written to my poor mother,\" said the smiling Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne rapidly, in her pleasant mellow tones and with guttural r's.\r\nShe brought into Princess Mary's strenuous, mournful, and gloomy world a\r\nquite different atmosphere, careless, lighthearted, and self-satisfied.\r\n\r\n\"Princess, I must warn you,\" she added, lowering her voice and evidently\r\nlistening to herself with pleasure, and speaking with exaggerated\r\ngrasseyement, \"the prince has been scolding Michael Ivanovich. He is in\r\na very bad humor, very morose. Be prepared.\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, dear friend,\" replied Princess Mary, \"I have asked you never to\r\nwarn me of the humor my father is in. I do not allow myself to judge him\r\nand would not have others do so.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess glanced at her watch and, seeing that she was five minutes\r\nlate in starting her practice on the clavichord, went into the sitting\r\nroom with a look of alarm. Between twelve and two o'clock, as the\r\nday was mapped out, the prince rested and the princess played the\r\nclavichord.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXVI\r\n\r\n\r\nThe gray-haired valet was sitting drowsily listening to the snoring of\r\nthe prince, who was in his large study. From the far side of the house\r\nthrough the closed doors came the sound of difficult passages--twenty\r\ntimes repeated--of a sonata by Dussek.\r\n\r\nJust then a closed carriage and another with a hood drove up to the\r\nporch. Prince Andrew got out of the carriage, helped his little wife to\r\nalight, and let her pass into the house before him. Old Tikhon, wearing\r\na wig, put his head out of the door of the antechamber, reported in\r\na whisper that the prince was sleeping, and hastily closed the door.\r\nTikhon knew that neither the son's arrival nor any other unusual event\r\nmust be allowed to disturb the appointed order of the day. Prince Andrew\r\napparently knew this as well as Tikhon; he looked at his watch as if to\r\nascertain whether his father's habits had changed since he was at home\r\nlast, and, having assured himself that they had not, he turned to his\r\nwife.\r\n\r\n\"He will get up in twenty minutes. Let us go across to Mary's room,\" he\r\nsaid.\r\n\r\nThe little princess had grown stouter during this time, but her eyes\r\nand her short, downy, smiling lip lifted when she began to speak just as\r\nmerrily and prettily as ever.\r\n\r\n\"Why, this is a palace!\" she said to her husband, looking around with\r\nthe expression with which people compliment their host at a ball. \"Let's\r\ncome, quick, quick!\" And with a glance round, she smiled at Tikhon, at\r\nher husband, and at the footman who accompanied them.\r\n\r\n\"Is that Mary practicing? Let's go quietly and take her by surprise.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew followed her with a courteous but sad expression.\r\n\r\n\"You've grown older, Tikhon,\" he said in passing to the old man, who\r\nkissed his hand.\r\n\r\nBefore they reached the room from which the sounds of the clavichord\r\ncame, the pretty, fair haired Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Bourienne,\r\nrushed out apparently beside herself with delight.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! what joy for the princess!\" exclaimed she: \"At last! I must let her\r\nknow.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, no, please not... You are Mademoiselle Bourienne,\" said the little\r\nprincess, kissing her. \"I know you already through my sister-in-law's\r\nfriendship for you. She was not expecting us?\"\r\n\r\nThey went up to the door of the sitting room from which came the sound\r\nof the oft-repeated passage of the sonata. Prince Andrew stopped and\r\nmade a grimace, as if expecting something unpleasant.\r\n\r\nThe little princess entered the room. The passage broke off in the\r\nmiddle, a cry was heard, then Princess Mary's heavy tread and the sound\r\nof kissing. When Prince Andrew went in the two princesses, who had only\r\nmet once before for a short time at his wedding, were in each other's\r\narms warmly pressing their lips to whatever place they happened to\r\ntouch. Mademoiselle Bourienne stood near them pressing her hand to her\r\nheart, with a beatific smile and obviously equally ready to cry or to\r\nlaugh. Prince Andrew shrugged his shoulders and frowned, as lovers\r\nof music do when they hear a false note. The two women let go of one\r\nanother, and then, as if afraid of being too late, seized each other's\r\nhands, kissing them and pulling them away, and again began kissing each\r\nother on the face, and then to Prince Andrew's surprise both began to\r\ncry and kissed again. Mademoiselle Bourienne also began to cry. Prince\r\nAndrew evidently felt ill at ease, but to the two women it seemed quite\r\nnatural that they should cry, and apparently it never entered their\r\nheads that it could have been otherwise at this meeting.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! my dear!... Ah! Mary!\" they suddenly exclaimed, and then laughed.\r\n\"I dreamed last night...\"--\"You were not expecting us?...\" \"Ah! Mary,\r\nyou have got thinner?...\" \"And you have grown stouter!...\"\r\n\r\n\"I knew the princess at once,\" put in Mademoiselle Bourienne.\r\n\r\n\"And I had no idea!...\" exclaimed Princess Mary. \"Ah, Andrew, I did not\r\nsee you.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew and his sister, hand in hand, kissed one another, and\r\nhe told her she was still the same crybaby as ever. Princess Mary had\r\nturned toward her brother, and through her tears the loving, warm,\r\ngentle look of her large luminous eyes, very beautiful at that moment,\r\nrested on Prince Andrew's face.\r\n\r\nThe little princess talked incessantly, her short, downy upper lip\r\ncontinually and rapidly touching her rosy nether lip when necessary\r\nand drawing up again next moment when her face broke into a smile of\r\nglittering teeth and sparkling eyes. She told of an accident they had\r\nhad on the Spasski Hill which might have been serious for her in her\r\ncondition, and immediately after that informed them that she had left\r\nall her clothes in Petersburg and that heaven knew what she would have\r\nto dress in here; and that Andrew had quite changed, and that Kitty\r\nOdyntsova had married an old man, and that there was a suitor for Mary,\r\na real one, but that they would talk of that later. Princess Mary was\r\nstill looking silently at her brother and her beautiful eyes were full\r\nof love and sadness. It was plain that she was following a train of\r\nthought independent of her sister-in-law's words. In the midst of a\r\ndescription of the last Petersburg fete she addressed her brother:\r\n\r\n\"So you are really going to the war, Andrew?\" she said sighing.\r\n\r\nLise sighed too.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, and even tomorrow,\" replied her brother.\r\n\r\n\"He is leaving me here, God knows why, when he might have had\r\npromotion...\"\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary did not listen to the end, but continuing her train of\r\nthought turned to her sister-in-law with a tender glance at her figure.\r\n\r\n\"Is it certain?\" she said.\r\n\r\nThe face of the little princess changed. She sighed and said: \"Yes,\r\nquite certain. Ah! it is very dreadful...\"\r\n\r\nHer lip descended. She brought her face close to her sister-in-law's and\r\nunexpectedly again began to cry.\r\n\r\n\"She needs rest,\" said Prince Andrew with a frown. \"Don't you, Lise?\r\nTake her to your room and I'll go to Father. How is he? Just the same?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, just the same. Though I don't know what your opinion will be,\"\r\nanswered the princess joyfully.\r\n\r\n\"And are the hours the same? And the walks in the avenues? And the\r\nlathe?\" asked Prince Andrew with a scarcely perceptible smile which\r\nshowed that, in spite of all his love and respect for his father, he was\r\naware of his weaknesses.\r\n\r\n\"The hours are the same, and the lathe, and also the mathematics and my\r\ngeometry lessons,\" said Princess Mary gleefully, as if her lessons in\r\ngeometry were among the greatest delights of her life.\r\n\r\nWhen the twenty minutes had elapsed and the time had come for the old\r\nprince to get up, Tikhon came to call the young prince to his father.\r\nThe old man made a departure from his usual routine in honor of his\r\nson's arrival: he gave orders to admit him to his apartments while\r\nhe dressed for dinner. The old prince always dressed in old-fashioned\r\nstyle, wearing an antique coat and powdered hair; and when Prince Andrew\r\nentered his father's dressing room (not with the contemptuous look and\r\nmanner he wore in drawing rooms, but with the animated face with which\r\nhe talked to Pierre), the old man was sitting on a large leather-covered\r\nchair, wrapped in a powdering mantle, entrusting his head to Tikhon.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! here's the warrior! Wants to vanquish Buonaparte?\" said the old\r\nman, shaking his powdered head as much as the tail, which Tikhon was\r\nholding fast to plait, would allow.\r\n\r\n\"You at least must tackle him properly, or else if he goes on like this\r\nhe'll soon have us, too, for his subjects! How are you?\" And he held out\r\nhis cheek.\r\n\r\nThe old man was in a good temper after his nap before dinner. (He used\r\nto say that a nap \"after dinner was silver--before dinner, golden.\")\r\nHe cast happy, sidelong glances at his son from under his thick, bushy\r\neyebrows. Prince Andrew went up and kissed his father on the\r\nspot indicated to him. He made no reply on his father's favorite\r\ntopic--making fun of the military men of the day, and more particularly\r\nof Bonaparte.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, Father, I have come to you and brought my wife who is pregnant,\"\r\nsaid Prince Andrew, following every movement of his father's face with\r\nan eager and respectful look. \"How is your health?\"\r\n\r\n\"Only fools and rakes fall ill, my boy. You know me: I am busy from\r\nmorning till night and abstemious, so of course I am well.\"\r\n\r\n\"Thank God,\" said his son smiling.\r\n\r\n\"God has nothing to do with it! Well, go on,\" he continued, returning to\r\nhis hobby; \"tell me how the Germans have taught you to fight Bonaparte\r\nby this new science you call 'strategy.'\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew smiled.\r\n\r\n\"Give me time to collect my wits, Father,\" said he, with a smile that\r\nshowed that his father's foibles did not prevent his son from loving and\r\nhonoring him. \"Why, I have not yet had time to settle down!\"\r\n\r\n\"Nonsense, nonsense!\" cried the old man, shaking his pigtail to see\r\nwhether it was firmly plaited, and grasping his by the hand. \"The house\r\nfor your wife is ready. Princess Mary will take her there and show her\r\nover, and they'll talk nineteen to the dozen. That's their woman's\r\nway! I am glad to have her. Sit down and talk. About Mikhelson's army\r\nI understand--Tolstoy's too... a simultaneous expedition.... But what's\r\nthe southern army to do? Prussia is neutral... I know that. What about\r\nAustria?\" said he, rising from his chair and pacing up and down the room\r\nfollowed by Tikhon, who ran after him, handing him different articles of\r\nclothing. \"What of Sweden? How will they cross Pomerania?\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew, seeing that his father insisted, began--at first\r\nreluctantly, but gradually with more and more animation, and from habit\r\nchanging unconsciously from Russian to French as he went on--to explain\r\nthe plan of operation for the coming campaign. He explained how an army,\r\nninety thousand strong, was to threaten Prussia so as to bring her out\r\nof her neutrality and draw her into the war; how part of that army was\r\nto join some Swedish forces at Stralsund; how two hundred and twenty\r\nthousand Austrians, with a hundred thousand Russians, were to operate in\r\nItaly and on the Rhine; how fifty thousand Russians and as many English\r\nwere to land at Naples, and how a total force of five hundred thousand\r\nmen was to attack the French from different sides. The old prince did\r\nnot evince the least interest during this explanation, but as if he were\r\nnot listening to it continued to dress while walking about, and three\r\ntimes unexpectedly interrupted. Once he stopped it by shouting: \"The\r\nwhite one, the white one!\"\r\n\r\nThis meant that Tikhon was not handing him the waistcoat he wanted.\r\nAnother time he interrupted, saying:\r\n\r\n\"And will she soon be confined?\" and shaking his head reproachfully\r\nsaid: \"That's bad! Go on, go on.\"\r\n\r\nThe third interruption came when Prince Andrew was finishing his\r\ndescription. The old man began to sing, in the cracked voice of old age:\r\n\"Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre. Dieu sait quand reviendra.\" *\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"Marlborough is going to the wars; God knows when he'll\r\n     return.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nHis son only smiled.\r\n\r\n\"I don't say it's a plan I approve of,\" said the son; \"I am only telling\r\nyou what it is. Napoleon has also formed his plan by now, not worse than\r\nthis one.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, you've told me nothing new,\" and the old man repeated,\r\nmeditatively and rapidly:\r\n\r\n\"Dieu sait quand reviendra. Go to the dining room.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXVII\r\n\r\n\r\nAt the appointed hour the prince, powdered and shaven, entered the\r\ndining room where his daughter-in-law, Princess Mary, and Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne were already awaiting him together with his architect, who\r\nby a strange caprice of his employer's was admitted to table though the\r\nposition of that insignificant individual was such as could certainly\r\nnot have caused him to expect that honor. The prince, who generally kept\r\nvery strictly to social distinctions and rarely admitted even important\r\ngovernment officials to his table, had unexpectedly selected Michael\r\nIvanovich (who always went into a corner to blow his nose on his checked\r\nhandkerchief) to illustrate the theory that all men are equals, and had\r\nmore than once impressed on his daughter that Michael Ivanovich was \"not\r\na whit worse than you or I.\" At dinner the prince usually spoke to the\r\ntaciturn Michael Ivanovich more often than to anyone else.\r\n\r\nIn the dining room, which like all the rooms in the house was\r\nexceedingly lofty, the members of the household and the footmen--one\r\nbehind each chair--stood waiting for the prince to enter. The head\r\nbutler, napkin on arm, was scanning the setting of the table, making\r\nsigns to the footmen, and anxiously glancing from the clock to the door\r\nby which the prince was to enter. Prince Andrew was looking at a large\r\ngilt frame, new to him, containing the genealogical tree of the Princes\r\nBolkonski, opposite which hung another such frame with a badly painted\r\nportrait (evidently by the hand of the artist belonging to the estate)\r\nof a ruling prince, in a crown--an alleged descendant of Rurik and\r\nancestor of the Bolkonskis. Prince Andrew, looking again at that\r\ngenealogical tree, shook his head, laughing as a man laughs who looks at\r\na portrait so characteristic of the original as to be amusing.\r\n\r\n\"How thoroughly like him that is!\" he said to Princess Mary, who had\r\ncome up to him.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary looked at her brother in surprise. She did not understand\r\nwhat he was laughing at. Everything her father did inspired her with\r\nreverence and was beyond question.\r\n\r\n\"Everyone has his Achilles' heel,\" continued Prince Andrew. \"Fancy, with\r\nhis powerful mind, indulging in such nonsense!\"\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary could not understand the boldness of her brother's\r\ncriticism and was about to reply, when the expected footsteps were heard\r\ncoming from the study. The prince walked in quickly and jauntily as was\r\nhis wont, as if intentionally contrasting the briskness of his manners\r\nwith the strict formality of his house. At that moment the great clock\r\nstruck two and another with a shrill tone joined in from the drawing\r\nroom. The prince stood still; his lively glittering eyes from under\r\ntheir thick, bushy eyebrows sternly scanned all present and rested on\r\nthe little princess. She felt, as courtiers do when the Tsar enters, the\r\nsensation of fear and respect which the old man inspired in all around\r\nhim. He stroked her hair and then patted her awkwardly on the back of\r\nher neck.\r\n\r\n\"I'm glad, glad, to see you,\" he said, looking attentively into her\r\neyes, and then quickly went to his place and sat down. \"Sit down, sit\r\ndown! Sit down, Michael Ianovich!\"\r\n\r\nHe indicated a place beside him to his daughter-in-law. A footman moved\r\nthe chair for her.\r\n\r\n\"Ho, ho!\" said the old man, casting his eyes on her rounded figure.\r\n\"You've been in a hurry. That's bad!\"\r\n\r\nHe laughed in his usual dry, cold, unpleasant way, with his lips only\r\nand not with his eyes.\r\n\r\n\"You must walk, walk as much as possible, as much as possible,\" he said.\r\n\r\nThe little princess did not, or did not wish to, hear his words. She was\r\nsilent and seemed confused. The prince asked her about her father, and\r\nshe began to smile and talk. He asked about mutual acquaintances, and\r\nshe became still more animated and chattered away giving him greetings\r\nfrom various people and retailing the town gossip.\r\n\r\n\"Countess Apraksina, poor thing, has lost her husband and she has cried\r\nher eyes out,\" she said, growing more and more lively.\r\n\r\nAs she became animated the prince looked at her more and more sternly,\r\nand suddenly, as if he had studied her sufficiently and had formed a\r\ndefinite idea of her, he turned away and addressed Michael Ivanovich.\r\n\r\n\"Well, Michael Ivanovich, our Bonaparte will be having a bad time of it.\r\nPrince Andrew\" (he always spoke thus of his son) \"has been telling\r\nme what forces are being collected against him! While you and I never\r\nthought much of him.\"\r\n\r\nMichael Ivanovich did not at all know when \"you and I\" had said such\r\nthings about Bonaparte, but understanding that he was wanted as a peg on\r\nwhich to hang the prince's favorite topic, he looked inquiringly at the\r\nyoung prince, wondering what would follow.\r\n\r\n\"He is a great tactician!\" said the prince to his son, pointing to the\r\narchitect.\r\n\r\nAnd the conversation again turned on the war, on Bonaparte, and the\r\ngenerals and statesmen of the day. The old prince seemed convinced not\r\nonly that all the men of the day were mere babies who did not know the\r\nA B C of war or of politics, and that Bonaparte was an insignificant\r\nlittle Frenchy, successful only because there were no longer any\r\nPotemkins or Suvorovs left to oppose him; but he was also convinced that\r\nthere were no political difficulties in Europe and no real war, but\r\nonly a sort of puppet show at which the men of the day were playing,\r\npretending to do something real. Prince Andrew gaily bore with his\r\nfather's ridicule of the new men, and drew him on and listened to him\r\nwith evident pleasure.\r\n\r\n\"The past always seems good,\" said he, \"but did not Suvorov himself\r\nfall into a trap Moreau set him, and from which he did not know how to\r\nescape?\"\r\n\r\n\"Who told you that? Who?\" cried the prince. \"Suvorov!\" And he jerked\r\naway his plate, which Tikhon briskly caught. \"Suvorov!... Consider,\r\nPrince Andrew. Two... Frederick and Suvorov; Moreau!... Moreau would\r\nhave been a prisoner if Suvorov had had a free hand; but he had the\r\nHofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-Rath on his hands. It would have puzzled\r\nthe devil himself! When you get there you'll find out what those\r\nHofs-kriegs-wurst-Raths are! Suvorov couldn't manage them so what chance\r\nhas Michael Kutuzov? No, my dear boy,\" he continued, \"you and your\r\ngenerals won't get on against Buonaparte; you'll have to call in the\r\nFrench, so that birds of a feather may fight together. The German,\r\nPahlen, has been sent to New York in America, to fetch the Frenchman,\r\nMoreau,\" he said, alluding to the invitation made that year to Moreau\r\nto enter the Russian service.... \"Wonderful!... Were the Potemkins,\r\nSuvorovs, and Orlovs Germans? No, lad, either you fellows have all lost\r\nyour wits, or I have outlived mine. May God help you, but we'll see what\r\nwill happen. Buonaparte has become a great commander among them! Hm!...\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't at all say that all the plans are good,\" said Prince Andrew, \"I\r\nam only surprised at your opinion of Bonaparte. You may laugh as much as\r\nyou like, but all the same Bonaparte is a great general!\"\r\n\r\n\"Michael Ivanovich!\" cried the old prince to the architect who, busy\r\nwith his roast meat, hoped he had been forgotten: \"Didn't I tell you\r\nBuonaparte was a great tactician? Here, he says the same thing.\"\r\n\r\n\"To be sure, your excellency,\" replied the architect.\r\n\r\nThe prince again laughed his frigid laugh.\r\n\r\n\"Buonaparte was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He has got\r\nsplendid soldiers. Besides he began by attacking Germans. And only\r\nidlers have failed to beat the Germans. Since the world began everybody\r\nhas beaten the Germans. They beat no one--except one another. He made\r\nhis reputation fighting them.\"\r\n\r\nAnd the prince began explaining all the blunders which, according to\r\nhim, Bonaparte had made in his campaigns and even in politics. His\r\nson made no rejoinder, but it was evident that whatever arguments were\r\npresented he was as little able as his father to change his opinion. He\r\nlistened, refraining from a reply, and involuntarily wondered how this\r\nold man, living alone in the country for so many years, could know and\r\ndiscuss so minutely and acutely all the recent European military and\r\npolitical events.\r\n\r\n\"You think I'm an old man and don't understand the present state of\r\naffairs?\" concluded his father. \"But it troubles me. I don't sleep\r\nat night. Come now, where has this great commander of yours shown his\r\nskill?\" he concluded.\r\n\r\n\"That would take too long to tell,\" answered the son.\r\n\r\n\"Well, then go to your Buonaparte! Mademoiselle Bourienne, here's\r\nanother admirer of that powder-monkey emperor of yours,\" he exclaimed in\r\nexcellent French.\r\n\r\n\"You know, Prince, I am not a Bonapartist!\"\r\n\r\n\"Dieu sait quand reviendra...\" hummed the prince out of tune and, with a\r\nlaugh still more so, he quitted the table.\r\n\r\nThe little princess during the whole discussion and the rest of\r\nthe dinner sat silent, glancing with a frightened look now at her\r\nfather-in-law and now at Princess Mary. When they left the table she\r\ntook her sister-in-law's arm and drew her into another room.\r\n\r\n\"What a clever man your father is,\" said she; \"perhaps that is why I am\r\nafraid of him.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, he is so kind!\" answered Princess Mary.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXVIII\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew was to leave next evening. The old prince, not altering\r\nhis routine, retired as usual after dinner. The little princess was\r\nin her sister-in-law's room. Prince Andrew in a traveling coat without\r\nepaulettes had been packing with his valet in the rooms assigned to him.\r\nAfter inspecting the carriage himself and seeing the trunks put in, he\r\nordered the horses to be harnessed. Only those things he always kept\r\nwith him remained in his room; a small box, a large canteen fitted with\r\nsilver plate, two Turkish pistols and a saber--a present from his\r\nfather who had brought it from the siege of Ochakov. All these traveling\r\neffects of Prince Andrew's were in very good order: new, clean, and in\r\ncloth covers carefully tied with tapes.\r\n\r\nWhen starting on a journey or changing their mode of life, men capable\r\nof reflection are generally in a serious frame of mind. At such moments\r\none reviews the past and plans for the future. Prince Andrew's face\r\nlooked very thoughtful and tender. With his hands behind him he paced\r\nbriskly from corner to corner of the room, looking straight before him\r\nand thoughtfully shaking his head. Did he fear going to the war, or was\r\nhe sad at leaving his wife?--perhaps both, but evidently he did not\r\nwish to be seen in that mood, for hearing footsteps in the passage he\r\nhurriedly unclasped his hands, stopped at a table as if tying the\r\ncover of the small box, and assumed his usual tranquil and impenetrable\r\nexpression. It was the heavy tread of Princess Mary that he heard.\r\n\r\n\"I hear you have given orders to harness,\" she cried, panting (she had\r\napparently been running), \"and I did so wish to have another talk with\r\nyou alone! God knows how long we may again be parted. You are not angry\r\nwith me for coming? You have changed so, Andrusha,\" she added, as if to\r\nexplain such a question.\r\n\r\nShe smiled as she uttered his pet name, \"Andrusha.\" It was obviously\r\nstrange to her to think that this stern handsome man should be\r\nAndrusha--the slender mischievous boy who had been her playfellow in\r\nchildhood.\r\n\r\n\"And where is Lise?\" he asked, answering her question only by a smile.\r\n\r\n\"She was so tired that she has fallen asleep on the sofa in my room. Oh,\r\nAndrew! What a treasure of a wife you have,\" said she, sitting down on\r\nthe sofa, facing her brother. \"She is quite a child: such a dear, merry\r\nchild. I have grown so fond of her.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew was silent, but the princess noticed the ironical and\r\ncontemptuous look that showed itself on his face.\r\n\r\n\"One must be indulgent to little weaknesses; who is free from them,\r\nAndrew? Don't forget that she has grown up and been educated in\r\nsociety, and so her position now is not a rosy one. We should enter into\r\neveryone's situation. Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner. * Think\r\nwhat it must be for her, poor thing, after what she has been used to,\r\nto be parted from her husband and be left alone in the country, in her\r\ncondition! It's very hard.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * To understand all is to forgive all.\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew smiled as he looked at his sister, as we smile at those we\r\nthink we thoroughly understand.\r\n\r\n\"You live in the country and don't think the life terrible,\" he replied.\r\n\r\n\"I... that's different. Why speak of me? I don't want any other life,\r\nand can't, for I know no other. But think, Andrew: for a young society\r\nwoman to be buried in the country during the best years of her life,\r\nall alone--for Papa is always busy, and I... well, you know what poor\r\nresources I have for entertaining a woman used to the best society.\r\nThere is only Mademoiselle Bourienne....\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't like your Mademoiselle Bourienne at all,\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"No? She is very nice and kind and, above all, she's much to be pitied.\r\nShe has no one, no one. To tell the truth, I don't need her, and she's\r\neven in my way. You know I always was a savage, and now am even more\r\nso. I like being alone.... Father likes her very much. She and Michael\r\nIvanovich are the two people to whom he is always gentle and kind,\r\nbecause he has been a benefactor to them both. As Sterne says: 'We don't\r\nlove people so much for the good they have done us, as for the good we\r\nhave done them.' Father took her when she was homeless after losing her\r\nown father. She is very good-natured, and my father likes her way of\r\nreading. She reads to him in the evenings and reads splendidly.\"\r\n\r\n\"To be quite frank, Mary, I expect Father's character sometimes makes\r\nthings trying for you, doesn't it?\" Prince Andrew asked suddenly.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary was first surprised and then aghast at this question.\r\n\r\n\"For me? For me?... Trying for me!...\" said she.\r\n\r\n\"He always was rather harsh; and now I should think he's getting very\r\ntrying,\" said Prince Andrew, apparently speaking lightly of their father\r\nin order to puzzle or test his sister.\r\n\r\n\"You are good in every way, Andrew, but you have a kind of intellectual\r\npride,\" said the princess, following the train of her own thoughts\r\nrather than the trend of the conversation--\"and that's a great sin.\r\nHow can one judge Father? But even if one might, what feeling except\r\nveneration could such a man as my father evoke? And I am so contented\r\nand happy with him. I only wish you were all as happy as I am.\"\r\n\r\nHer brother shook his head incredulously.\r\n\r\n\"The only thing that is hard for me... I will tell you the truth,\r\nAndrew... is Father's way of treating religious subjects. I don't\r\nunderstand how a man of his immense intellect can fail to see what is\r\nas clear as day, and can go so far astray. That is the only thing\r\nthat makes me unhappy. But even in this I can see lately a shade of\r\nimprovement. His satire has been less bitter of late, and there was a\r\nmonk he received and had a long talk with.\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder,\"\r\nsaid Prince Andrew banteringly yet tenderly.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! mon ami, I only pray, and hope that God will hear me. Andrew...\"\r\nshe said timidly after a moment's silence, \"I have a great favor to ask\r\nof you.\"\r\n\r\n\"What is it, dear?\"\r\n\r\n\"No--promise that you will not refuse! It will give you no trouble\r\nand is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise,\r\nAndrusha!...\" said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yet\r\ntaking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held were\r\nthe subject of her request and must not be shown before the request was\r\ngranted.\r\n\r\nShe looked timidly at her brother.\r\n\r\n\"Even if it were a great deal of trouble...\" answered Prince Andrew, as\r\nif guessing what it was about.\r\n\r\n\"Think what you please! I know you are just like Father. Think as\r\nyou please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father's father, our\r\ngrandfather, wore it in all his wars.\" (She still did not take out what\r\nshe was holding in her reticule.) \"So you promise?\"\r\n\r\n\"Of course. What is it?\"\r\n\r\n\"Andrew, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you will\r\nnever take it off. Do you promise?\"\r\n\r\n\"If it does not weigh a hundredweight and won't break my neck... To\r\nplease you...\" said Prince Andrew. But immediately, noticing the pained\r\nexpression his joke had brought to his sister's face, he repented and\r\nadded: \"I am glad; really, dear, I am very glad.\"\r\n\r\n\"Against your will He will save and have mercy on you and bring you\r\nto Himself, for in Him alone is truth and peace,\" said she in a voice\r\ntrembling with emotion, solemnly holding up in both hands before her\r\nbrother a small, oval, antique, dark-faced icon of the Saviour in a gold\r\nsetting, on a finely wrought silver chain.\r\n\r\nShe crossed herself, kissed the icon, and handed it to Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"Please, Andrew, for my sake!...\"\r\n\r\nRays of gentle light shone from her large, timid eyes. Those eyes lit\r\nup the whole of her thin, sickly face and made it beautiful. Her brother\r\nwould have taken the icon, but she stopped him. Andrew understood,\r\ncrossed himself and kissed the icon. There was a look of tenderness, for\r\nhe was touched, but also a gleam of irony on his face.\r\n\r\n\"Thank you, my dear.\" She kissed him on the forehead and sat down again\r\non the sofa. They were silent for a while.\r\n\r\n\"As I was saying to you, Andrew, be kind and generous as you always\r\nused to be. Don't judge Lise harshly,\" she began. \"She is so sweet, so\r\ngood-natured, and her position now is a very hard one.\"\r\n\r\n\"I do not think I have complained of my wife to you, Masha, or blamed\r\nher. Why do you say all this to me?\"\r\n\r\nRed patches appeared on Princess Mary's face and she was silent as if\r\nshe felt guilty.\r\n\r\n\"I have said nothing to you, but you have already been talked to. And I\r\nam sorry for that,\" he went on.\r\n\r\nThe patches grew deeper on her forehead, neck, and cheeks. She tried to\r\nsay something but could not. Her brother had guessed right: the little\r\nprincess had been crying after dinner and had spoken of her forebodings\r\nabout her confinement, and how she dreaded it, and had complained of her\r\nfate, her father-in-law, and her husband. After crying she had fallen\r\nasleep. Prince Andrew felt sorry for his sister.\r\n\r\n\"Know this, Masha: I can't reproach, have not reproached, and never\r\nshall reproach my wife with anything, and I cannot reproach myself\r\nwith anything in regard to her; and that always will be so in whatever\r\ncircumstances I may be placed. But if you want to know the truth... if\r\nyou want to know whether I am happy? No! Is she happy? No! But why this\r\nis so I don't know...\"\r\n\r\nAs he said this he rose, went to his sister, and, stooping, kissed\r\nher forehead. His fine eyes lit up with a thoughtful, kindly, and\r\nunaccustomed brightness, but he was looking not at his sister but over\r\nher head toward the darkness of the open doorway.\r\n\r\n\"Let us go to her, I must say good-by. Or--go and wake and I'll come\r\nin a moment. Petrushka!\" he called to his valet: \"Come here, take these\r\naway. Put this on the seat and this to the right.\"\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary rose and moved to the door, then stopped and said:\r\n\"Andrew, if you had faith you would have turned to God and asked Him\r\nto give you the love you do not feel, and your prayer would have been\r\nanswered.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, may be!\" said Prince Andrew. \"Go, Masha; I'll come immediately.\"\r\n\r\nOn the way to his sister's room, in the passage which connected one\r\nwing with the other, Prince Andrew met Mademoiselle Bourienne smiling\r\nsweetly. It was the third time that day that, with an ecstatic and\r\nartless smile, she had met him in secluded passages.\r\n\r\n\"Oh! I thought you were in your room,\" she said, for some reason\r\nblushing and dropping her eyes.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew looked sternly at her and an expression of anger suddenly\r\ncame over his face. He said nothing to her but looked at her forehead\r\nand hair, without looking at her eyes, with such contempt that the\r\nFrenchwoman blushed and went away without a word. When he reached his\r\nsister's room his wife was already awake and her merry voice, hurrying\r\none word after another, came through the open door. She was speaking as\r\nusual in French, and as if after long self-restraint she wished to make\r\nup for lost time.\r\n\r\n\"No, but imagine the old Countess Zubova, with false curls and her mouth\r\nfull of false teeth, as if she were trying to cheat old age.... Ha, ha,\r\nha! Mary!\"\r\n\r\nThis very sentence about Countess Zubova and this same laugh Prince\r\nAndrew had already heard from his wife in the presence of others some\r\nfive times. He entered the room softly. The little princess, plump and\r\nrosy, was sitting in an easy chair with her work in her hands, talking\r\nincessantly, repeating Petersburg reminiscences and even phrases. Prince\r\nAndrew came up, stroked her hair, and asked if she felt rested after\r\ntheir journey. She answered him and continued her chatter.\r\n\r\nThe coach with six horses was waiting at the porch. It was an autumn\r\nnight, so dark that the coachman could not see the carriage pole.\r\nServants with lanterns were bustling about in the porch. The immense\r\nhouse was brilliant with lights shining through its lofty windows. The\r\ndomestic serfs were crowding in the hall, waiting to bid good-by to\r\nthe young prince. The members of the household were all gathered in\r\nthe reception hall: Michael Ivanovich, Mademoiselle Bourienne, Princess\r\nMary, and the little princess. Prince Andrew had been called to his\r\nfather's study as the latter wished to say good-by to him alone. All\r\nwere waiting for them to come out.\r\n\r\nWhen Prince Andrew entered the study the old man in his old-age\r\nspectacles and white dressing gown, in which he received no one but his\r\nson, sat at the table writing. He glanced round.\r\n\r\n\"Going?\" And he went on writing.\r\n\r\n\"I've come to say good-by.\"\r\n\r\n\"Kiss me here,\" and he touched his cheek: \"Thanks, thanks!\"\r\n\r\n\"What do you thank me for?\"\r\n\r\n\"For not dilly-dallying and not hanging to a woman's apron strings. The\r\nService before everything. Thanks, thanks!\" And he went on writing, so\r\nthat his quill spluttered and squeaked. \"If you have anything to say,\r\nsay it. These two things can be done together,\" he added.\r\n\r\n\"About my wife... I am ashamed as it is to leave her on your hands...\"\r\n\r\n\"Why talk nonsense? Say what you want.\"\r\n\r\n\"When her confinement is due, send to Moscow for an accoucheur.... Let\r\nhim be here....\"\r\n\r\nThe old prince stopped writing and, as if not understanding, fixed his\r\nstern eyes on his son.\r\n\r\n\"I know that no one can help if nature does not do her work,\" said\r\nPrince Andrew, evidently confused. \"I know that out of a million cases\r\nonly one goes wrong, but it is her fancy and mine. They have been\r\ntelling her things. She has had a dream and is frightened.\"\r\n\r\n\"Hm... Hm...\" muttered the old prince to himself, finishing what he was\r\nwriting. \"I'll do it.\"\r\n\r\nHe signed with a flourish and suddenly turning to his son began to\r\nlaugh.\r\n\r\n\"It's a bad business, eh?\"\r\n\r\n\"What is bad, Father?\"\r\n\r\n\"The wife!\" said the old prince, briefly and significantly.\r\n\r\n\"I don't understand!\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"No, it can't be helped, lad,\" said the prince. \"They're all like that;\r\none can't unmarry. Don't be afraid; I won't tell anyone, but you know it\r\nyourself.\"\r\n\r\nHe seized his son by the hand with small bony fingers, shook it, looked\r\nstraight into his son's face with keen eyes which seemed to see through\r\nhim, and again laughed his frigid laugh.\r\n\r\nThe son sighed, thus admitting that his father had understood him. The\r\nold man continued to fold and seal his letter, snatching up and throwing\r\ndown the wax, the seal, and the paper, with his accustomed rapidity.\r\n\r\n\"What's to be done? She's pretty! I will do everything. Make your mind\r\neasy,\" said he in abrupt sentences while sealing his letter.\r\n\r\nAndrew did not speak; he was both pleased and displeased that his father\r\nunderstood him. The old man got up and gave the letter to his son.\r\n\r\n\"Listen!\" said he; \"don't worry about your wife: what can be done shall\r\nbe. Now listen! Give this letter to Michael Ilarionovich. * I have\r\nwritten that he should make use of you in proper places and not keep you\r\nlong as an adjutant: a bad position! Tell him I remember and like him.\r\nWrite and tell me how he receives you. If he is all right--serve\r\nhim. Nicholas Bolkonski's son need not serve under anyone if he is in\r\ndisfavor. Now come here.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     *Kutuzov.\r\n\r\n\r\nHe spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half his words, but his son\r\nwas accustomed to understand him. He led him to the desk, raised the\r\nlid, drew out a drawer, and took out an exercise book filled with his\r\nbold, tall, close handwriting.\r\n\r\n\"I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs;\r\nhand them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bond and\r\na letter; it is a premium for the man who writes a history of Suvorov's\r\nwars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for you to read\r\nwhen I am gone. You will find them useful.\"\r\n\r\nAndrew did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a long time\r\nyet. He felt that he must not say it.\r\n\r\n\"I will do it all, Father,\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Well, now, good-by!\" He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embraced\r\nhim. \"Remember this, Prince Andrew, if they kill you it will hurt me,\r\nyour old father...\" he paused unexpectedly, and then in a querulous\r\nvoice suddenly shrieked: \"but if I hear that you have not behaved like a\r\nson of Nicholas Bolkonski, I shall be ashamed!\"\r\n\r\n\"You need not have said that to me, Father,\" said the son with a smile.\r\n\r\nThe old man was silent.\r\n\r\n\"I also wanted to ask you,\" continued Prince Andrew, \"if I'm killed\r\nand if I have a son, do not let him be taken away from you--as I said\r\nyesterday... let him grow up with you.... Please.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not let the wife have him?\" said the old man, and laughed.\r\n\r\nThey stood silent, facing one another. The old man's sharp eyes were\r\nfixed straight on his son's. Something twitched in the lower part of the\r\nold prince's face.\r\n\r\n\"We've said good-by. Go!\" he suddenly shouted in a loud, angry voice,\r\nopening his door.\r\n\r\n\"What is it? What?\" asked both princesses when they saw for a moment at\r\nthe door Prince Andrew and the figure of the old man in a white dressing\r\ngown, spectacled and wigless, shouting in an angry voice.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew sighed and made no reply.\r\n\r\n\"Well!\" he said, turning to his wife.\r\n\r\nAnd this \"Well!\" sounded coldly ironic, as if he were saying,: \"Now go\r\nthrough your performance.\"\r\n\r\n\"Andrew, already!\" said the little princess, turning pale and looking\r\nwith dismay at her husband.\r\n\r\nHe embraced her. She screamed and fell unconscious on his shoulder.\r\n\r\nHe cautiously released the shoulder she leaned on, looked into her face,\r\nand carefully placed her in an easy chair.\r\n\r\n\"Adieu, Mary,\" said he gently to his sister, taking her by the hand and\r\nkissing her, and then he left the room with rapid steps.\r\n\r\nThe little princess lay in the armchair, Mademoiselle Bourienne chafing\r\nher temples. Princess Mary, supporting her sister-in-law, still looked\r\nwith her beautiful eyes full of tears at the door through which Prince\r\nAndrew had gone and made the sign of the cross in his direction. From\r\nthe study, like pistol shots, came the frequent sound of the old man\r\nangrily blowing his nose. Hardly had Prince Andrew gone when the study\r\ndoor opened quickly and the stern figure of the old man in the white\r\ndressing gown looked out.\r\n\r\n\"Gone? That's all right!\" said he; and looking angrily at the\r\nunconscious little princess, he shook his head reprovingly and slammed\r\nthe door.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK TWO: 1805\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I\r\n\r\n\r\nIn October, 1805, a Russian army was occupying the villages and towns of\r\nthe Archduchy of Austria, and yet other regiments freshly arriving from\r\nRussia were settling near the fortress of Braunau and burdening the\r\ninhabitants on whom they were quartered. Braunau was the headquarters of\r\nthe commander-in-chief, Kutuzov.\r\n\r\nOn October 11, 1805, one of the infantry regiments that had just reached\r\nBraunau had halted half a mile from the town, waiting to be inspected\r\nby the commander in chief. Despite the un-Russian appearance of the\r\nlocality and surroundings--fruit gardens, stone fences, tiled roofs, and\r\nhills in the distance--and despite the fact that the inhabitants (who\r\ngazed with curiosity at the soldiers) were not Russians, the regiment\r\nhad just the appearance of any Russian regiment preparing for an\r\ninspection anywhere in the heart of Russia.\r\n\r\nOn the evening of the last day's march an order had been received that\r\nthe commander in chief would inspect the regiment on the march. Though\r\nthe words of the order were not clear to the regimental commander, and\r\nthe question arose whether the troops were to be in marching order or\r\nnot, it was decided at a consultation between the battalion commanders\r\nto present the regiment in parade order, on the principle that it is\r\nalways better to \"bow too low than not bow low enough.\" So the soldiers,\r\nafter a twenty-mile march, were kept mending and cleaning all night long\r\nwithout closing their eyes, while the adjutants and company commanders\r\ncalculated and reckoned, and by morning the regiment--instead of the\r\nstraggling, disorderly crowd it had been on its last march the day\r\nbefore--presented a well-ordered array of two thousand men each of whom\r\nknew his place and his duty, had every button and every strap in place,\r\nand shone with cleanliness. And not only externally was all in order,\r\nbut had it pleased the commander in chief to look under the uniforms he\r\nwould have found on every man a clean shirt, and in every knapsack the\r\nappointed number of articles, \"awl, soap, and all,\" as the soldiers\r\nsay. There was only one circumstance concerning which no one could be at\r\nease. It was the state of the soldiers' boots. More than half the men's\r\nboots were in holes. But this defect was not due to any fault of the\r\nregimental commander, for in spite of repeated demands boots had not\r\nbeen issued by the Austrian commissariat, and the regiment had marched\r\nsome seven hundred miles.\r\n\r\nThe commander of the regiment was an elderly, choleric, stout, and\r\nthick-set general with grizzled eyebrows and whiskers, and wider from\r\nchest to back than across the shoulders. He had on a brand-new uniform\r\nshowing the creases where it had been folded and thick gold epaulettes\r\nwhich seemed to stand rather than lie down on his massive shoulders. He\r\nhad the air of a man happily performing one of the most solemn duties of\r\nhis life. He walked about in front of the line and at every step pulled\r\nhimself up, slightly arching his back. It was plain that the commander\r\nadmired his regiment, rejoiced in it, and that his whole mind was\r\nengrossed by it, yet his strut seemed to indicate that, besides military\r\nmatters, social interests and the fair sex occupied no small part of his\r\nthoughts.\r\n\r\n\"Well, Michael Mitrich, sir?\" he said, addressing one of the battalion\r\ncommanders who smilingly pressed forward (it was plain that they both\r\nfelt happy). \"We had our hands full last night. However, I think the\r\nregiment is not a bad one, eh?\"\r\n\r\nThe battalion commander perceived the jovial irony and laughed.\r\n\r\n\"It would not be turned off the field even on the Tsaritsin Meadow.\"\r\n\r\n\"What?\" asked the commander.\r\n\r\nAt that moment, on the road from the town on which signalers had been\r\nposted, two men appeared on horse back. They were an aide-de-camp\r\nfollowed by a Cossack.\r\n\r\nThe aide-de-camp was sent to confirm the order which had not been\r\nclearly worded the day before, namely, that the commander in chief\r\nwished to see the regiment just in the state in which it had been on\r\nthe march: in their greatcoats, and packs, and without any preparation\r\nwhatever.\r\n\r\nA member of the Hofkriegsrath from Vienna had come to Kutuzov the day\r\nbefore with proposals and demands for him to join up with the army\r\nof the Archduke Ferdinand and Mack, and Kutuzov, not considering this\r\njunction advisable, meant, among other arguments in support of his view,\r\nto show the Austrian general the wretched state in which the troops\r\narrived from Russia. With this object he intended to meet the regiment;\r\nso the worse the condition it was in, the better pleased the commander\r\nin chief would be. Though the aide-de-camp did not know these\r\ncircumstances, he nevertheless delivered the definite order that the\r\nmen should be in their greatcoats and in marching order, and that the\r\ncommander in chief would otherwise be dissatisfied. On hearing this the\r\nregimental commander hung his head, silently shrugged his shoulders, and\r\nspread out his arms with a choleric gesture.\r\n\r\n\"A fine mess we've made of it!\" he remarked.\r\n\r\n\"There now! Didn't I tell you, Michael Mitrich, that if it was said\r\n'on the march' it meant in greatcoats?\" said he reproachfully to\r\nthe battalion commander. \"Oh, my God!\" he added, stepping resolutely\r\nforward. \"Company commanders!\" he shouted in a voice accustomed to\r\ncommand. \"Sergeants major!... How soon will he be here?\" he asked the\r\naide-de-camp with a respectful politeness evidently relating to the\r\npersonage he was referring to.\r\n\r\n\"In an hour's time, I should say.\"\r\n\r\n\"Shall we have time to change clothes?\"\r\n\r\n\"I don't know, General....\"\r\n\r\nThe regimental commander, going up to the line himself, ordered the\r\nsoldiers to change into their greatcoats. The company commanders ran off\r\nto their companies, the sergeants major began bustling (the greatcoats\r\nwere not in very good condition), and instantly the squares that had up\r\nto then been in regular order and silent began to sway and stretch and\r\nhum with voices. On all sides soldiers were running to and fro, throwing\r\nup their knapsacks with a jerk of their shoulders and pulling the straps\r\nover their heads, unstrapping their overcoats and drawing the sleeves on\r\nwith upraised arms.\r\n\r\nIn half an hour all was again in order, only the squares had become gray\r\ninstead of black. The regimental commander walked with his jerky steps\r\nto the front of the regiment and examined it from a distance.\r\n\r\n\"Whatever is this? This!\" he shouted and stood still. \"Commander of the\r\nthird company!\"\r\n\r\n\"Commander of the third company wanted by the general!... commander to\r\nthe general... third company to the commander.\" The words passed along\r\nthe lines and an adjutant ran to look for the missing officer.\r\n\r\nWhen the eager but misrepeated words had reached their destination in a\r\ncry of: \"The general to the third company,\" the missing officer appeared\r\nfrom behind his company and, though he was a middle-aged man and not in\r\nthe habit of running, trotted awkwardly stumbling on his toes toward the\r\ngeneral. The captain's face showed the uneasiness of a schoolboy who is\r\ntold to repeat a lesson he has not learned. Spots appeared on his nose,\r\nthe redness of which was evidently due to intemperance, and his mouth\r\ntwitched nervously. The general looked the captain up and down as he\r\ncame up panting, slackening his pace as he approached.\r\n\r\n\"You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this?\"\r\nshouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and pointing\r\nat a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoat of bluish\r\ncloth, which contrasted with the others. \"What have you been after? The\r\ncommander in chief is expected and you leave your place? Eh? I'll teach\r\nyou to dress the men in fancy coats for a parade.... Eh...?\"\r\n\r\nThe commander of the company, with his eyes fixed on his superior,\r\npressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in this\r\npressure lay his only hope of salvation.\r\n\r\n\"Well, why don't you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up as a\r\nHungarian?\" said the commander with an austere gibe.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency...\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about your\r\nexcellency?... nobody knows.\"\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency, it's the officer Dolokhov, who has been reduced to the\r\nranks,\" said the captain softly.\r\n\r\n\"Well? Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier? If\r\na soldier, he should be dressed in regulation uniform like the others.\"\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself, on the march.\"\r\n\r\n\"Gave him leave? Leave? That's just like you young men,\" said the\r\nregimental commander cooling down a little. \"Leave indeed.... One says\r\na word to you and you... What?\" he added with renewed irritation, \"I beg\r\nyou to dress your men decently.\"\r\n\r\nAnd the commander, turning to look at the adjutant, directed his jerky\r\nsteps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his own display of\r\nanger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a further excuse for\r\nwrath. Having snapped at an officer for an unpolished badge, at another\r\nbecause his line was not straight, he reached the third company.\r\n\r\n\"H-o-o-w are you standing? Where's your leg? Your leg?\" shouted the\r\ncommander with a tone of suffering in his voice, while there were still\r\nfive men between him and Dolokhov with his bluish-gray uniform.\r\n\r\nDolokhov slowly straightened his bent knee, looking straight with his\r\nclear, insolent eyes in the general's face.\r\n\r\n\"Why a blue coat? Off with it... Sergeant major! Change his coat... the\r\nras...\" he did not finish.\r\n\r\n\"General, I must obey orders, but I am not bound to endure...\" Dolokhov\r\nhurriedly interrupted.\r\n\r\n\"No talking in the ranks!... No talking, no talking!\"\r\n\r\n\"Not bound to endure insults,\" Dolokhov concluded in loud, ringing\r\ntones.\r\n\r\nThe eyes of the general and the soldier met. The general became silent,\r\nangrily pulling down his tight scarf.\r\n\r\n\"I request you to have the goodness to change your coat,\" he said as he\r\nturned away.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II\r\n\r\n\r\n\"He's coming!\" shouted the signaler at that moment.\r\n\r\nThe regimental commander, flushing, ran to his horse, seized the stirrup\r\nwith trembling hands, threw his body across the saddle, righted himself,\r\ndrew his saber, and with a happy and resolute countenance, opening\r\nhis mouth awry, prepared to shout. The regiment fluttered like a bird\r\npreening its plumage and became motionless.\r\n\r\n\"Att-ention!\" shouted the regimental commander in a soul-shaking voice\r\nwhich expressed joy for himself, severity for the regiment, and welcome\r\nfor the approaching chief.\r\n\r\nAlong the broad country road, edged on both sides by trees, came a high,\r\nlight blue Viennese caleche, slightly creaking on its springs and drawn\r\nby six horses at a smart trot. Behind the caleche galloped the suite and\r\na convoy of Croats. Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general, in a white\r\nuniform that looked strange among the Russian black ones. The caleche\r\nstopped in front of the regiment. Kutuzov and the Austrian general were\r\ntalking in low voices and Kutuzov smiled slightly as treading heavily\r\nhe stepped down from the carriage just as if those two thousand men\r\nbreathlessly gazing at him and the regimental commander did not exist.\r\n\r\nThe word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, as with a\r\njingling sound it presented arms. Then amidst a dead silence the feeble\r\nvoice of the commander in chief was heard. The regiment roared, \"Health\r\nto your ex... len... len... lency!\" and again all became silent. At\r\nfirst Kutuzov stood still while the regiment moved; then he and the\r\ngeneral in white, accompanied by the suite, walked between the ranks.\r\n\r\nFrom the way the regimental commander saluted the commander in chief and\r\ndevoured him with his eyes, drawing himself up obsequiously, and from\r\nthe way he walked through the ranks behind the generals, bending forward\r\nand hardly able to restrain his jerky movements, and from the way he\r\ndarted forward at every word or gesture of the commander in chief,\r\nit was evident that he performed his duty as a subordinate with even\r\ngreater zeal than his duty as a commander. Thanks to the strictness and\r\nassiduity of its commander the regiment, in comparison with others that\r\nhad reached Braunau at the same time, was in splendid condition. There\r\nwere only 217 sick and stragglers. Everything was in good order except\r\nthe boots.\r\n\r\nKutuzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few\r\nfriendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, sometimes\r\nalso to the soldiers. Looking at their boots he several times shook his\r\nhead sadly, pointing them out to the Austrian general with an expression\r\nwhich seemed to say that he was not blaming anyone, but could not help\r\nnoticing what a bad state of things it was. The regimental commander\r\nran forward on each such occasion, fearing to miss a single word of\r\nthe commander in chief's regarding the regiment. Behind Kutuzov, at a\r\ndistance that allowed every softly spoken word to be heard, followed\r\nsome twenty men of his suite. These gentlemen talked among themselves\r\nand sometimes laughed. Nearest of all to the commander in chief walked a\r\nhandsome adjutant. This was Prince Bolkonski. Beside him was his\r\ncomrade Nesvitski, a tall staff officer, extremely stout, with a kindly,\r\nsmiling, handsome face and moist eyes. Nesvitski could hardly keep from\r\nlaughter provoked by a swarthy hussar officer who walked beside him.\r\nThis hussar, with a grave face and without a smile or a change in the\r\nexpression of his fixed eyes, watched the regimental commander's back\r\nand mimicked his every movement. Each time the commander started and\r\nbent forward, the hussar started and bent forward in exactly the same\r\nmanner. Nesvitski laughed and nudged the others to make them look at the\r\nwag.\r\n\r\nKutuzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes which were\r\nstarting from their sockets to watch their chief. On reaching the\r\nthird company he suddenly stopped. His suite, not having expected this,\r\ninvoluntarily came closer to him.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Timokhin!\" said he, recognizing the red-nosed captain who had been\r\nreprimanded on account of the blue greatcoat.\r\n\r\nOne would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself\r\nmore than Timokhin had done when he was reprimanded by the regimental\r\ncommander, but now that the commander in chief addressed him he drew\r\nhimself up to such an extent that it seemed he could not have sustained\r\nit had the commander in chief continued to look at him, and so Kutuzov,\r\nwho evidently understood his case and wished him nothing but good,\r\nquickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over his\r\nscarred and puffy face.\r\n\r\n\"Another Ismail comrade,\" said he. \"A brave officer! Are you satisfied\r\nwith him?\" he asked the regimental commander.\r\n\r\nAnd the latter--unconscious that he was being reflected in the hussar\r\nofficer as in a looking glass--started, moved forward, and answered:\r\n\"Highly satisfied, your excellency!\"\r\n\r\n\"We all have our weaknesses,\" said Kutuzov smiling and walking away from\r\nhim. \"He used to have a predilection for Bacchus.\"\r\n\r\nThe regimental commander was afraid he might be blamed for this and did\r\nnot answer. The hussar at that moment noticed the face of the red-nosed\r\ncaptain and his drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his expression and pose\r\nwith such exactitude that Nesvitski could not help laughing. Kutuzov\r\nturned round. The officer evidently had complete control of his face,\r\nand while Kutuzov was turning managed to make a grimace and then assume\r\na most serious, deferential, and innocent expression.\r\n\r\nThe third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, apparently trying\r\nto recollect something. Prince Andrew stepped forward from among the\r\nsuite and said in French:\r\n\r\n\"You told me to remind you of the officer Dolokhov, reduced to the ranks\r\nin this regiment.\"\r\n\r\n\"Where is Dolokhov?\" asked Kutuzov.\r\n\r\nDolokhov, who had already changed into a soldier's gray greatcoat, did\r\nnot wait to be called. The shapely figure of the fair-haired soldier,\r\nwith his clear blue eyes, stepped forward from the ranks, went up to the\r\ncommander in chief, and presented arms.\r\n\r\n\"Have you a complaint to make?\" Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.\r\n\r\n\"This is Dolokhov,\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"Ah!\" said Kutuzov. \"I hope this will be a lesson to you. Do your duty.\r\nThe Emperor is gracious, and I shan't forget you if you deserve well.\"\r\n\r\nThe clear blue eyes looked at the commander in chief just as boldly as\r\nthey had looked at the regimental commander, seeming by their expression\r\nto tear open the veil of convention that separates a commander in chief\r\nso widely from a private.\r\n\r\n\"One thing I ask of your excellency,\" Dolokhov said in his firm,\r\nringing, deliberate voice. \"I ask an opportunity to atone for my fault\r\nand prove my devotion to His Majesty the Emperor and to Russia!\"\r\n\r\nKutuzov turned away. The same smile of the eyes with which he had turned\r\nfrom Captain Timokhin again flitted over his face. He turned away with\r\na grimace as if to say that everything Dolokhov had said to him and\r\neverything he could say had long been known to him, that he was weary of\r\nit and it was not at all what he wanted. He turned away and went to the\r\ncarriage.\r\n\r\nThe regiment broke up into companies, which went to their appointed\r\nquarters near Braunau, where they hoped to receive boots and clothes and\r\nto rest after their hard marches.\r\n\r\n\"You won't bear me a grudge, Prokhor Ignatych?\" said the regimental\r\ncommander, overtaking the third company on its way to its quarters and\r\nriding up to Captain Timokhin who was walking in front. (The regimental\r\ncommander's face now that the inspection was happily over beamed with\r\nirrepressible delight.) \"It's in the Emperor's service... it can't be\r\nhelped... one is sometimes a bit hasty on parade... I am the first to\r\napologize, you know me!... He was very pleased!\" And he held out his\r\nhand to the captain.\r\n\r\n\"Don't mention it, General, as if I'd be so bold!\" replied the captain,\r\nhis nose growing redder as he gave a smile which showed where two front\r\nteeth were missing that had been knocked out by the butt end of a gun at\r\nIsmail.\r\n\r\n\"And tell Mr. Dolokhov that I won't forget him--he may be quite easy.\r\nAnd tell me, please--I've been meaning to ask--how is he behaving\r\nhimself, and in general...\"\r\n\r\n\"As far as the service goes he is quite punctilious, your excellency;\r\nbut his character...\" said Timokhin.\r\n\r\n\"And what about his character?\" asked the regimental commander.\r\n\r\n\"It's different on different days,\" answered the captain. \"One day he\r\nis sensible, well educated, and good-natured, and the next he's a wild\r\nbeast.... In Poland, if you please, he nearly killed a Jew.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, well, well!\" remarked the regimental commander. \"Still, one must\r\nhave pity on a young man in misfortune. You know he has important\r\nconnections... Well, then, you just...\"\r\n\r\n\"I will, your excellency,\" said Timokhin, showing by his smile that he\r\nunderstood his commander's wish.\r\n\r\n\"Well, of course, of course!\"\r\n\r\nThe regimental commander sought out Dolokhov in the ranks and, reining\r\nin his horse, said to him:\r\n\r\n\"After the next affair... epaulettes.\"\r\n\r\nDolokhov looked round but did not say anything, nor did the mocking\r\nsmile on his lips change.\r\n\r\n\"Well, that's all right,\" continued the regimental commander. \"A cup of\r\nvodka for the men from me,\" he added so that the soldiers could hear.\r\n\"I thank you all! God be praised!\" and he rode past that company and\r\novertook the next one.\r\n\r\n\"Well, he's really a good fellow, one can serve under him,\" said\r\nTimokhin to the subaltern beside him.\r\n\r\n\"In a word, a hearty one...\" said the subaltern, laughing (the\r\nregimental commander was nicknamed King of Hearts).\r\n\r\nThe cheerful mood of their officers after the inspection infected the\r\nsoldiers. The company marched on gaily. The soldiers' voices could be\r\nheard on every side.\r\n\r\n\"And they said Kutuzov was blind of one eye?\"\r\n\r\n\"And so he is! Quite blind!\"\r\n\r\n\"No, friend, he is sharper-eyed than you are. Boots and leg bands... he\r\nnoticed everything...\"\r\n\r\n\"When he looked at my feet, friend... well, thinks I...\"\r\n\r\n\"And that other one with him, the Austrian, looked as if he were smeared\r\nwith chalk--as white as flour! I suppose they polish him up as they do\r\nthe guns.\"\r\n\r\n\"I say, Fedeshon!... Did he say when the battles are to begin? You were\r\nnear him. Everybody said that Buonaparte himself was at Braunau.\"\r\n\r\n\"Buonaparte himself!... Just listen to the fool, what he doesn't know!\r\nThe Prussians are up in arms now. The Austrians, you see, are putting\r\nthem down. When they've been put down, the war with Buonaparte will\r\nbegin. And he says Buonaparte is in Braunau! Shows you're a fool. You'd\r\nbetter listen more carefully!\"\r\n\r\n\"What devils these quartermasters are! See, the fifth company is turning\r\ninto the village already... they will have their buckwheat cooked before\r\nwe reach our quarters.\"\r\n\r\n\"Give me a biscuit, you devil!\"\r\n\r\n\"And did you give me tobacco yesterday? That's just it, friend! Ah,\r\nwell, never mind, here you are.\"\r\n\r\n\"They might call a halt here or we'll have to do another four miles\r\nwithout eating.\"\r\n\r\n\"Wasn't it fine when those Germans gave us lifts! You just sit still and\r\nare drawn along.\"\r\n\r\n\"And here, friend, the people are quite beggarly. There they all seemed\r\nto be Poles--all under the Russian crown--but here they're all regular\r\nGermans.\"\r\n\r\n\"Singers to the front\" came the captain's order.\r\n\r\nAnd from the different ranks some twenty men ran to the front. A\r\ndrummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing\r\nhis arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song, commencing with the\r\nwords: \"Morning dawned, the sun was rising,\" and concluding: \"On then,\r\nbrothers, on to glory, led by Father Kamenski.\" This song had been\r\ncomposed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the only\r\nchange being that the words \"Father Kamenski\" were replaced by \"Father\r\nKutuzov.\"\r\n\r\nHaving jerked out these last words as soldiers do and waved his arms\r\nas if flinging something to the ground, the drummer--a lean, handsome\r\nsoldier of forty--looked sternly at the singers and screwed up his eyes.\r\nThen having satisfied himself that all eyes were fixed on him, he raised\r\nboth arms as if carefully lifting some invisible but precious object\r\nabove his head and, holding it there for some seconds, suddenly flung it\r\ndown and began:\r\n\r\n\"Oh, my bower, oh, my bower...!\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, my bower new...!\" chimed in twenty voices, and the castanet player,\r\nin spite of the burden of his equipment, rushed out to the front\r\nand, walking backwards before the company, jerked his shoulders and\r\nflourished his castanets as if threatening someone. The soldiers,\r\nswinging their arms and keeping time spontaneously, marched with long\r\nsteps. Behind the company the sound of wheels, the creaking of springs,\r\nand the tramp of horses' hoofs were heard. Kutuzov and his suite were\r\nreturning to the town. The commander in chief made a sign that the\r\nmen should continue to march at ease, and he and all his suite showed\r\npleasure at the sound of the singing and the sight of the dancing\r\nsoldier and the gay and smartly marching men. In the second file\r\nfrom the right flank, beside which the carriage passed the company,\r\na blue-eyed soldier involuntarily attracted notice. It was Dolokhov\r\nmarching with particular grace and boldness in time to the song and\r\nlooking at those driving past as if he pitied all who were not at that\r\nmoment marching with the company. The hussar cornet of Kutuzov's suite\r\nwho had mimicked the regimental commander, fell back from the carriage\r\nand rode up to Dolokhov.\r\n\r\nHussar cornet Zherkov had at one time, in Petersburg, belonged to the\r\nwild set led by Dolokhov. Zherkov had met Dolokhov abroad as a private\r\nand had not seen fit to recognize him. But now that Kutuzov had spoken\r\nto the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the cordiality of an old\r\nfriend.\r\n\r\n\"My dear fellow, how are you?\" said he through the singing, making his\r\nhorse keep pace with the company.\r\n\r\n\"How am I?\" Dolokhov answered coldly. \"I am as you see.\"\r\n\r\nThe lively song gave a special flavor to the tone of free and easy\r\ngaiety with which Zherkov spoke, and to the intentional coldness of\r\nDolokhov's reply.\r\n\r\n\"And how do you get on with the officers?\" inquired Zherkov.\r\n\r\n\"All right. They are good fellows. And how have you wriggled onto the\r\nstaff?\"\r\n\r\n\"I was attached; I'm on duty.\"\r\n\r\nBoth were silent.\r\n\r\n\"She let the hawk fly upward from her wide right sleeve,\" went the song,\r\narousing an involuntary sensation of courage and cheerfulness. Their\r\nconversation would probably have been different but for the effect of\r\nthat song.\r\n\r\n\"Is it true that Austrians have been beaten?\" asked Dolokhov.\r\n\r\n\"The devil only knows! They say so.\"\r\n\r\n\"I'm glad,\" answered Dolokhov briefly and clearly, as the song demanded.\r\n\r\n\"I say, come round some evening and we'll have a game of faro!\" said\r\nZherkov.\r\n\r\n\"Why, have you too much money?\"\r\n\r\n\"Do come.\"\r\n\r\n\"I can't. I've sworn not to. I won't drink and won't play till I get\r\nreinstated.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, that's only till the first engagement.\"\r\n\r\n\"We shall see.\"\r\n\r\nThey were again silent.\r\n\r\n\"Come if you need anything. One can at least be of use on the staff...\"\r\n\r\nDolokhov smiled. \"Don't trouble. If I want anything, I won't beg--I'll\r\ntake it!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, never mind; I only...\"\r\n\r\n\"And I only...\"\r\n\r\n\"Good-by.\"\r\n\r\n\"Good health...\"\r\n\r\n        \"It's a long, long way.\r\n        To my native land...\"\r\n\r\n\r\nZherkov touched his horse with the spurs; it pranced excitedly from foot\r\nto foot uncertain with which to start, then settled down, galloped past\r\nthe company, and overtook the carriage, still keeping time to the song.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III\r\n\r\n\r\nOn returning from the review, Kutuzov took the Austrian general into his\r\nprivate room and, calling his adjutant, asked for some papers relating\r\nto the condition of the troops on their arrival, and the letters that\r\nhad come from the Archduke Ferdinand, who was in command of the advanced\r\narmy. Prince Andrew Bolkonski came into the room with the required\r\npapers. Kutuzov and the Austrian member of the Hofkriegsrath were\r\nsitting at the table on which a plan was spread out.\r\n\r\n\"Ah!...\" said Kutuzov glancing at Bolkonski as if by this exclamation he\r\nwas asking the adjutant to wait, and he went on with the conversation in\r\nFrench.\r\n\r\n\"All I can say, General,\" said he with a pleasant elegance of expression\r\nand intonation that obliged one to listen to each deliberately spoken\r\nword. It was evident that Kutuzov himself listened with pleasure to his\r\nown voice. \"All I can say, General, is that if the matter depended on my\r\npersonal wishes, the will of His Majesty the Emperor Francis would have\r\nbeen fulfilled long ago. I should long ago have joined the archduke. And\r\nbelieve me on my honour that to me personally it would be a pleasure\r\nto hand over the supreme command of the army into the hands of a better\r\ninformed and more skillful general--of whom Austria has so many--and to\r\nlay down all this heavy responsibility. But circumstances are sometimes\r\ntoo strong for us, General.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Kutuzov smiled in a way that seemed to say, \"You are quite at\r\nliberty not to believe me and I don't even care whether you do or not,\r\nbut you have no grounds for telling me so. And that is the whole point.\"\r\n\r\nThe Austrian general looked dissatisfied, but had no option but to reply\r\nin the same tone.\r\n\r\n\"On the contrary,\" he said, in a querulous and angry tone that\r\ncontrasted with his flattering words, \"on the contrary, your\r\nexcellency's participation in the common action is highly valued by\r\nHis Majesty; but we think the present delay is depriving the splendid\r\nRussian troops and their commander of the laurels they have been\r\naccustomed to win in their battles,\" he concluded his evidently\r\nprearranged sentence.\r\n\r\nKutuzov bowed with the same smile.\r\n\r\n\"But that is my conviction, and judging by the last letter with which\r\nHis Highness the Archduke Ferdinand has honored me, I imagine that the\r\nAustrian troops, under the direction of so skillful a leader as General\r\nMack, have by now already gained a decisive victory and no longer need\r\nour aid,\" said Kutuzov.\r\n\r\nThe general frowned. Though there was no definite news of an Austrian\r\ndefeat, there were many circumstances confirming the unfavorable rumors\r\nthat were afloat, and so Kutuzov's suggestion of an Austrian victory\r\nsounded much like irony. But Kutuzov went on blandly smiling with the\r\nsame expression, which seemed to say that he had a right to suppose so.\r\nAnd, in fact, the last letter he had received from Mack's army informed\r\nhim of a victory and stated strategically the position of the army was\r\nvery favorable.\r\n\r\n\"Give me that letter,\" said Kutuzov turning to Prince Andrew. \"Please\r\nhave a look at it\"--and Kutuzov with an ironical smile about the corners\r\nof his mouth read to the Austrian general the following passage, in\r\nGerman, from the Archduke Ferdinand's letter:\r\n\r\n\r\nWe have fully concentrated forces of nearly seventy thousand men with\r\nwhich to attack and defeat the enemy should he cross the Lech. Also,\r\nas we are masters of Ulm, we cannot be deprived of the advantage of\r\ncommanding both sides of the Danube, so that should the enemy not\r\ncross the Lech, we can cross the Danube, throw ourselves on his line\r\nof communications, recross the river lower down, and frustrate his\r\nintention should he try to direct his whole force against our faithful\r\nally. We shall therefore confidently await the moment when the Imperial\r\nRussian army will be fully equipped, and shall then, in conjunction with\r\nit, easily find a way to prepare for the enemy the fate he deserves.\r\n\r\n\r\nKutuzov sighed deeply on finishing this paragraph and looked at the\r\nmember of the Hofkriegsrath mildly and attentively.\r\n\r\n\"But you know the wise maxim your excellency, advising one to expect the\r\nworst,\" said the Austrian general, evidently wishing to have done with\r\njests and to come to business. He involuntarily looked round at the\r\naide-de-camp.\r\n\r\n\"Excuse me, General,\" interrupted Kutuzov, also turning to Prince\r\nAndrew. \"Look here, my dear fellow, get from Kozlovski all the reports\r\nfrom our scouts. Here are two letters from Count Nostitz and here is one\r\nfrom His Highness the Archduke Ferdinand and here are these,\" he said,\r\nhanding him several papers, \"make a neat memorandum in French out of all\r\nthis, showing all the news we have had of the movements of the Austrian\r\narmy, and then give it to his excellency.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew bowed his head in token of having understood from the\r\nfirst not only what had been said but also what Kutuzov would have liked\r\nto tell him. He gathered up the papers and with a bow to both, stepped\r\nsoftly over the carpet and went out into the waiting room.\r\n\r\nThough not much time had passed since Prince Andrew had left Russia, he\r\nhad changed greatly during that period. In the expression of his face,\r\nin his movements, in his walk, scarcely a trace was left of his former\r\naffected languor and indolence. He now looked like a man who has time\r\nto think of the impression he makes on others, but is occupied with\r\nagreeable and interesting work. His face expressed more satisfaction\r\nwith himself and those around him, his smile and glance were brighter\r\nand more attractive.\r\n\r\nKutuzov, whom he had overtaken in Poland, had received him very kindly,\r\npromised not to forget him, distinguished him above the other adjutants,\r\nand had taken him to Vienna and given him the more serious commissions.\r\nFrom Vienna Kutuzov wrote to his old comrade, Prince Andrew's father.\r\n\r\n\r\nYour son bids fair to become an officer distinguished by his industry,\r\nfirmness, and expedition. I consider myself fortunate to have such a\r\nsubordinate by me.\r\n\r\n\r\nOn Kutuzov's staff, among his fellow officers and in the army generally,\r\nPrince Andrew had, as he had had in Petersburg society, two quite\r\nopposite reputations. Some, a minority, acknowledged him to be different\r\nfrom themselves and from everyone else, expected great things of him,\r\nlistened to him, admired, and imitated him, and with them Prince\r\nAndrew was natural and pleasant. Others, the majority, disliked him and\r\nconsidered him conceited, cold, and disagreeable. But among these people\r\nPrince Andrew knew how to take his stand so that they respected and even\r\nfeared him.\r\n\r\nComing out of Kutuzov's room into the waiting room with the papers in\r\nhis hand Prince Andrew came up to his comrade, the aide-de-camp on duty,\r\nKozlovski, who was sitting at the window with a book.\r\n\r\n\"Well, Prince?\" asked Kozlovski.\r\n\r\n\"I am ordered to write a memorandum explaining why we are not\r\nadvancing.\"\r\n\r\n\"And why is it?\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew shrugged his shoulders.\r\n\r\n\"Any news from Mack?\"\r\n\r\n\"No.\"\r\n\r\n\"If it were true that he has been beaten, news would have come.\"\r\n\r\n\"Probably,\" said Prince Andrew moving toward the outer door.\r\n\r\nBut at that instant a tall Austrian general in a greatcoat, with the\r\norder of Maria Theresa on his neck and a black bandage round his head,\r\nwho had evidently just arrived, entered quickly, slamming the door.\r\nPrince Andrew stopped short.\r\n\r\n\"Commander in Chief Kutuzov?\" said the newly arrived general speaking\r\nquickly with a harsh German accent, looking to both sides and advancing\r\nstraight toward the inner door.\r\n\r\n\"The commander in chief is engaged,\" said Kozlovski, going hurriedly up\r\nto the unknown general and blocking his way to the door. \"Whom shall I\r\nannounce?\"\r\n\r\nThe unknown general looked disdainfully down at Kozlovski, who was\r\nrather short, as if surprised that anyone should not know him.\r\n\r\n\"The commander in chief is engaged,\" repeated Kozlovski calmly.\r\n\r\nThe general's face clouded, his lips quivered and trembled. He took out\r\na notebook, hurriedly scribbled something in pencil, tore out the leaf,\r\ngave it to Kozlovski, stepped quickly to the window, and threw himself\r\ninto a chair, gazing at those in the room as if asking, \"Why do they\r\nlook at me?\" Then he lifted his head, stretched his neck as if he\r\nintended to say something, but immediately, with affected indifference,\r\nbegan to hum to himself, producing a queer sound which immediately broke\r\noff. The door of the private room opened and Kutuzov appeared in the\r\ndoorway. The general with the bandaged head bent forward as though\r\nrunning away from some danger, and, making long, quick strides with his\r\nthin legs, went up to Kutuzov.\r\n\r\n\"Vous voyez le malheureux Mack,\" he uttered in a broken voice.\r\n\r\nKutuzov's face as he stood in the open doorway remained perfectly\r\nimmobile for a few moments. Then wrinkles ran over his face like a wave\r\nand his forehead became smooth again, he bowed his head respectfully,\r\nclosed his eyes, silently let Mack enter his room before him, and closed\r\nthe door himself behind him.\r\n\r\nThe report which had been circulated that the Austrians had been beaten\r\nand that the whole army had surrendered at Ulm proved to be correct.\r\nWithin half an hour adjutants had been sent in various directions with\r\norders which showed that the Russian troops, who had hitherto been\r\ninactive, would also soon have to meet the enemy.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew was one of those rare staff officers whose chief interest\r\nlay in the general progress of the war. When he saw Mack and heard the\r\ndetails of his disaster he understood that half the campaign was lost,\r\nunderstood all the difficulties of the Russian army's position, and\r\nvividly imagined what awaited it and the part he would have to\r\nplay. Involuntarily he felt a joyful agitation at the thought of the\r\nhumiliation of arrogant Austria and that in a week's time he might,\r\nperhaps, see and take part in the first Russian encounter with the\r\nFrench since Suvorov met them. He feared that Bonaparte's genius might\r\noutweigh all the courage of the Russian troops, and at the same time\r\ncould not admit the idea of his hero being disgraced.\r\n\r\nExcited and irritated by these thoughts Prince Andrew went toward his\r\nroom to write to his father, to whom he wrote every day. In the corridor\r\nhe met Nesvitski, with whom he shared a room, and the wag Zherkov; they\r\nwere as usual laughing.\r\n\r\n\"Why are you so glum?\" asked Nesvitski noticing Prince Andrew's pale\r\nface and glittering eyes.\r\n\r\n\"There's nothing to be gay about,\" answered Bolkonski.\r\n\r\nJust as Prince Andrew met Nesvitski and Zherkov, there came toward them\r\nfrom the other end of the corridor, Strauch, an Austrian general who on\r\nKutuzov's staff in charge of the provisioning of the Russian army, and\r\nthe member of the Hofkriegsrath who had arrived the previous evening.\r\nThere was room enough in the wide corridor for the generals to pass the\r\nthree officers quite easily, but Zherkov, pushing Nesvitski aside with\r\nhis arm, said in a breathless voice,\r\n\r\n\"They're coming!... they're coming!... Stand aside, make way, please\r\nmake way!\"\r\n\r\nThe generals were passing by, looking as if they wished to avoid\r\nembarrassing attentions. On the face of the wag Zherkov there suddenly\r\nappeared a stupid smile of glee which he seemed unable to suppress.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency,\" said he in German, stepping forward and addressing\r\nthe Austrian general, \"I have the honor to congratulate you.\"\r\n\r\nHe bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the\r\nother, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson.\r\n\r\nThe member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing\r\nthe seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moment's\r\nattention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening.\r\n\r\n\"I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite\r\nwell, only a little bruised just here,\" he added, pointing with a\r\nbeaming smile to his head.\r\n\r\nThe general frowned, turned away, and went on.\r\n\r\n\"Gott, wie naiv!\" * said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"Good God, what simplicity!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nNesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but\r\nBolkonski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and\r\nturned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance of\r\nMack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the\r\nRussian army found vent in anger at Zherkov's untimely jest.\r\n\r\n\"If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself,\" he said sharply,\r\nwith a slight trembling of the lower jaw, \"I can't prevent your doing\r\nso; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my presence, I\r\nwill teach you to behave yourself.\"\r\n\r\nNesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that they gazed\r\nat Bolkonski silently with wide-open eyes.\r\n\r\n\"What's the matter? I only congratulated them,\" said Zherkov.\r\n\r\n\"I am not jesting with you; please be silent!\" cried Bolkonski, and\r\ntaking Nesvitski's arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what to say.\r\n\r\n\"Come, what's the matter, old fellow?\" said Nesvitski trying to soothe\r\nhim.\r\n\r\n\"What's the matter?\" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in his\r\nexcitement. \"Don't you understand that either we are officers serving\r\nour Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and grieving at\r\nthe misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely lackeys who care\r\nnothing for their master's business. Quarante mille hommes massacres et\r\nl'armee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez la le mot pour rire,\" *\r\nhe said, as if strengthening his views by this French sentence. \"C'est\r\nbien pour un garcon de rien comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un\r\nami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour vous. *(2) Only a hobbledehoy could\r\namuse himself in this way,\" he added in Russian--but pronouncing the\r\nword with a French accent--having noticed that Zherkov could still hear\r\nhim.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies\r\n     destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!\"\r\n\r\n     * (2) \"It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow\r\n     of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for\r\n     you.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nHe waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned\r\nand went out of the corridor.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV\r\n\r\n\r\nThe Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The\r\nsquadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in\r\nthe German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were\r\nassigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the squadron commander, known\r\nthroughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska Denisov. Cadet Rostov,\r\never since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the\r\nsquadron commander.\r\n\r\nOn October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news\r\nof Mack's defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was\r\nproceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing at cards all night,\r\nhad not yet come home when Rostov rode back early in the morning from\r\na foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his\r\nhorse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple\r\nyouthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to\r\npart from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!\" said he to the hussar who rushed up\r\nheadlong to the horse. \"Walk him up and down, my dear fellow,\" he\r\ncontinued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young\r\npeople show to everyone when they are happy.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, your excellency,\" answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his head.\r\n\r\n\"Mind, walk him up and down well!\"\r\n\r\nAnother hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko had already\r\nthrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horse's head. It was\r\nevident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid\r\nto serve him. Rostov patted the horse's neck and then his flank, and\r\nlingered for a moment.\r\n\r\n\"Splendid! What a horse he will be!\" he thought with a smile, and\r\nholding up his saber, his spurs jingling, he ran up the steps of the\r\nporch. His landlord, who in a waistcoat and a pointed cap, pitchfork in\r\nhand, was clearing manure from the cowhouse, looked out, and his face\r\nimmediately brightened on seeing Rostov. \"Schon gut Morgen! Schon gut\r\nMorgen!\" * he said winking with a merry smile, evidently pleased to\r\ngreet the young man.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"A very good morning! A very good morning!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Schon fleissig?\" * said Rostov with the same gay brotherly smile which\r\ndid not leave his eager face. \"Hoch Oestreicher! Hoch Russen! Kaiser\r\nAlexander hoch!\" *(2) said he, quoting words often repeated by the\r\nGerman landlord.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"Busy already?\"\r\n\r\n    * (2) \"Hurrah for the Austrians! Hurrah for the Russians!\r\n     Hurrah for Emperor Alexander!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nThe German laughed, came out of the cowshed, pulled off his cap, and\r\nwaving it above his head cried:\r\n\r\n\"Und die ganze Welt hoch!\" *\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"And hurrah for the whole world!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nRostov waved his cap above his head like the German and cried laughing,\r\n\"Und vivat die ganze Welt!\" Though neither the German cleaning his\r\ncowshed nor Rostov back with his platoon from foraging for hay had any\r\nreason for rejoicing, they looked at each other with joyful delight and\r\nbrotherly love, wagged their heads in token of their mutual affection,\r\nand parted smiling, the German returning to his cowshed and Rostov going\r\nto the cottage he occupied with Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"What about your master?\" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly, whom\r\nall the regiment knew for a rogue.\r\n\r\n\"Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have been losing,\" answered\r\nLavrushka. \"I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to brag about\r\nit, but if he stays out till morning it means he's lost and will come\r\nback in a rage. Will you have coffee?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, bring some.\"\r\n\r\nTen minutes later Lavrushka brought the coffee. \"He's coming!\" said\r\nhe. \"Now for trouble!\" Rostov looked out of the window and saw Denisov\r\ncoming home. Denisov was a small man with a red face, sparkling black\r\neyes, and black tousled mustache and hair. He wore an unfastened cloak,\r\nwide breeches hanging down in creases, and a crumpled shako on the back\r\nof his head. He came up to the porch gloomily, hanging his head.\r\n\r\n\"Lavwuska!\" he shouted loudly and angrily, \"take it off, blockhead!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, I am taking it off,\" replied Lavrushka's voice.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, you're up already,\" said Denisov, entering the room.\r\n\r\n\"Long ago,\" answered Rostov, \"I have already been for the hay, and have\r\nseen Fraulein Mathilde.\"\r\n\r\n\"Weally! And I've been losing, bwother. I lost yesterday like a damned\r\nfool!\" cried Denisov, not pronouncing his r's. \"Such ill luck! Such ill\r\nluck. As soon as you left, it began and went on. Hullo there! Tea!\"\r\n\r\nPuckering up his face though smiling, and showing his short strong\r\nteeth, he began with stubby fingers of both hands to ruffle up his thick\r\ntangled black hair.\r\n\r\n\"And what devil made me go to that wat?\" (an officer nicknamed \"the\r\nrat\") he said, rubbing his forehead and whole face with both hands.\r\n\"Just fancy, he didn't let me win a single cahd, not one cahd.\"\r\n\r\nHe took the lighted pipe that was offered to him, gripped it in his\r\nfist, and tapped it on the floor, making the sparks fly, while he\r\ncontinued to shout.\r\n\r\n\"He lets one win the singles and collahs it as soon as one doubles it;\r\ngives the singles and snatches the doubles!\"\r\n\r\nHe scattered the burning tobacco, smashed the pipe, and threw it away.\r\nThen he remained silent for a while, and all at once looked cheerfully\r\nwith his glittering, black eyes at Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"If at least we had some women here; but there's nothing foh one to do\r\nbut dwink. If we could only get to fighting soon. Hullo, who's there?\"\r\nhe said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavy boots and the\r\nclinking of spurs that came to a stop, and a respectful cough.\r\n\r\n\"The squadron quartermaster!\" said Lavrushka.\r\n\r\nDenisov's face puckered still more.\r\n\r\n\"Wetched!\" he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it.\r\n\"Wostov, deah fellow, just see how much there is left and shove the\r\npurse undah the pillow,\" he said, and went out to the quartermaster.\r\n\r\nRostov took the money and, mechanically arranging the old and new coins\r\nin separate piles, began counting them.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! Telyanin! How d'ye do? They plucked me last night,\" came Denisov's\r\nvoice from the next room.\r\n\r\n\"Where? At Bykov's, at the rat's... I knew it,\" replied a piping voice,\r\nand Lieutenant Telyanin, a small officer of the same squadron, entered\r\nthe room.\r\n\r\nRostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp little hand\r\nwhich was offered him. Telyanin for some reason had been transferred\r\nfrom the Guards just before this campaign. He behaved very well in\r\nthe regiment but was not liked; Rostov especially detested him and was\r\nunable to overcome or conceal his groundless antipathy to the man.\r\n\r\n\"Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving?\" he asked. (Rook was a\r\nyoung horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.)\r\n\r\nThe lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the\r\nface; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.\r\n\r\n\"I saw you riding this morning...\" he added.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, he's all right, a good horse,\" answered Rostov, though the horse\r\nfor which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half that sum.\r\n\"He's begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg,\" he added.\r\n\r\n\"The hoof's cracked! That's nothing. I'll teach you what to do and show\r\nyou what kind of rivet to use.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, please do,\" said Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"I'll show you, I'll show you! It's not a secret. And it's a horse\r\nyou'll thank me for.\"\r\n\r\n\"Then I'll have it brought round,\" said Rostov wishing to avoid\r\nTelyanin, and he went out to give the order.\r\n\r\nIn the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was squatting on the threshold\r\nfacing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostov,\r\nDenisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his\r\nthumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a\r\nshudder of disgust.\r\n\r\n\"Ugh! I don't like that fellow,\" he said, regardless of the\r\nquartermaster's presence.\r\n\r\nRostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: \"Nor do I, but what's\r\none to do?\" and, having given his order, he returned to Telyanin.\r\n\r\nTelyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left\r\nhim, rubbing his small white hands.\r\n\r\n\"Well there certainly are disgusting people,\" thought Rostov as he\r\nentered.\r\n\r\n\"Have you told them to bring the horse?\" asked Telyanin, getting up and\r\nlooking carelessly about him.\r\n\r\n\"I have.\"\r\n\r\n\"Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denisov about yesterday's\r\norder. Have you got it, Denisov?\"\r\n\r\n\"Not yet. But where are you off to?\"\r\n\r\n\"I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse,\" said Telyanin.\r\n\r\nThey went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant\r\nexplained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters.\r\n\r\nWhen Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the\r\ntable. Denisov was sitting there scratching with his pen on a sheet of\r\npaper. He looked gloomily in Rostov's face and said: \"I am witing to\r\nher.\"\r\n\r\nHe leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and,\r\nevidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to\r\nwrite, told Rostov the contents of his letter.\r\n\r\n\"You see, my fwiend,\" he said, \"we sleep when we don't love. We are\r\nchildwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one is\r\npua' as on the first day of cweation... Who's that now? Send him to the\r\ndevil, I'm busy!\" he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up to him not in the\r\nleast abashed.\r\n\r\n\"Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It's the quartermaster\r\nfor the money.\"\r\n\r\nDenisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.\r\n\r\n\"Wetched business,\" he muttered to himself. \"How much is left in the\r\npuhse?\" he asked, turning to Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Seven new and three old imperials.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, it's wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you sca'cwow?\r\nCall the quahtehmasteh,\" he shouted to Lavrushka.\r\n\r\n\"Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know,\" said\r\nRostov, blushing.\r\n\r\n\"Don't like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don't,\" growled Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"But if you won't accept money from me like a comrade, you will offend\r\nme. Really I have some,\" Rostov repeated.\r\n\r\n\"No, I tell you.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.\r\n\r\n\"Where have you put it, Wostov?\"\r\n\r\n\"Under the lower pillow.\"\r\n\r\n\"It's not there.\"\r\n\r\nDenisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.\r\n\r\n\"That's a miwacle.\"\r\n\r\n\"Wait, haven't you dropped it?\" said Rostov, picking up the pillows one\r\nat a time and shaking them.\r\n\r\nHe pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.\r\n\r\n\"Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept\r\nit under your head like a treasure,\" said Rostov. \"I put it just here.\r\nWhere is it?\" he asked, turning to Lavrushka.\r\n\r\n\"I haven't been in the room. It must be where you put it.\"\r\n\r\n\"But it isn't?...\"\r\n\r\n\"You're always like that; you thwow a thing down anywhere and forget it.\r\nFeel in your pockets.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, if I hadn't thought of it being a treasure,\" said Rostov, \"but I\r\nremember putting it there.\"\r\n\r\nLavrushka turned all the bedding over, looked under the bed and under\r\nthe table, searched everywhere, and stood still in the middle of the\r\nroom. Denisov silently watched Lavrushka's movements, and when the\r\nlatter threw up his arms in surprise saying it was nowhere to be found\r\nDenisov glanced at Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Wostov, you've not been playing schoolboy twicks...\"\r\n\r\nRostov felt Denisov's gaze fixed on him, raised his eyes, and instantly\r\ndropped them again. All the blood which had seemed congested somewhere\r\nbelow his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could not draw breath.\r\n\r\n\"And there hasn't been anyone in the room except the lieutenant and\r\nyourselves. It must be here somewhere,\" said Lavrushka.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, you devil's puppet, look alive and hunt for it!\" shouted\r\nDenisov, suddenly, turning purple and rushing at the man with a\r\nthreatening gesture. \"If the purse isn't found I'll flog you, I'll flog\r\nyou all.\"\r\n\r\nRostov, his eyes avoiding Denisov, began buttoning his coat, buckled on\r\nhis saber, and put on his cap.\r\n\r\n\"I must have that purse, I tell you,\" shouted Denisov, shaking his\r\norderly by the shoulders and knocking him against the wall.\r\n\r\n\"Denisov, let him alone, I know who has taken it,\" said Rostov, going\r\ntoward the door without raising his eyes. Denisov paused, thought a\r\nmoment, and, evidently understanding what Rostov hinted at, seized his\r\narm.\r\n\r\n\"Nonsense!\" he cried, and the veins on his forehead and neck stood out\r\nlike cords. \"You are mad, I tell you. I won't allow it. The purse is\r\nhere! I'll flay this scoundwel alive, and it will be found.\"\r\n\r\n\"I know who has taken it,\" repeated Rostov in an unsteady voice, and\r\nwent to the door.\r\n\r\n\"And I tell you, don't you dahe to do it!\" shouted Denisov, rushing at\r\nthe cadet to restrain him.\r\n\r\nBut Rostov pulled away his arm and, with as much anger as though Denisov\r\nwere his worst enemy, firmly fixed his eyes directly on his face.\r\n\r\n\"Do you understand what you're saying?\" he said in a trembling voice.\r\n\"There was no one else in the room except myself. So that if it is not\r\nso, then...\"\r\n\r\nHe could not finish, and ran out of the room.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, may the devil take you and evewybody,\" were the last words Rostov\r\nheard.\r\n\r\nRostov went to Telyanin's quarters.\r\n\r\n\"The master is not in, he's gone to headquarters,\" said Telyanin's\r\norderly. \"Has something happened?\" he added, surprised at the cadet's\r\ntroubled face.\r\n\r\n\"No, nothing.\"\r\n\r\n\"You've only just missed him,\" said the orderly.\r\n\r\nThe headquarters were situated two miles away from Salzeneck, and\r\nRostov, without returning home, took a horse and rode there. There was\r\nan inn in the village which the officers frequented. Rostov rode up to\r\nit and saw Telyanin's horse at the porch.\r\n\r\nIn the second room of the inn the lieutenant was sitting over a dish of\r\nsausages and a bottle of wine.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, you've come here too, young man!\" he said, smiling and raising his\r\neyebrows.\r\n\r\n\"Yes,\" said Rostov as if it cost him a great deal to utter the word; and\r\nhe sat down at the nearest table.\r\n\r\nBoth were silent. There were two Germans and a Russian officer in the\r\nroom. No one spoke and the only sounds heard were the clatter of knives\r\nand the munching of the lieutenant.\r\n\r\nWhen Telyanin had finished his lunch he took out of his pocket a double\r\npurse and, drawing its rings aside with his small, white, turned-up\r\nfingers, drew out a gold imperial, and lifting his eyebrows gave it to\r\nthe waiter.\r\n\r\n\"Please be quick,\" he said.\r\n\r\nThe coin was a new one. Rostov rose and went up to Telyanin.\r\n\r\n\"Allow me to look at your purse,\" he said in a low, almost inaudible,\r\nvoice.\r\n\r\nWith shifting eyes but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin handed him the\r\npurse.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it's a nice purse. Yes, yes,\" he said, growing suddenly pale, and\r\nadded, \"Look at it, young man.\"\r\n\r\nRostov took the purse in his hand, examined it and the money in it, and\r\nlooked at Telyanin. The lieutenant was looking about in his usual way\r\nand suddenly seemed to grow very merry.\r\n\r\n\"If we get to Vienna I'll get rid of it there but in these wretched\r\nlittle towns there's nowhere to spend it,\" said he. \"Well, let me have\r\nit, young man, I'm going.\"\r\n\r\nRostov did not speak.\r\n\r\n\"And you? Are you going to have lunch too? They feed you quite decently\r\nhere,\" continued Telyanin. \"Now then, let me have it.\"\r\n\r\nHe stretched out his hand to take hold of the purse. Rostov let go of\r\nit. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly slipping it into the\r\npocket of his riding breeches, with his eyebrows lifted and his mouth\r\nslightly open, as if to say, \"Yes, yes, I am putting my purse in my\r\npocket and that's quite simple and is no one else's business.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, young man?\" he said with a sigh, and from under his lifted brows\r\nhe glanced into Rostov's eyes.\r\n\r\nSome flash as of an electric spark shot from Telyanin's eyes to Rostov's\r\nand back, and back again and again in an instant.\r\n\r\n\"Come here,\" said Rostov, catching hold of Telyanin's arm and almost\r\ndragging him to the window. \"That money is Denisov's; you took it...\" he\r\nwhispered just above Telyanin's ear.\r\n\r\n\"What? What? How dare you? What?\" said Telyanin.\r\n\r\nBut these words came like a piteous, despairing cry and an entreaty for\r\npardon. As soon as Rostov heard them, an enormous load of doubt fell\r\nfrom him. He was glad, and at the same instant began to pity the\r\nmiserable man who stood before him, but the task he had begun had to be\r\ncompleted.\r\n\r\n\"Heaven only knows what the people here may imagine,\" muttered Telyanin,\r\ntaking up his cap and moving toward a small empty room. \"We must have an\r\nexplanation...\"\r\n\r\n\"I know it and shall prove it,\" said Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"I...\"\r\n\r\nEvery muscle of Telyanin's pale, terrified face began to quiver, his\r\neyes still shifted from side to side but with a downward look not rising\r\nto Rostov's face, and his sobs were audible.\r\n\r\n\"Count!... Don't ruin a young fellow... here is this wretched money,\r\ntake it...\" He threw it on the table. \"I have an old father and\r\nmother!...\"\r\n\r\nRostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin's eyes, and went out of the\r\nroom without a word. But at the door he stopped and then retraced his\r\nsteps. \"O God,\" he said with tears in his eyes, \"how could you do it?\"\r\n\r\n\"Count...\" said Telyanin drawing nearer to him.\r\n\r\n\"Don't touch me,\" said Rostov, drawing back. \"If you need it, take the\r\nmoney,\" and he threw the purse to him and ran out of the inn.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V\r\n\r\n\r\nThat same evening there was an animated discussion among the squadron's\r\nofficers in Denisov's quarters.\r\n\r\n\"And I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologize to the colonel!\" said\r\na tall, grizzly-haired staff captain, with enormous mustaches and\r\nmany wrinkles on his large features, to Rostov who was crimson with\r\nexcitement.\r\n\r\nThe staff captain, Kirsten, had twice been reduced to the ranks for\r\naffairs of honor and had twice regained his commission.\r\n\r\n\"I will allow no one to call me a liar!\" cried Rostov. \"He told me I\r\nlied, and I told him he lied. And there it rests. He may keep me on\r\nduty every day, or may place me under arrest, but no one can make me\r\napologize, because if he, as commander of this regiment, thinks it\r\nbeneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then...\"\r\n\r\n\"You just wait a moment, my dear fellow, and listen,\" interrupted the\r\nstaff captain in his deep bass, calmly stroking his long mustache. \"You\r\ntell the colonel in the presence of other officers that an officer has\r\nstolen...\"\r\n\r\n\"I'm not to blame that the conversation began in the presence of other\r\nofficers. Perhaps I ought not to have spoken before them, but I am not\r\na diplomatist. That's why I joined the hussars, thinking that here one\r\nwould not need finesse; and he tells me that I am lying--so let him give\r\nme satisfaction...\"\r\n\r\n\"That's all right. No one thinks you a coward, but that's not the point.\r\nAsk Denisov whether it is not out of the question for a cadet to demand\r\nsatisfaction of his regimental commander?\"\r\n\r\nDenisov sat gloomily biting his mustache and listening to the\r\nconversation, evidently with no wish to take part in it. He answered the\r\nstaff captain's question by a disapproving shake of his head.\r\n\r\n\"You speak to the colonel about this nasty business before other\r\nofficers,\" continued the staff captain, \"and Bogdanich\" (the colonel was\r\ncalled Bogdanich) \"shuts you up.\"\r\n\r\n\"He did not shut me up, he said I was telling an untruth.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, have it so, and you talked a lot of nonsense to him and must\r\napologize.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not on any account!\" exclaimed Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"I did not expect this of you,\" said the staff captain seriously and\r\nseverely. \"You don't wish to apologize, but, man, it's not only to him\r\nbut to the whole regiment--all of us--you're to blame all round. The\r\ncase is this: you ought to have thought the matter over and taken\r\nadvice; but no, you go and blurt it all straight out before the\r\nofficers. Now what was the colonel to do? Have the officer tried and\r\ndisgrace the whole regiment? Disgrace the whole regiment because of one\r\nscoundrel? Is that how you look at it? We don't see it like that. And\r\nBogdanich was a brick: he told you you were saying what was not true.\r\nIt's not pleasant, but what's to be done, my dear fellow? You landed\r\nyourself in it. And now, when one wants to smooth the thing over, some\r\nconceit prevents your apologizing, and you wish to make the whole\r\naffair public. You are offended at being put on duty a bit, but why not\r\napologize to an old and honorable officer? Whatever Bogdanich may be,\r\nanyway he is an honorable and brave old colonel! You're quick at taking\r\noffense, but you don't mind disgracing the whole regiment!\" The staff\r\ncaptain's voice began to tremble. \"You have been in the regiment next\r\nto no time, my lad, you're here today and tomorrow you'll be appointed\r\nadjutant somewhere and can snap your fingers when it is said 'There are\r\nthieves among the Pavlograd officers!' But it's not all the same to us!\r\nAm I not right, Denisov? It's not the same!\"\r\n\r\nDenisov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with\r\nhis glittering black eyes at Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"You value your own pride and don't wish to apologize,\" continued\r\nthe staff captain, \"but we old fellows, who have grown up in and, God\r\nwilling, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of the\r\nregiment, and Bogdanich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And\r\nall this is not right, it's not right! You may take offense or not but I\r\nalways stick to mother truth. It's not right!\"\r\n\r\nAnd the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"That's twue, devil take it!\" shouted Denisov, jumping up. \"Now then,\r\nWostov, now then!\"\r\n\r\n Rostov, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one\r\nofficer and then at the other.\r\n\r\n\"No, gentlemen, no... you mustn't think... I quite understand. You're\r\nwrong to think that of me... I... for me... for the honor of the\r\nregiment I'd... Ah well, I'll show that in action, and for me the honor\r\nof the flag... Well, never mind, it's true I'm to blame, to blame all\r\nround. Well, what else do you want?...\"\r\n\r\n\"Come, that's right, Count!\" cried the staff captain, turning round and\r\nclapping Rostov on the shoulder with his big hand.\r\n\r\n\"I tell you,\" shouted Denisov, \"he's a fine fellow.\"\r\n\r\n\"That's better, Count,\" said the staff captain, beginning to address\r\nRostov by his title, as if in recognition of his confession. \"Go and\r\napologize, your excellency. Yes, go!\"\r\n\r\n\"Gentlemen, I'll do anything. No one shall hear a word from me,\" said\r\nRostov in an imploring voice, \"but I can't apologize, by God I can't,\r\ndo what you will! How can I go and apologize like a little boy asking\r\nforgiveness?\"\r\n\r\nDenisov began to laugh.\r\n\r\n\"It'll be worse for you. Bogdanich is vindictive and you'll pay for your\r\nobstinacy,\" said Kirsten.\r\n\r\n\"No, on my word it's not obstinacy! I can't describe the feeling. I\r\ncan't...\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, it's as you like,\" said the staff captain. \"And what has become\r\nof that scoundrel?\" he asked Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"He has weported himself sick, he's to be stwuck off the list tomowwow,\"\r\nmuttered Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"It is an illness, there's no other way of explaining it,\" said the\r\nstaff captain.\r\n\r\n\"Illness or not, he'd better not cwoss my path. I'd kill him!\" shouted\r\nDenisov in a bloodthirsty tone.\r\n\r\nJust then Zherkov entered the room.\r\n\r\n\"What brings you here?\" cried the officers turning to the newcomer.\r\n\r\n\"We're to go into action, gentlemen! Mack has surrendered with his whole\r\narmy.\"\r\n\r\n\"It's not true!\"\r\n\r\n\"I've seen him myself!\"\r\n\r\n\"What? Saw the real Mack? With hands and feet?\"\r\n\r\n\"Into action! Into action! Bring him a bottle for such news! But how did\r\nyou come here?\"\r\n\r\n\"I've been sent back to the regiment all on account of that devil, Mack.\r\nAn Austrian general complained of me. I congratulated him on Mack's\r\narrival... What's the matter, Rostov? You look as if you'd just come out\r\nof a hot bath.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, my dear fellow, we're in such a stew here these last two days.\"\r\n\r\nThe regimental adjutant came in and confirmed the news brought by\r\nZherkov. They were under orders to advance next day.\r\n\r\n\"We're going into action, gentlemen!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, thank God! We've been sitting here too long!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI\r\n\r\n\r\nKutuzov fell back toward Vienna, destroying behind him the bridges over\r\nthe rivers Inn (at Braunau) and Traun (near Linz). On October 23 the\r\nRussian troops were crossing the river Enns. At midday the Russian\r\nbaggage train, the artillery, and columns of troops were defiling\r\nthrough the town of Enns on both sides of the bridge.\r\n\r\nIt was a warm, rainy, autumnal day. The wide expanse that opened out\r\nbefore the heights on which the Russian batteries stood guarding the\r\nbridge was at times veiled by a diaphanous curtain of slanting rain, and\r\nthen, suddenly spread out in the sunlight, far-distant objects could\r\nbe clearly seen glittering as though freshly varnished. Down below,\r\nthe little town could be seen with its white, red-roofed houses, its\r\ncathedral, and its bridge, on both sides of which streamed jostling\r\nmasses of Russian troops. At the bend of the Danube, vessels, an island,\r\nand a castle with a park surrounded by the waters of the confluence of\r\nthe Enns and the Danube became visible, and the rocky left bank of the\r\nDanube covered with pine forests, with a mystic background of green\r\ntreetops and bluish gorges. The turrets of a convent stood out beyond a\r\nwild virgin pine forest, and far away on the other side of the Enns the\r\nenemy's horse patrols could be discerned.\r\n\r\nAmong the field guns on the brow of the hill the general in command of\r\nthe rearguard stood with a staff officer, scanning the country through\r\nhis fieldglass. A little behind them Nesvitski, who had been sent to the\r\nrearguard by the commander in chief, was sitting on the trail of a gun\r\ncarriage. A Cossack who accompanied him had handed him a knapsack and\r\na flask, and Nesvitski was treating some officers to pies and real\r\ndoppelkummel. The officers gladly gathered round him, some on their\r\nknees, some squatting Turkish fashion on the wet grass.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, the Austrian prince who built that castle was no fool. It's a\r\nfine place! Why are you not eating anything, gentlemen?\" Nesvitski was\r\nsaying.\r\n\r\n\"Thank you very much, Prince,\" answered one of the officers, pleased to\r\nbe talking to a staff officer of such importance. \"It's a lovely place!\r\nWe passed close to the park and saw two deer... and what a splendid\r\nhouse!\"\r\n\r\n\"Look, Prince,\" said another, who would have dearly liked to take\r\nanother pie but felt shy, and therefore pretended to be examining the\r\ncountryside--\"See, our infantrymen have already got there. Look there\r\nin the meadow behind the village, three of them are dragging something.\r\nThey'll ransack that castle,\" he remarked with evident approval.\r\n\r\n\"So they will,\" said Nesvitski. \"No, but what I should like,\" added he,\r\nmunching a pie in his moist-lipped handsome mouth, \"would be to slip in\r\nover there.\"\r\n\r\nHe pointed with a smile to a turreted nunnery, and his eyes narrowed and\r\ngleamed.\r\n\r\n\"That would be fine, gentlemen!\"\r\n\r\nThe officers laughed.\r\n\r\n\"Just to flutter the nuns a bit. They say there are Italian girls among\r\nthem. On my word I'd give five years of my life for it!\"\r\n\r\n\"They must be feeling dull, too,\" said one of the bolder officers,\r\nlaughing.\r\n\r\nMeanwhile the staff officer standing in front pointed out something to\r\nthe general, who looked through his field glass.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, so it is, so it is,\" said the general angrily, lowering the field\r\nglass and shrugging his shoulders, \"so it is! They'll be fired on at the\r\ncrossing. And why are they dawdling there?\"\r\n\r\nOn the opposite side the enemy could be seen by the naked eye, and from\r\ntheir battery a milk-white cloud arose. Then came the distant report of\r\na shot, and our troops could be seen hurrying to the crossing.\r\n\r\nNesvitski rose, puffing, and went up to the general, smiling.\r\n\r\n\"Would not your excellency like a little refreshment?\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"It's a bad business,\" said the general without answering him, \"our men\r\nhave been wasting time.\"\r\n\r\n\"Hadn't I better ride over, your excellency?\" asked Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, please do,\" answered the general, and he repeated the order that\r\nhad already once been given in detail: \"and tell the hussars that\r\nthey are to cross last and to fire the bridge as I ordered; and the\r\ninflammable material on the bridge must be reinspected.\"\r\n\r\n\"Very good,\" answered Nesvitski.\r\n\r\nHe called the Cossack with his horse, told him to put away the knapsack\r\nand flask, and swung his heavy person easily into the saddle.\r\n\r\n\"I'll really call in on the nuns,\" he said to the officers who watched\r\nhim smilingly, and he rode off by the winding path down the hill.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, let's see how far it will carry, Captain. Just try!\" said the\r\ngeneral, turning to an artillery officer. \"Have a little fun to pass the\r\ntime.\"\r\n\r\n\"Crew, to your guns!\" commanded the officer.\r\n\r\nIn a moment the men came running gaily from their campfires and began\r\nloading.\r\n\r\n\"One!\" came the command.\r\n\r\nNumber one jumped briskly aside. The gun rang out with a deafening\r\nmetallic roar, and a whistling grenade flew above the heads of our\r\ntroops below the hill and fell far short of the enemy, a little smoke\r\nshowing the spot where it burst.\r\n\r\nThe faces of officers and men brightened up at the sound. Everyone got\r\nup and began watching the movements of our troops below, as plainly\r\nvisible as if but a stone's throw away, and the movements of the\r\napproaching enemy farther off. At the same instant the sun came fully\r\nout from behind the clouds, and the clear sound of the solitary shot\r\nand the brilliance of the bright sunshine merged in a single joyous and\r\nspirited impression.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII\r\n\r\n\r\nTwo of the enemy's shots had already flown across the bridge, where\r\nthere was a crush. Halfway across stood Prince Nesvitski, who had\r\nalighted from his horse and whose big body was jammed against the\r\nrailings. He looked back laughing to the Cossack who stood a few\r\nsteps behind him holding two horses by their bridles. Each time Prince\r\nNesvitski tried to move on, soldiers and carts pushed him back again and\r\npressed him against the railings, and all he could do was to smile.\r\n\r\n\"What a fine fellow you are, friend!\" said the Cossack to a convoy\r\nsoldier with a wagon, who was pressing onto the infantrymen who were\r\ncrowded together close to his wheels and his horses. \"What a fellow! You\r\ncan't wait a moment! Don't you see the general wants to pass?\"\r\n\r\nBut the convoyman took no notice of the word \"general\" and shouted at\r\nthe soldiers who were blocking his way. \"Hi there, boys! Keep to the\r\nleft! Wait a bit.\" But the soldiers, crowded together shoulder to\r\nshoulder, their bayonets interlocking, moved over the bridge in a dense\r\nmass. Looking down over the rails Prince Nesvitski saw the rapid, noisy\r\nlittle waves of the Enns, which rippling and eddying round the piles of\r\nthe bridge chased each other along. Looking on the bridge he saw equally\r\nuniform living waves of soldiers, shoulder straps, covered shakos,\r\nknapsacks, bayonets, long muskets, and, under the shakos, faces with\r\nbroad cheekbones, sunken cheeks, and listless tired expressions, and\r\nfeet that moved through the sticky mud that covered the planks of the\r\nbridge. Sometimes through the monotonous waves of men, like a fleck of\r\nwhite foam on the waves of the Enns, an officer, in a cloak and with\r\na type of face different from that of the men, squeezed his way along;\r\nsometimes like a chip of wood whirling in the river, an hussar on foot,\r\nan orderly, or a townsman was carried through the waves of infantry; and\r\nsometimes like a log floating down the river, an officers' or company's\r\nbaggage wagon, piled high, leather covered, and hemmed in on all sides,\r\nmoved across the bridge.\r\n\r\n\"It's as if a dam had burst,\" said the Cossack hopelessly. \"Are there\r\nmany more of you to come?\"\r\n\r\n\"A million all but one!\" replied a waggish soldier in a torn coat, with\r\na wink, and passed on followed by another, an old man.\r\n\r\n\"If he\" (he meant the enemy) \"begins popping at the bridge now,\"\r\nsaid the old soldier dismally to a comrade, \"you'll forget to scratch\r\nyourself.\"\r\n\r\nThat soldier passed on, and after him came another sitting on a cart.\r\n\r\n\"Where the devil have the leg bands been shoved to?\" said an orderly,\r\nrunning behind the cart and fumbling in the back of it.\r\n\r\nAnd he also passed on with the wagon. Then came some merry soldiers who\r\nhad evidently been drinking.\r\n\r\n\"And then, old fellow, he gives him one in the teeth with the butt end\r\nof his gun...\" a soldier whose greatcoat was well tucked up said gaily,\r\nwith a wide swing of his arm.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, the ham was just delicious...\" answered another with a loud laugh.\r\nAnd they, too, passed on, so that Nesvitski did not learn who had been\r\nstruck on the teeth, or what the ham had to do with it.\r\n\r\n\"Bah! How they scurry. He just sends a ball and they think they'll all\r\nbe killed,\" a sergeant was saying angrily and reproachfully.\r\n\r\n\"As it flies past me, Daddy, the ball I mean,\" said a young soldier with\r\nan enormous mouth, hardly refraining from laughing, \"I felt like dying\r\nof fright. I did, 'pon my word, I got that frightened!\" said he, as if\r\nbragging of having been frightened.\r\n\r\nThat one also passed. Then followed a cart unlike any that had gone\r\nbefore. It was a German cart with a pair of horses led by a German, and\r\nseemed loaded with a whole houseful of effects. A fine brindled cow with\r\na large udder was attached to the cart behind. A woman with an unweaned\r\nbaby, an old woman, and a healthy German girl with bright red cheeks\r\nwere sitting on some feather beds. Evidently these fugitives were\r\nallowed to pass by special permission. The eyes of all the soldiers\r\nturned toward the women, and while the vehicle was passing at foot pace\r\nall the soldiers' remarks related to the two young ones. Every face bore\r\nalmost the same smile, expressing unseemly thoughts about the women.\r\n\r\n\"Just see, the German sausage is making tracks, too!\"\r\n\r\n\"Sell me the missis,\" said another soldier, addressing the German, who,\r\nangry and frightened, strode energetically along with downcast eyes.\r\n\r\n\"See how smart she's made herself! Oh, the devils!\"\r\n\r\n\"There, Fedotov, you should be quartered on them!\"\r\n\r\n\"I have seen as much before now, mate!\"\r\n\r\n\"Where are you going?\" asked an infantry officer who was eating an\r\napple, also half smiling as he looked at the handsome girl.\r\n\r\nThe German closed his eyes, signifying that he did not understand.\r\n\r\n\"Take it if you like,\" said the officer, giving the girl an apple.\r\n\r\nThe girl smiled and took it. Nesvitski like the rest of the men on the\r\nbridge did not take his eyes off the women till they had passed. When\r\nthey had gone by, the same stream of soldiers followed, with the same\r\nkind of talk, and at last all stopped. As often happens, the horses of\r\na convoy wagon became restive at the end of the bridge, and the whole\r\ncrowd had to wait.\r\n\r\n\"And why are they stopping? There's no proper order!\" said the soldiers.\r\n\"Where are you shoving to? Devil take you! Can't you wait? It'll\r\nbe worse if he fires the bridge. See, here's an officer jammed in\r\ntoo\"--different voices were saying in the crowd, as the men looked at\r\none another, and all pressed toward the exit from the bridge.\r\n\r\nLooking down at the waters of the Enns under the bridge, Nesvitski\r\nsuddenly heard a sound new to him, of something swiftly approaching...\r\nsomething big, that splashed into the water.\r\n\r\n\"Just see where it carries to!\" a soldier near by said sternly, looking\r\nround at the sound.\r\n\r\n\"Encouraging us to get along quicker,\" said another uneasily.\r\n\r\nThe crowd moved on again. Nesvitski realized that it was a cannon ball.\r\n\r\n\"Hey, Cossack, my horse!\" he said. \"Now, then, you there! get out of the\r\nway! Make way!\"\r\n\r\nWith great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting\r\ncontinually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make way\r\nfor him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and those\r\nnearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed still\r\nharder from behind.\r\n\r\n\"Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!\" came a hoarse voice from behind\r\nhim.\r\n\r\nNesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but separated by\r\nthe living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, red and shaggy, with\r\nhis cap on the back of his black head and a cloak hanging jauntily over\r\nhis shoulder.\r\n\r\n\"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!\" shouted Denisov\r\nevidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot\r\nwhites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a small\r\nbare hand as red as his face.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Vaska!\" joyfully replied Nesvitski. \"What's up with you?\"\r\n\r\n\"The squadwon can't pass,\" shouted Vaska Denisov, showing his white\r\nteeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which twitched\r\nits ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting white foam\r\nfrom his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his hoofs, and\r\napparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider let him. \"What\r\nis this? They're like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the way!... Let\r\nus pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart! I'll hack you with my\r\nsaber!\" he shouted, actually drawing his saber from its scabbard and\r\nflourishing it.\r\n\r\nThe soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and\r\nDenisov joined Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"How's it you're not drunk today?\" said Nesvitski when the other had\r\nridden up to him.\r\n\r\n\"They don't even give one time to dwink!\" answered Vaska Denisov. \"They\r\nkeep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they mean to fight,\r\nlet's fight. But the devil knows what this is.\"\r\n\r\n\"What a dandy you are today!\" said Nesvitski, looking at Denisov's new\r\ncloak and saddlecloth.\r\n\r\nDenisov smiled, took out of his sabretache a handkerchief that diffused\r\na smell of perfume, and put it to Nesvitski's nose.\r\n\r\n\"Of course. I'm going into action! I've shaved, bwushed my teeth, and\r\nscented myself.\"\r\n\r\nThe imposing figure of Nesvitski followed by his Cossack, and\r\nthe determination of Denisov who flourished his sword and shouted\r\nfrantically, had such an effect that they managed to squeeze through\r\nto the farther side of the bridge and stopped the infantry. Beside the\r\nbridge Nesvitski found the colonel to whom he had to deliver the order,\r\nand having done this he rode back.\r\n\r\nHaving cleared the way Denisov stopped at the end of the bridge.\r\nCarelessly holding in his stallion that was neighing and pawing the\r\nground, eager to rejoin its fellows, he watched his squadron draw\r\nnearer. Then the clang of hoofs, as of several horses galloping,\r\nresounded on the planks of the bridge, and the squadron, officers in\r\nfront and men four abreast, spread across the bridge and began to emerge\r\non his side of it.\r\n\r\nThe infantry who had been stopped crowded near the bridge in the\r\ntrampled mud and gazed with that particular feeling of ill-will,\r\nestrangement, and ridicule with which troops of different arms usually\r\nencounter one another at the clean, smart hussars who moved past them in\r\nregular order.\r\n\r\n\"Smart lads! Only fit for a fair!\" said one.\r\n\r\n\"What good are they? They're led about just for show!\" remarked another.\r\n\r\n\"Don't kick up the dust, you infantry!\" jested an hussar whose prancing\r\nhorse had splashed mud over some foot soldiers.\r\n\r\n\"I'd like to put you on a two days' march with a knapsack! Your fine\r\ncords would soon get a bit rubbed,\" said an infantryman, wiping the mud\r\noff his face with his sleeve. \"Perched up there, you're more like a bird\r\nthan a man.\"\r\n\r\n\"There now, Zikin, they ought to put you on a horse. You'd look fine,\"\r\nsaid a corporal, chaffing a thin little soldier who bent under the\r\nweight of his knapsack.\r\n\r\n\"Take a stick between your legs, that'll suit you for a horse!\" the\r\nhussar shouted back.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VIII\r\n\r\n\r\nThe last of the infantry hurriedly crossed the bridge, squeezing\r\ntogether as they approached it as if passing through a funnel. At last\r\nthe baggage wagons had all crossed, the crush was less, and the last\r\nbattalion came onto the bridge. Only Denisov's squadron of hussars\r\nremained on the farther side of the bridge facing the enemy, who could\r\nbe seen from the hill on the opposite bank but was not yet visible from\r\nthe bridge, for the horizon as seen from the valley through which the\r\nriver flowed was formed by the rising ground only half a mile away.\r\nAt the foot of the hill lay wasteland over which a few groups of our\r\nCossack scouts were moving. Suddenly on the road at the top of the high\r\nground, artillery and troops in blue uniform were seen. These were the\r\nFrench. A group of Cossack scouts retired down the hill at a trot. All\r\nthe officers and men of Denisov's squadron, though they tried to talk of\r\nother things and to look in other directions, thought only of what\r\nwas there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the patches\r\nappearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemy's troops. The\r\nweather had cleared again since noon and the sun was descending brightly\r\nupon the Danube and the dark hills around it. It was calm, and at\r\nintervals the bugle calls and the shouts of the enemy could be heard\r\nfrom the hill. There was no one now between the squadron and the enemy\r\nexcept a few scattered skirmishers. An empty space of some seven hundred\r\nyards was all that separated them. The enemy ceased firing, and that\r\nstern, threatening, inaccessible, and intangible line which separates\r\ntwo hostile armies was all the more clearly felt.\r\n\r\n\"One step beyond that boundary line which resembles the line dividing\r\nthe living from the dead lies uncertainty, suffering, and death. And\r\nwhat is there? Who is there?--there beyond that field, that tree, that\r\nroof lit up by the sun? No one knows, but one wants to know. You fear\r\nand yet long to cross that line, and know that sooner or later it must\r\nbe crossed and you will have to find out what is there, just as you will\r\ninevitably have to learn what lies the other side of death. But you are\r\nstrong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and are surrounded by other such\r\nexcitedly animated and healthy men.\" So thinks, or at any rate feels,\r\nanyone who comes in sight of the enemy, and that feeling gives a\r\nparticular glamour and glad keenness of impression to everything that\r\ntakes place at such moments.\r\n\r\nOn the high ground where the enemy was, the smoke of a cannon rose,\r\nand a ball flew whistling over the heads of the hussar squadron. The\r\nofficers who had been standing together rode off to their places. The\r\nhussars began carefully aligning their horses. Silence fell on the whole\r\nsquadron. All were looking at the enemy in front and at the squadron\r\ncommander, awaiting the word of command. A second and a third cannon\r\nball flew past. Evidently they were firing at the hussars, but the balls\r\nwith rapid rhythmic whistle flew over the heads of the horsemen and fell\r\nsomewhere beyond them. The hussars did not look round, but at the sound\r\nof each shot, as at the word of command, the whole squadron with its\r\nrows of faces so alike yet so different, holding its breath while the\r\nball flew past, rose in the stirrups and sank back again. The soldiers\r\nwithout turning their heads glanced at one another, curious to see their\r\ncomrades' impression. Every face, from Denisov's to that of the bugler,\r\nshowed one common expression of conflict, irritation, and excitement,\r\naround chin and mouth. The quartermaster frowned, looking at the\r\nsoldiers as if threatening to punish them. Cadet Mironov ducked every\r\ntime a ball flew past. Rostov on the left flank, mounted on his Rook--a\r\nhandsome horse despite its game leg--had the happy air of a schoolboy\r\ncalled up before a large audience for an examination in which he feels\r\nsure he will distinguish himself. He was glancing at everyone with a\r\nclear, bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly he sat\r\nunder fire. But despite himself, on his face too that same indication of\r\nsomething new and stern showed round the mouth.\r\n\r\n\"Who's that curtseying there? Cadet Miwonov! That's not wight! Look at\r\nme,\" cried Denisov who, unable to keep still on one spot, kept turning\r\nhis horse in front of the squadron.\r\n\r\nThe black, hairy, snub-nosed face of Vaska Denisov, and his whole short\r\nsturdy figure with the sinewy hairy hand and stumpy fingers in which\r\nhe held the hilt of his naked saber, looked just as it usually did,\r\nespecially toward evening when he had emptied his second bottle; he was\r\nonly redder than usual. With his shaggy head thrown back like birds when\r\nthey drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his good\r\nhorse, Bedouin, and sitting as though falling backwards in the saddle,\r\nhe galloped to the other flank of the squadron and shouted in a hoarse\r\nvoice to the men to look to their pistols. He rode up to Kirsten. The\r\nstaff captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came at a walk to meet\r\nhim. His face with its long mustache was serious as always, only his\r\neyes were brighter than usual.\r\n\r\n\"Well, what about it?\" said he to Denisov. \"It won't come to a fight.\r\nYou'll see--we shall retire.\"\r\n\r\n\"The devil only knows what they're about!\" muttered Denisov. \"Ah,\r\nWostov,\" he cried noticing the cadet's bright face, \"you've got it at\r\nlast.\"\r\n\r\nAnd he smiled approvingly, evidently pleased with the cadet. Rostov felt\r\nperfectly happy. Just then the commander appeared on the bridge. Denisov\r\ngalloped up to him.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency! Let us attack them! I'll dwive them off.\"\r\n\r\n\"Attack indeed!\" said the colonel in a bored voice, puckering up his\r\nface as if driving off a troublesome fly. \"And why are you stopping\r\nhere? Don't you see the skirmishers are retreating? Lead the squadron\r\nback.\"\r\n\r\nThe squadron crossed the bridge and drew out of range of fire without\r\nhaving lost a single man. The second squadron that had been in the front\r\nline followed them across and the last Cossacks quitted the farther side\r\nof the river.\r\n\r\nThe two Pavlograd squadrons, having crossed the bridge, retired up the\r\nhill one after the other. Their colonel, Karl Bogdanich Schubert, came\r\nup to Denisov's squadron and rode at a footpace not far from Rostov,\r\nwithout taking any notice of him although they were now meeting for the\r\nfirst time since their encounter concerning Telyanin. Rostov, feeling\r\nthat he was at the front and in the power of a man toward whom he now\r\nadmitted that he had been to blame, did not lift his eyes from the\r\ncolonel's athletic back, his nape covered with light hair, and his red\r\nneck. It seemed to Rostov that Bogdanich was only pretending not to\r\nnotice him, and that his whole aim now was to test the cadet's courage,\r\nso he drew himself up and looked around him merrily; then it seemed to\r\nhim that Bogdanich rode so near in order to show him his courage. Next\r\nhe thought that his enemy would send the squadron on a desperate attack\r\njust to punish him--Rostov. Then he imagined how, after the attack,\r\nBogdanich would come up to him as he lay wounded and would magnanimously\r\nextend the hand of reconciliation.\r\n\r\nThe high-shouldered figure of Zherkov, familiar to the Pavlograds as he\r\nhad but recently left their regiment, rode up to the colonel. After his\r\ndismissal from headquarters Zherkov had not remained in the regiment,\r\nsaying he was not such a fool as to slave at the front when he could\r\nget more rewards by doing nothing on the staff, and had succeeded in\r\nattaching himself as an orderly officer to Prince Bagration. He now came\r\nto his former chief with an order from the commander of the rear guard.\r\n\r\n\"Colonel,\" he said, addressing Rostov's enemy with an air of gloomy\r\ngravity and glancing round at his comrades, \"there is an order to stop\r\nand fire the bridge.\"\r\n\r\n\"An order to who?\" asked the colonel morosely.\r\n\r\n\"I don't myself know 'to who,'\" replied the cornet in a serious tone,\r\n\"but the prince told me to 'go and tell the colonel that the hussars\r\nmust return quickly and fire the bridge.'\"\r\n\r\nZherkov was followed by an officer of the suite who rode up to the\r\ncolonel of hussars with the same order. After him the stout Nesvitski\r\ncame galloping up on a Cossack horse that could scarcely carry his\r\nweight.\r\n\r\n\"How's this, Colonel?\" he shouted as he approached. \"I told you to fire\r\nthe bridge, and now someone has gone and blundered; they are all beside\r\nthemselves over there and one can't make anything out.\"\r\n\r\nThe colonel deliberately stopped the regiment and turned to Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"You spoke to me of inflammable material,\" said he, \"but you said\r\nnothing about firing it.\"\r\n\r\n\"But, my dear sir,\" said Nesvitski as he drew up, taking off his cap and\r\nsmoothing his hair wet with perspiration with his plump hand, \"wasn't I\r\ntelling you to fire the bridge, when inflammable material had been put\r\nin position?\"\r\n\r\n\"I am not your 'dear sir,' Mr. Staff Officer, and you did not tell me to\r\nburn the bridge! I know the service, and it is my habit orders strictly\r\nto obey. You said the bridge would be burned, but who would it burn, I\r\ncould not know by the holy spirit!\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, that's always the way!\" said Nesvitski with a wave of the hand.\r\n\"How did you get here?\" said he, turning to Zherkov.\r\n\r\n\"On the same business. But you are damp! Let me wring you out!\"\r\n\r\n\"You were saying, Mr. Staff Officer...\" continued the colonel in an\r\noffended tone.\r\n\r\n\"Colonel,\" interrupted the officer of the suite, \"You must be quick or\r\nthe enemy will bring up his guns to use grapeshot.\"\r\n\r\nThe colonel looked silently at the officer of the suite, at the stout\r\nstaff officer, and at Zherkov, and he frowned.\r\n\r\n\"I will the bridge fire,\" he said in a solemn tone as if to announce\r\nthat in spite of all the unpleasantness he had to endure he would still\r\ndo the right thing.\r\n\r\nStriking his horse with his long muscular legs as if it were to blame\r\nfor everything, the colonel moved forward and ordered the second\r\nsquadron, that in which Rostov was serving under Denisov, to return to\r\nthe bridge.\r\n\r\n\"There, it's just as I thought,\" said Rostov to himself. \"He wishes to\r\ntest me!\" His heart contracted and the blood rushed to his face. \"Let\r\nhim see whether I am a coward!\" he thought.\r\n\r\nAgain on all the bright faces of the squadron the serious expression\r\nappeared that they had worn when under fire. Rostov watched his enemy,\r\nthe colonel, closely--to find in his face confirmation of his own\r\nconjecture, but the colonel did not once glance at Rostov, and looked as\r\nhe always did when at the front, solemn and stern. Then came the word of\r\ncommand.\r\n\r\n\"Look sharp! Look sharp!\" several voices repeated around him.\r\n\r\nTheir sabers catching in the bridles and their spurs jingling, the\r\nhussars hastily dismounted, not knowing what they were to do. The men\r\nwere crossing themselves. Rostov no longer looked at the colonel, he\r\nhad no time. He was afraid of falling behind the hussars, so much afraid\r\nthat his heart stood still. His hand trembled as he gave his horse into\r\nan orderly's charge, and he felt the blood rush to his heart with a\r\nthud. Denisov rode past him, leaning back and shouting something. Rostov\r\nsaw nothing but the hussars running all around him, their spurs catching\r\nand their sabers clattering.\r\n\r\n\"Stretchers!\" shouted someone behind him.\r\n\r\nRostov did not think what this call for stretchers meant; he ran on,\r\ntrying only to be ahead of the others; but just at the bridge, not\r\nlooking at the ground, he came on some sticky, trodden mud, stumbled,\r\nand fell on his hands. The others outstripped him.\r\n\r\n\"At boss zides, Captain,\" he heard the voice of the colonel, who,\r\nhaving ridden ahead, had pulled up his horse near the bridge, with a\r\ntriumphant, cheerful face.\r\n\r\nRostov wiping his muddy hands on his breeches looked at his enemy and\r\nwas about to run on, thinking that the farther he went to the front the\r\nbetter. But Bogdanich, without looking at or recognizing Rostov, shouted\r\nto him:\r\n\r\n\"Who's that running on the middle of the bridge? To the right! Come\r\nback, Cadet!\" he cried angrily; and turning to Denisov, who, showing off\r\nhis courage, had ridden on to the planks of the bridge:\r\n\r\n\"Why run risks, Captain? You should dismount,\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, every bullet has its billet,\" answered Vaska Denisov, turning in\r\nhis saddle.\r\n\r\n\r\nMeanwhile Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer of the suite were standing\r\ntogether out of range of the shots, watching, now the small group of\r\nmen with yellow shakos, dark-green jackets braided with cord, and blue\r\nriding breeches, who were swarming near the bridge, and then at what was\r\napproaching in the distance from the opposite side--the blue uniforms\r\nand groups with horses, easily recognizable as artillery.\r\n\r\n\"Will they burn the bridge or not? Who'll get there first? Will they get\r\nthere and fire the bridge or will the French get within grapeshot range\r\nand wipe them out?\" These were the questions each man of the troops\r\non the high ground above the bridge involuntarily asked himself with a\r\nsinking heart--watching the bridge and the hussars in the bright evening\r\nlight and the blue tunics advancing from the other side with their\r\nbayonets and guns.\r\n\r\n\"Ugh. The hussars will get it hot!\" said Nesvitski; \"they are within\r\ngrapeshot range now.\"\r\n\r\n\"He shouldn't have taken so many men,\" said the officer of the suite.\r\n\r\n\"True enough,\" answered Nesvitski; \"two smart fellows could have done\r\nthe job just as well.\"\r\n\r\n\"Ah, your excellency,\" put in Zherkov, his eyes fixed on the hussars,\r\nbut still with that naive air that made it impossible to know whether he\r\nwas speaking in jest or in earnest. \"Ah, your excellency! How you look\r\nat things! Send two men? And who then would give us the Vladimir medal\r\nand ribbon? But now, even if they do get peppered, the squadron may be\r\nrecommended for honors and he may get a ribbon. Our Bogdanich knows how\r\nthings are done.\"\r\n\r\n\"There now!\" said the officer of the suite, \"that's grapeshot.\"\r\n\r\nHe pointed to the French guns, the limbers of which were being detached\r\nand hurriedly removed.\r\n\r\nOn the French side, amid the groups with cannon, a cloud of smoke\r\nappeared, then a second and a third almost simultaneously, and at the\r\nmoment when the first report was heard a fourth was seen. Then two\r\nreports one after another, and a third.\r\n\r\n\"Oh! Oh!\" groaned Nesvitski as if in fierce pain, seizing the officer of\r\nthe suite by the arm. \"Look! A man has fallen! Fallen, fallen!\"\r\n\r\n\"Two, I think.\"\r\n\r\n\"If I were Tsar I would never go to war,\" said Nesvitski, turning away.\r\n\r\nThe French guns were hastily reloaded. The infantry in their blue\r\nuniforms advanced toward the bridge at a run. Smoke appeared again\r\nbut at irregular intervals, and grapeshot cracked and rattled onto the\r\nbridge. But this time Nesvitski could not see what was happening there,\r\nas a dense cloud of smoke arose from it. The hussars had succeeded in\r\nsetting it on fire and the French batteries were now firing at them, no\r\nlonger to hinder them but because the guns were trained and there was\r\nsomeone to fire at.\r\n\r\nThe French had time to fire three rounds of grapeshot before the hussars\r\ngot back to their horses. Two were misdirected and the shot went too\r\nhigh, but the last round fell in the midst of a group of hussars and\r\nknocked three of them over.\r\n\r\nRostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the\r\nbridge not knowing what to do. There was no one to hew down (as he\r\nhad always imagined battles to himself), nor could he help to fire the\r\nbridge because he had not brought any burning straw with him like the\r\nother soldiers. He stood looking about him, when suddenly he heard a\r\nrattle on the bridge as if nuts were being spilt, and the hussar nearest\r\nto him fell against the rails with a groan. Rostov ran up to him with\r\nthe others. Again someone shouted, \"Stretchers!\" Four men seized the\r\nhussar and began lifting him.\r\n\r\n\"Oooh! For Christ's sake let me alone!\" cried the wounded man, but still\r\nhe was lifted and laid on the stretcher.\r\n\r\nNicholas Rostov turned away and, as if searching for something, gazed\r\ninto the distance, at the waters of the Danube, at the sky, and at the\r\nsun. How beautiful the sky looked; how blue, how calm, and how deep!\r\nHow bright and glorious was the setting sun! With what soft glitter the\r\nwaters of the distant Danube shone. And fairer still were the faraway\r\nblue mountains beyond the river, the nunnery, the mysterious gorges, and\r\nthe pine forests veiled in the mist of their summits... There was peace\r\nand happiness... \"I should wish for nothing else, nothing, if only I\r\nwere there,\" thought Rostov. \"In myself alone and in that sunshine there\r\nis so much happiness; but here... groans, suffering, fear, and this\r\nuncertainty and hurry... There--they are shouting again, and again are\r\nall running back somewhere, and I shall run with them, and it, death, is\r\nhere above me and around... Another instant and I shall never again see\r\nthe sun, this water, that gorge!...\"\r\n\r\nAt that instant the sun began to hide behind the clouds, and other\r\nstretchers came into view before Rostov. And the fear of death and of\r\nthe stretchers, and love of the sun and of life, all merged into one\r\nfeeling of sickening agitation.\r\n\r\n\"O Lord God! Thou who art in that heaven, save, forgive, and protect\r\nme!\" Rostov whispered.\r\n\r\nThe hussars ran back to the men who held their horses; their voices\r\nsounded louder and calmer, the stretchers disappeared from sight.\r\n\r\n\"Well, fwiend? So you've smelt powdah!\" shouted Vaska Denisov just above\r\nhis ear.\r\n\r\n\"It's all over; but I am a coward--yes, a coward!\" thought Rostov, and\r\nsighing deeply he took Rook, his horse, which stood resting one foot,\r\nfrom the orderly and began to mount.\r\n\r\n\"Was that grapeshot?\" he asked Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"Yes and no mistake!\" cried Denisov. \"You worked like wegular bwicks and\r\nit's nasty work! An attack's pleasant work! Hacking away at the dogs!\r\nBut this sort of thing is the very devil, with them shooting at you like\r\na target.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Denisov rode up to a group that had stopped near Rostov, composed of\r\nthe colonel, Nesvitski, Zherkov, and the officer from the suite.\r\n\r\n\"Well, it seems that no one has noticed,\" thought Rostov. And this was\r\ntrue. No one had taken any notice, for everyone knew the sensation which\r\nthe cadet under fire for the first time had experienced.\r\n\r\n\"Here's something for you to report,\" said Zherkov. \"See if I don't get\r\npromoted to a sublieutenancy.\"\r\n\r\n\"Inform the prince that I the bridge fired!\" said the colonel\r\ntriumphantly and gaily.\r\n\r\n\"And if he asks about the losses?\"\r\n\r\n\"A trifle,\" said the colonel in his bass voice: \"two hussars wounded,\r\nand one knocked out,\" he added, unable to restrain a happy smile, and\r\npronouncing the phrase \"knocked out\" with ringing distinctness.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IX\r\n\r\n\r\nPursued by the French army of a hundred thousand men under the command\r\nof Bonaparte, encountering a population that was unfriendly to it,\r\nlosing confidence in its allies, suffering from shortness of supplies,\r\nand compelled to act under conditions of war unlike anything that had\r\nbeen foreseen, the Russian army of thirty-five thousand men commanded\r\nby Kutuzov was hurriedly retreating along the Danube, stopping where\r\novertaken by the enemy and fighting rearguard actions only as far as\r\nnecessary to enable it to retreat without losing its heavy equipment.\r\nThere had been actions at Lambach, Amstetten, and Melk; but despite the\r\ncourage and endurance--acknowledged even by the enemy--with which the\r\nRussians fought, the only consequence of these actions was a yet more\r\nrapid retreat. Austrian troops that had escaped capture at Ulm and\r\nhad joined Kutuzov at Braunau now separated from the Russian army,\r\nand Kutuzov was left with only his own weak and exhausted forces.\r\nThe defense of Vienna was no longer to be thought of. Instead of an\r\noffensive, the plan of which, carefully prepared in accord with the\r\nmodern science of strategics, had been handed to Kutuzov when he was in\r\nVienna by the Austrian Hofkriegsrath, the sole and almost unattainable\r\naim remaining for him was to effect a junction with the forces that were\r\nadvancing from Russia, without losing his army as Mack had done at Ulm.\r\n\r\nOn the twenty-eighth of October Kutuzov with his army crossed to the\r\nleft bank of the Danube and took up a position for the first time\r\nwith the river between himself and the main body of the French. On the\r\nthirtieth he attacked Mortier's division, which was on the left bank,\r\nand broke it up. In this action for the first time trophies were taken:\r\nbanners, cannon, and two enemy generals. For the first time, after a\r\nfortnight's retreat, the Russian troops had halted and after a fight had\r\nnot only held the field but had repulsed the French. Though the troops\r\nwere ill-clad, exhausted, and had lost a third of their number in\r\nkilled, wounded, sick, and stragglers; though a number of sick and\r\nwounded had been abandoned on the other side of the Danube with a letter\r\nin which Kutuzov entrusted them to the humanity of the enemy; and\r\nthough the big hospitals and the houses in Krems converted into military\r\nhospitals could no longer accommodate all the sick and wounded, yet the\r\nstand made at Krems and the victory over Mortier raised the spirits of\r\nthe army considerably. Throughout the whole army and at headquarters\r\nmost joyful though erroneous rumors were rife of the imaginary approach\r\nof columns from Russia, of some victory gained by the Austrians, and of\r\nthe retreat of the frightened Bonaparte.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew during the battle had been in attendance on the Austrian\r\nGeneral Schmidt, who was killed in the action. His horse had been\r\nwounded under him and his own arm slightly grazed by a bullet. As a mark\r\nof the commander in chief's special favor he was sent with the news of\r\nthis victory to the Austrian court, now no longer at Vienna (which was\r\nthreatened by the French) but at Brunn. Despite his apparently delicate\r\nbuild Prince Andrew could endure physical fatigue far better than many\r\nvery muscular men, and on the night of the battle, having arrived at\r\nKrems excited but not weary, with dispatches from Dokhturov to Kutuzov,\r\nhe was sent immediately with a special dispatch to Brunn. To be so sent\r\nmeant not only a reward but an important step toward promotion.\r\n\r\nThe night was dark but starry, the road showed black in the snow that\r\nhad fallen the previous day--the day of the battle. Reviewing his\r\nimpressions of the recent battle, picturing pleasantly to himself the\r\nimpression his news of a victory would create, or recalling the send-off\r\ngiven him by the commander in chief and his fellow officers, Prince\r\nAndrew was galloping along in a post chaise enjoying the feelings of a\r\nman who has at length begun to attain a long-desired happiness. As soon\r\nas he closed his eyes his ears seemed filled with the rattle of the\r\nwheels and the sensation of victory. Then he began to imagine that\r\nthe Russians were running away and that he himself was killed, but he\r\nquickly roused himself with a feeling of joy, as if learning afresh that\r\nthis was not so but that on the contrary the French had run away. He\r\nagain recalled all the details of the victory and his own calm courage\r\nduring the battle, and feeling reassured he dozed off.... The dark\r\nstarry night was followed by a bright cheerful morning. The snow was\r\nthawing in the sunshine, the horses galloped quickly, and on both sides\r\nof the road were forests of different kinds, fields, and villages.\r\n\r\nAt one of the post stations he overtook a convoy of Russian wounded.\r\nThe Russian officer in charge of the transport lolled back in the front\r\ncart, shouting and scolding a soldier with coarse abuse. In each of\r\nthe long German carts six or more pale, dirty, bandaged men were being\r\njolted over the stony road. Some of them were talking (he heard Russian\r\nwords), others were eating bread; the more severely wounded looked\r\nsilently, with the languid interest of sick children, at the envoy\r\nhurrying past them.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew told his driver to stop, and asked a soldier in what\r\naction they had been wounded. \"Day before yesterday, on the Danube,\"\r\nanswered the soldier. Prince Andrew took out his purse and gave the\r\nsoldier three gold pieces.\r\n\r\n\"That's for them all,\" he said to the officer who came up.\r\n\r\n\"Get well soon, lads!\" he continued, turning to the soldiers. \"There's\r\nplenty to do still.\"\r\n\r\n\"What news, sir?\" asked the officer, evidently anxious to start a\r\nconversation.\r\n\r\n\"Good news!... Go on!\" he shouted to the driver, and they galloped on.\r\n\r\nIt was already quite dark when Prince Andrew rattled over the paved\r\nstreets of Brunn and found himself surrounded by high buildings, the\r\nlights of shops, houses, and street lamps, fine carriages, and all that\r\natmosphere of a large and active town which is always so attractive to a\r\nsoldier after camp life. Despite his rapid journey and sleepless night,\r\nPrince Andrew when he drove up to the palace felt even more vigorous and\r\nalert than he had done the day before. Only his eyes gleamed feverishly\r\nand his thoughts followed one another with extraordinary clearness and\r\nrapidity. He again vividly recalled the details of the battle, no longer\r\ndim, but definite and in the concise form in which he imagined himself\r\nstating them to the Emperor Francis. He vividly imagined the casual\r\nquestions that might be put to him and the answers he would give. He\r\nexpected to be at once presented to the Emperor. At the chief entrance\r\nto the palace, however, an official came running out to meet him, and\r\nlearning that he was a special messenger led him to another entrance.\r\n\r\n\"To the right from the corridor, Euer Hochgeboren! There you will find\r\nthe adjutant on duty,\" said the official. \"He will conduct you to the\r\nMinister of War.\"\r\n\r\nThe adjutant on duty, meeting Prince Andrew, asked him to wait, and went\r\nin to the Minister of War. Five minutes later he returned and bowing\r\nwith particular courtesy ushered Prince Andrew before him along a\r\ncorridor to the cabinet where the Minister of War was at work. The\r\nadjutant by his elaborate courtesy appeared to wish to ward off any\r\nattempt at familiarity on the part of the Russian messenger.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew's joyous feeling was considerably weakened as he\r\napproached the door of the minister's room. He felt offended, and\r\nwithout his noticing it the feeling of offense immediately turned into\r\none of disdain which was quite uncalled for. His fertile mind instantly\r\nsuggested to him a point of view which gave him a right to despise the\r\nadjutant and the minister. \"Away from the smell of powder, they\r\nprobably think it easy to gain victories!\" he thought. His eyes narrowed\r\ndisdainfully, he entered the room of the Minister of War with peculiarly\r\ndeliberate steps. This feeling of disdain was heightened when he saw the\r\nminister seated at a large table reading some papers and making pencil\r\nnotes on them, and for the first two or three minutes taking no notice\r\nof his arrival. A wax candle stood at each side of the minister's bent\r\nbald head with its gray temples. He went on reading to the end, without\r\nraising his eyes at the opening of the door and the sound of footsteps.\r\n\r\n\"Take this and deliver it,\" said he to his adjutant, handing him the\r\npapers and still taking no notice of the special messenger.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew felt that either the actions of Kutuzov's army interested\r\nthe Minister of War less than any of the other matters he was\r\nconcerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that\r\nimpression. \"But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me,\" he\r\nthought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them\r\nevenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and distinctive\r\nhead, but the instant he turned to Prince Andrew the firm, intelligent\r\nexpression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and\r\nhabitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which\r\ndoes not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is\r\ncontinually receiving many petitioners one after another.\r\n\r\n\"From General Field Marshal Kutuzov?\" he asked. \"I hope it is good news?\r\nThere has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was high time!\"\r\n\r\nHe took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read it\r\nwith a mournful expression.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!\" he exclaimed in German. \"What a calamity!\r\nWhat a calamity!\"\r\n\r\nHaving glanced through the dispatch he laid it on the table and looked\r\nat Prince Andrew, evidently considering something.\r\n\r\n\"Ah what a calamity! You say the affair was decisive? But Mortier is\r\nnot captured.\" Again he pondered. \"I am very glad you have brought good\r\nnews, though Schmidt's death is a heavy price to pay for the victory.\r\nHis Majesty will no doubt wish to see you, but not today. I thank\r\nyou! You must have a rest. Be at the levee tomorrow after the parade.\r\nHowever, I will let you know.\"\r\n\r\nThe stupid smile, which had left his face while he was speaking,\r\nreappeared.\r\n\r\n\"Au revoir! Thank you very much. His Majesty will probably desire to see\r\nyou,\" he added, bowing his head.\r\n\r\nWhen Prince Andrew left the palace he felt that all the interest\r\nand happiness the victory had afforded him had been now left in the\r\nindifferent hands of the Minister of War and the polite adjutant. The\r\nwhole tenor of his thoughts instantaneously changed; the battle seemed\r\nthe memory of a remote event long past.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER X\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew stayed at Brunn with Bilibin, a Russian acquaintance of\r\nhis in the diplomatic service.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear prince! I could not have a more welcome visitor,\" said\r\nBilibin as he came out to meet Prince Andrew. \"Franz, put the prince's\r\nthings in my bedroom,\" said he to the servant who was ushering Bolkonski\r\nin. \"So you're a messenger of victory, eh? Splendid! And I am sitting\r\nhere ill, as you see.\"\r\n\r\nAfter washing and dressing, Prince Andrew came into the diplomat's\r\nluxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilibin\r\nsettled down comfortably beside the fire.\r\n\r\nAfter his journey and the campaign during which he had been deprived of\r\nall the comforts of cleanliness and all the refinements of life, Prince\r\nAndrew felt a pleasant sense of repose among luxurious surroundings such\r\nas he had been accustomed to from childhood. Besides it was pleasant,\r\nafter his reception by the Austrians, to speak if not in Russian\r\n(for they were speaking French) at least with a Russian who would, he\r\nsupposed, share the general Russian antipathy to the Austrians which was\r\nthen particularly strong.\r\n\r\nBilibin was a man of thirty-five, a bachelor, and of the same circle as\r\nPrince Andrew. They had known each other previously in Petersburg, but\r\nhad become more intimate when Prince Andrew was in Vienna with Kutuzov.\r\nJust as Prince Andrew was a young man who gave promise of rising high\r\nin the military profession, so to an even greater extent Bilibin gave\r\npromise of rising in his diplomatic career. He still a young man but\r\nno longer a young diplomat, as he had entered the service at the age\r\nof sixteen, had been in Paris and Copenhagen, and now held a rather\r\nimportant post in Vienna. Both the foreign minister and our ambassador\r\nin Vienna knew him and valued him. He was not one of those many\r\ndiplomats who are esteemed because they have certain negative qualities,\r\navoid doing certain things, and speak French. He was one of those,\r\nwho, liking work, knew how to do it, and despite his indolence would\r\nsometimes spend a whole night at his writing table. He worked well\r\nwhatever the import of his work. It was not the question \"What for?\"\r\nbut the question \"How?\" that interested him. What the diplomatic matter\r\nmight be he did not care, but it gave him great pleasure to prepare a\r\ncircular, memorandum, or report, skillfully, pointedly, and elegantly.\r\nBilibin's services were valued not only for what he wrote, but also for\r\nhis skill in dealing and conversing with those in the highest spheres.\r\n\r\nBilibin liked conversation as he liked work, only when it could be made\r\nelegantly witty. In society he always awaited an opportunity to say\r\nsomething striking and took part in a conversation only when that was\r\npossible. His conversation was always sprinkled with wittily original,\r\nfinished phrases of general interest. These sayings were prepared in the\r\ninner laboratory of his mind in a portable form as if intentionally, so\r\nthat insignificant society people might carry them from drawing room to\r\ndrawing room. And, in fact, Bilibin's witticisms were hawked about\r\nin the Viennese drawing rooms and often had an influence on matters\r\nconsidered important.\r\n\r\nHis thin, worn, sallow face was covered with deep wrinkles, which always\r\nlooked as clean and well washed as the tips of one's fingers after a\r\nRussian bath. The movement of these wrinkles formed the principal play\r\nof expression on his face. Now his forehead would pucker into deep folds\r\nand his eyebrows were lifted, then his eyebrows would descend and\r\ndeep wrinkles would crease his cheeks. His small, deep-set eyes always\r\ntwinkled and looked out straight.\r\n\r\n\"Well, now tell me about your exploits,\" said he.\r\n\r\nBolkonski, very modestly without once mentioning himself, described the\r\nengagement and his reception by the Minister of War.\r\n\r\n\"They received me and my news as one receives a dog in a game of\r\nskittles,\" said he in conclusion.\r\n\r\nBilibin smiled and the wrinkles on his face disappeared.\r\n\r\n\"Cependant, mon cher,\" he remarked, examining his nails from a distance\r\nand puckering the skin above his left eye, \"malgre la haute estime que\r\nje professe pour the Orthodox Russian army, j'avoue que votre victoire\r\nn'est pas des plus victorieuses.\" *\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"But my dear fellow, with all my respect for the Orthodox\r\n     Russian army, I must say that your victory was not\r\n     particularly victorious.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nHe went on talking in this way in French, uttering only those words in\r\nRussian on which he wished to put a contemptuous emphasis.\r\n\r\n\"Come now! You with all your forces fall on the unfortunate Mortier\r\nand his one division, and even then Mortier slips through your fingers!\r\nWhere's the victory?\"\r\n\r\n\"But seriously,\" said Prince Andrew, \"we can at any rate say without\r\nboasting that it was a little better than at Ulm...\"\r\n\r\n\"Why didn't you capture one, just one, marshal for us?\"\r\n\r\n\"Because not everything happens as one expects or with the smoothness of\r\na parade. We had expected, as I told you, to get at their rear by seven\r\nin the morning but had not reached it by five in the afternoon.\"\r\n\r\n\"And why didn't you do it at seven in the morning? You ought to have\r\nbeen there at seven in the morning,\" returned Bilibin with a smile. \"You\r\nought to have been there at seven in the morning.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why did you not succeed in impressing on Bonaparte by diplomatic\r\nmethods that he had better leave Genoa alone?\" retorted Prince Andrew in\r\nthe same tone.\r\n\r\n\"I know,\" interrupted Bilibin, \"you're thinking it's very easy to take\r\nmarshals, sitting on a sofa by the fire! That is true, but still why\r\ndidn't you capture him? So don't be surprised if not only the Minister\r\nof War but also his Most August Majesty the Emperor and King Francis\r\nis not much delighted by your victory. Even I, a poor secretary of the\r\nRussian Embassy, do not feel any need in token of my joy to give my\r\nFranz a thaler, or let him go with his Liebchen to the Prater... True,\r\nwe have no Prater here...\"\r\n\r\nHe looked straight at Prince Andrew and suddenly unwrinkled his\r\nforehead.\r\n\r\n\"It is now my turn to ask you 'why?' mon cher,\" said Bolkonski. \"I\r\nconfess I do not understand: perhaps there are diplomatic subtleties\r\nhere beyond my feeble intelligence, but I can't make it out. Mack loses\r\na whole army, the Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduke Karl give no signs\r\nof life and make blunder after blunder. Kutuzov alone at last gains a\r\nreal victory, destroying the spell of the invincibility of the French,\r\nand the Minister of War does not even care to hear the details.\"\r\n\r\n\"That's just it, my dear fellow. You see it's hurrah for the Tsar, for\r\nRussia, for the Orthodox Greek faith! All that is beautiful, but what\r\ndo we, I mean the Austrian court, care for your victories? Bring us nice\r\nnews of a victory by the Archduke Karl or Ferdinand (one archduke's as\r\ngood as another, as you know) and even if it is only over a fire brigade\r\nof Bonaparte's, that will be another story and we'll fire off some\r\ncannon! But this sort of thing seems done on purpose to vex us. The\r\nArchduke Karl does nothing, the Archduke Ferdinand disgraces himself.\r\nYou abandon Vienna, give up its defense--as much as to say: 'Heaven is\r\nwith us, but heaven help you and your capital!' The one general whom we\r\nall loved, Schmidt, you expose to a bullet, and then you congratulate\r\nus on the victory! Admit that more irritating news than yours could not\r\nhave been conceived. It's as if it had been done on purpose, on purpose.\r\nBesides, suppose you did gain a brilliant victory, if even the Archduke\r\nKarl gained a victory, what effect would that have on the general course\r\nof events? It's too late now when Vienna is occupied by the French\r\narmy!\"\r\n\r\n\"What? Occupied? Vienna occupied?\"\r\n\r\n\"Not only occupied, but Bonaparte is at Schonbrunn, and the count, our\r\ndear Count Vrbna, goes to him for orders.\"\r\n\r\nAfter the fatigues and impressions of the journey, his reception, and\r\nespecially after having dined, Bolkonski felt that he could not take in\r\nthe full significance of the words he heard.\r\n\r\n\"Count Lichtenfels was here this morning,\" Bilibin continued, \"and\r\nshowed me a letter in which the parade of the French in Vienna was fully\r\ndescribed: Prince Murat et tout le tremblement... You see that your\r\nvictory is not a matter for great rejoicing and that you can't be\r\nreceived as a savior.\"\r\n\r\n\"Really I don't care about that, I don't care at all,\" said Prince\r\nAndrew, beginning to understand that his news of the battle before Krems\r\nwas really of small importance in view of such events as the fall of\r\nAustria's capital. \"How is it Vienna was taken? What of the bridge and\r\nits celebrated bridgehead and Prince Auersperg? We heard reports that\r\nPrince Auersperg was defending Vienna?\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Prince Auersperg is on this, on our side of the river, and is defending\r\nus--doing it very badly, I think, but still he is defending us. But\r\nVienna is on the other side. No, the bridge has not yet been taken and I\r\nhope it will not be, for it is mined and orders have been given to\r\nblow it up. Otherwise we should long ago have been in the mountains of\r\nBohemia, and you and your army would have spent a bad quarter of an hour\r\nbetween two fires.\"\r\n\r\n\"But still this does not mean that the campaign is over,\" said Prince\r\nAndrew.\r\n\r\n\"Well, I think it is. The bigwigs here think so too, but they daren't\r\nsay so. It will be as I said at the beginning of the campaign, it won't\r\nbe your skirmishing at Durrenstein, or gunpowder at all, that will\r\ndecide the matter, but those who devised it,\" said Bilibin quoting one\r\nof his own mots, releasing the wrinkles on his forehead, and pausing.\r\n\"The only question is what will come of the meeting between the Emperor\r\nAlexander and the King of Prussia in Berlin? If Prussia joins the\r\nAllies, Austria's hand will be forced and there will be war. If not\r\nit is merely a question of settling where the preliminaries of the new\r\nCampo Formio are to be drawn up.\"\r\n\r\n\"What an extraordinary genius!\" Prince Andrew suddenly exclaimed,\r\nclenching his small hand and striking the table with it, \"and what luck\r\nthe man has!\"\r\n\r\n\"Buonaparte?\" said Bilibin inquiringly, puckering up his forehead to\r\nindicate that he was about to say something witty. \"Buonaparte?\" he\r\nrepeated, accentuating the u: \"I think, however, now that he lays down\r\nlaws for Austria at Schonbrunn, il faut lui faire grace de l'u! * I\r\nshall certainly adopt an innovation and call him simply Bonaparte!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"We must let him off the u!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\"But joking apart,\" said Prince Andrew, \"do you really think the\r\ncampaign is over?\"\r\n\r\n\"This is what I think. Austria has been made a fool of, and she is not\r\nused to it. She will retaliate. And she has been fooled in the first\r\nplace because her provinces have been pillaged--they say the Holy\r\nRussian army loots terribly--her army is destroyed, her capital\r\ntaken, and all this for the beaux yeux * of His Sardinian Majesty. And\r\ntherefore--this is between ourselves--I instinctively feel that we are\r\nbeing deceived, my instinct tells me of negotiations with France and\r\nprojects for peace, a secret peace concluded separately.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Fine eyes.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Impossible!\" cried Prince Andrew. \"That would be too base.\"\r\n\r\n\"If we live we shall see,\" replied Bilibin, his face again becoming\r\nsmooth as a sign that the conversation was at an end.\r\n\r\nWhen Prince Andrew reached the room prepared for him and lay down in a\r\nclean shirt on the feather bed with its warmed and fragrant pillows, he\r\nfelt that the battle of which he had brought tidings was far, far away\r\nfrom him. The alliance with Prussia, Austria's treachery, Bonaparte's\r\nnew triumph, tomorrow's levee and parade, and the audience with the\r\nEmperor Francis occupied his thoughts.\r\n\r\nHe closed his eyes, and immediately a sound of cannonading, of musketry\r\nand the rattling of carriage wheels seemed to fill his ears, and now\r\nagain drawn out in a thin line the musketeers were descending the hill,\r\nthe French were firing, and he felt his heart palpitating as he rode\r\nforward beside Schmidt with the bullets merrily whistling all around,\r\nand he experienced tenfold the joy of living, as he had not done since\r\nchildhood.\r\n\r\nHe woke up...\r\n\r\n\"Yes, that all happened!\" he said, and, smiling happily to himself like\r\na child, he fell into a deep, youthful slumber.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XI\r\n\r\n\r\nNext day he woke late. Recalling his recent impressions, the first\r\nthought that came into his mind was that today he had to be presented\r\nto the Emperor Francis; he remembered the Minister of War, the polite\r\nAustrian adjutant, Bilibin, and last night's conversation. Having\r\ndressed for his attendance at court in full parade uniform, which he had\r\nnot worn for a long time, he went into Bilibin's study fresh, animated,\r\nand handsome, with his hand bandaged. In the study were four gentlemen\r\nof the diplomatic corps. With Prince Hippolyte Kuragin, who was a\r\nsecretary to the embassy, Bolkonski was already acquainted. Bilibin\r\nintroduced him to the others.\r\n\r\nThe gentlemen assembled at Bilibin's were young, wealthy, gay society\r\nmen, who here, as in Vienna, formed a special set which Bilibin, their\r\nleader, called les notres. * This set, consisting almost exclusively of\r\ndiplomats, evidently had its own interests which had nothing to do with\r\nwar or politics but related to high society, to certain women, and to\r\nthe official side of the service. These gentlemen received Prince\r\nAndrew as one of themselves, an honor they did not extend to many. From\r\npoliteness and to start conversation, they asked him a few questions\r\nabout the army and the battle, and then the talk went off into merry\r\njests and gossip.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Ours.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"But the best of it was,\" said one, telling of the misfortune of\r\na fellow diplomat, \"that the Chancellor told him flatly that his\r\nappointment to London was a promotion and that he was so to regard it.\r\nCan you fancy the figure he cut?...\"\r\n\r\n\"But the worst of it, gentlemen--I am giving Kuragin away to you--is\r\nthat that man suffers, and this Don Juan, wicked fellow, is taking\r\nadvantage of it!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Hippolyte was lolling in a lounge chair with his legs over its\r\narm. He began to laugh.\r\n\r\n\"Tell me about that!\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!\" cried several voices.\r\n\r\n\"You, Bolkonski, don't know,\" said Bilibin turning to Prince Andrew,\r\n\"that all the atrocities of the French army (I nearly said of the\r\nRussian army) are nothing compared to what this man has been doing among\r\nthe women!\"\r\n\r\n\"La femme est la compagne de l'homme,\" * announced Prince Hippolyte, and\r\nbegan looking through a lorgnette at his elevated legs.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"Woman is man's companion.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nBilibin and the rest of \"ours\" burst out laughing in Hippolyte's face,\r\nand Prince Andrew saw that Hippolyte, of whom--he had to admit--he had\r\nalmost been jealous on his wife's account, was the butt of this set.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, I must give you a treat,\" Bilibin whispered to Bolkonski. \"Kuragin\r\nis exquisite when he discusses politics--you should see his gravity!\"\r\n\r\nHe sat down beside Hippolyte and wrinkling his forehead began talking\r\nto him about politics. Prince Andrew and the others gathered round these\r\ntwo.\r\n\r\n\"The Berlin cabinet cannot express a feeling of alliance,\" began\r\nHippolyte gazing round with importance at the others, \"without\r\nexpressing... as in its last note... you understand... Besides, unless\r\nHis Majesty the Emperor derogates from the principle of our alliance...\r\n\r\n\"Wait, I have not finished...\" he said to Prince Andrew, seizing him\r\nby the arm, \"I believe that intervention will be stronger than\r\nnonintervention. And...\" he paused. \"Finally one cannot impute the\r\nnonreceipt of our dispatch of November 18. That is how it will end.\" And\r\nhe released Bolkonski's arm to indicate that he had now quite finished.\r\n\r\n\"Demosthenes, I know thee by the pebble thou secretest in thy golden\r\nmouth!\" said Bilibin, and the mop of hair on his head moved with\r\nsatisfaction.\r\n\r\nEverybody laughed, and Hippolyte louder than anyone. He was evidently\r\ndistressed, and breathed painfully, but could not restrain the wild\r\nlaughter that convulsed his usually impassive features.\r\n\r\n\"Well now, gentlemen,\" said Bilibin, \"Bolkonski is my guest in this\r\nhouse and in Brunn itself. I want to entertain him as far as I can, with\r\nall the pleasures of life here. If we were in Vienna it would be easy,\r\nbut here, in this wretched Moravian hole, it is more difficult, and I\r\nbeg you all to help me. Brunn's attractions must be shown him. You can\r\nundertake the theater, I society, and you, Hippolyte, of course the\r\nwomen.\"\r\n\r\n\"We must let him see Amelie, she's exquisite!\" said one of \"ours,\"\r\nkissing his finger tips.\r\n\r\n\"In general we must turn this bloodthirsty soldier to more humane\r\ninterests,\" said Bilibin.\r\n\r\n\"I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of your hospitality,\r\ngentlemen, it is already time for me to go,\" replied Prince Andrew\r\nlooking at his watch.\r\n\r\n\"Where to?\"\r\n\r\n\"To the Emperor.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh! Oh! Oh! Well, au revoir, Bolkonski! Au revoir, Prince! Come back\r\nearly to dinner,\" cried several voices. \"We'll take you in hand.\"\r\n\r\n\"When speaking to the Emperor, try as far as you can to praise the way\r\nthat provisions are supplied and the routes indicated,\" said Bilibin,\r\naccompanying him to the hall.\r\n\r\n\"I should like to speak well of them, but as far as I know the facts, I\r\ncan't,\" replied Bolkonski, smiling.\r\n\r\n\"Well, talk as much as you can, anyway. He has a passion for giving\r\naudiences, but he does not like talking himself and can't do it, as you\r\nwill see.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XII\r\n\r\n\r\nAt the levee Prince Andrew stood among the Austrian officers as he had\r\nbeen told to, and the Emperor Francis merely looked fixedly into his\r\nface and just nodded to him with his long head. But after it was\r\nover, the adjutant he had seen the previous day ceremoniously informed\r\nBolkonski that the Emperor desired to give him an audience. The Emperor\r\nFrancis received him standing in the middle of the room. Before the\r\nconversation began Prince Andrew was struck by the fact that the Emperor\r\nseemed confused and blushed as if not knowing what to say.\r\n\r\n\"Tell me, when did the battle begin?\" he asked hurriedly.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew replied. Then followed other questions just as simple:\r\n\"Was Kutuzov well? When had he left Krems?\" and so on. The Emperor spoke\r\nas if his sole aim were to put a given number of questions--the answers\r\nto these questions, as was only too evident, did not interest him.\r\n\r\n\"At what o'clock did the battle begin?\" asked the Emperor.\r\n\r\n\"I cannot inform Your Majesty at what o'clock the battle began at the\r\nfront, but at Durrenstein, where I was, our attack began after five in\r\nthe afternoon,\" replied Bolkonski growing more animated and expecting\r\nthat he would have a chance to give a reliable account, which he had\r\nready in his mind, of all he knew and had seen. But the Emperor smiled\r\nand interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"How many miles?\"\r\n\r\n\"From where to where, Your Majesty?\"\r\n\r\n\"From Durrenstein to Krems.\"\r\n\r\n\"Three and a half miles, Your Majesty.\"\r\n\r\n\"The French have abandoned the left bank?\"\r\n\r\n\"According to the scouts the last of them crossed on rafts during the\r\nnight.\"\r\n\r\n\"Is there sufficient forage in Krems?\"\r\n\r\n\"Forage has not been supplied to the extent...\"\r\n\r\nThe Emperor interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"At what o'clock was General Schmidt killed?\"\r\n\r\n\"At seven o'clock, I believe.\"\r\n\r\n\"At seven o'clock? It's very sad, very sad!\"\r\n\r\nThe Emperor thanked Prince Andrew and bowed. Prince Andrew withdrew and\r\nwas immediately surrounded by courtiers on all sides. Everywhere he saw\r\nfriendly looks and heard friendly words. Yesterday's adjutant reproached\r\nhim for not having stayed at the palace, and offered him his own house.\r\nThe Minister of War came up and congratulated him on the Maria Theresa\r\nOrder of the third grade, which the Emperor was conferring on him. The\r\nEmpress' chamberlain invited him to see Her Majesty. The archduchess\r\nalso wished to see him. He did not know whom to answer, and for a few\r\nseconds collected his thoughts. Then the Russian ambassador took him by\r\nthe shoulder, led him to the window, and began to talk to him.\r\n\r\nContrary to Bilibin's forecast the news he had brought was joyfully\r\nreceived. A thanksgiving service was arranged, Kutuzov was awarded\r\nthe Grand Cross of Maria Theresa, and the whole army received rewards.\r\nBolkonski was invited everywhere, and had to spend the whole morning\r\ncalling on the principal Austrian dignitaries. Between four and five in\r\nthe afternoon, having made all his calls, he was returning to Bilibin's\r\nhouse thinking out a letter to his father about the battle and his visit\r\nto Brunn. At the door he found a vehicle half full of luggage. Franz,\r\nBilibin's man, was dragging a portmanteau with some difficulty out of\r\nthe front door.\r\n\r\nBefore returning to Bilibin's Prince Andrew had gone to a bookshop to\r\nprovide himself with some books for the campaign, and had spent some\r\ntime in the shop.\r\n\r\n\"What is it?\" he asked.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, your excellency!\" said Franz, with difficulty rolling the\r\nportmanteau into the vehicle, \"we are to move on still farther. The\r\nscoundrel is again at our heels!\"\r\n\r\n\"Eh? What?\" asked Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\nBilibin came out to meet him. His usually calm face showed excitement.\r\n\r\n\"There now! Confess that this is delightful,\" said he. \"This affair of\r\nthe Thabor Bridge, at Vienna.... They have crossed without striking a\r\nblow!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew could not understand.\r\n\r\n\"But where do you come from not to know what every coachman in the town\r\nknows?\"\r\n\r\n\"I come from the archduchess'. I heard nothing there.\"\r\n\r\n\"And you didn't see that everybody is packing up?\"\r\n\r\n\"I did not... What is it all about?\" inquired Prince Andrew impatiently.\r\n\r\n\"What's it all about? Why, the French have crossed the bridge that\r\nAuersperg was defending, and the bridge was not blown up: so Murat is\r\nnow rushing along the road to Brunn and will be here in a day or two.\"\r\n\r\n\"What? Here? But why did they not blow up the bridge, if it was mined?\"\r\n\r\n\"That is what I ask you. No one, not even Bonaparte, knows why.\"\r\n\r\nBolkonski shrugged his shoulders.\r\n\r\n\"But if the bridge is crossed it means that the army too is lost? It\r\nwill be cut off,\" said he.\r\n\r\n\"That's just it,\" answered Bilibin. \"Listen! The French entered\r\nVienna as I told you. Very well. Next day, which was yesterday, those\r\ngentlemen, messieurs les marechaux, * Murat, Lannes, and Belliard,\r\nmount and ride to the bridge. (Observe that all three are Gascons.)\r\n'Gentlemen,' says one of them, 'you know the Thabor Bridge is mined and\r\ndoubly mined and that there are menacing fortifications at its head and\r\nan army of fifteen thousand men has been ordered to blow up the bridge\r\nand not let us cross? But it will please our sovereign the Emperor\r\nNapoleon if we take this bridge, so let us three go and take it!' 'Yes,\r\nlet's!' say the others. And off they go and take the bridge, cross it,\r\nand now with their whole army are on this side of the Danube, marching\r\non us, you, and your lines of communication.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * The marshalls.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Stop jesting,\" said Prince Andrew sadly and seriously. This news\r\ngrieved him and yet he was pleased.\r\n\r\nAs soon as he learned that the Russian army was in such a hopeless\r\nsituation it occurred to him that it was he who was destined to lead it\r\nout of this position; that here was the Toulon that would lift him from\r\nthe ranks of obscure officers and offer him the first step to fame!\r\nListening to Bilibin he was already imagining how on reaching the army\r\nhe would give an opinion at the war council which would be the only one\r\nthat could save the army, and how he alone would be entrusted with the\r\nexecuting of the plan.\r\n\r\n\"Stop this jesting,\" he said\r\n\r\n\"I am not jesting,\" Bilibin went on. \"Nothing is truer or sadder. These\r\ngentlemen ride onto the bridge alone and wave white handkerchiefs; they\r\nassure the officer on duty that they, the marshals, are on their way to\r\nnegotiate with Prince Auersperg. He lets them enter the tete-de-pont. *\r\nThey spin him a thousand gasconades, saying that the war is over, that\r\nthe Emperor Francis is arranging a meeting with Bonaparte, that they\r\ndesire to see Prince Auersperg, and so on. The officer sends for\r\nAuersperg; these gentlemen embrace the officers, crack jokes, sit on the\r\ncannon, and meanwhile a French battalion gets to the bridge unobserved,\r\nflings the bags of incendiary material into the water, and approaches\r\nthe tete-de-pont. At length appears the lieutenant general, our dear\r\nPrince Auersperg von Mautern himself. 'Dearest foe! Flower of the\r\nAustrian army, hero of the Turkish wars Hostilities are ended, we can\r\nshake one another's hand.... The Emperor Napoleon burns with impatience\r\nto make Prince Auersperg's acquaintance.' In a word, those gentlemen,\r\nGascons indeed, so bewildered him with fine words, and he is so\r\nflattered by his rapidly established intimacy with the French marshals,\r\nand so dazzled by the sight of Murat's mantle and ostrich plumes,\r\nqu'il n'y voit que du feu, et oublie celui qu'il devait faire faire sur\r\nl'ennemi!\" *(2) In spite of the animation of his speech, Bilibin did not\r\nforget to pause after this mot to give time for its due appreciation.\r\n\"The French battalion rushes to the bridgehead, spikes the guns, and the\r\nbridge is taken! But what is best of all,\" he went on, his excitement\r\nsubsiding under the delightful interest of his own story, \"is that the\r\nsergeant in charge of the cannon which was to give the signal to fire\r\nthe mines and blow up the bridge, this sergeant, seeing that the French\r\ntroops were running onto the bridge, was about to fire, but Lannes\r\nstayed his hand. The sergeant, who was evidently wiser than his general,\r\ngoes up to Auersperg and says: 'Prince, you are being deceived, here are\r\nthe French!' Murat, seeing that all is lost if the sergeant is allowed\r\nto speak, turns to Auersperg with feigned astonishment (he is a\r\ntrue Gascon) and says: 'I don't recognize the world-famous Austrian\r\ndiscipline, if you allow a subordinate to address you like that!' It\r\nwas a stroke of genius. Prince Auersperg feels his dignity at stake and\r\norders the sergeant to be arrested. Come, you must own that this affair\r\nof the Thabor Bridge is delightful! It is not exactly stupidity, nor\r\nrascality....\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * Bridgehead.\r\n\r\n     * (2) That their fire gets into his eyes and he forgets that\r\n     he ought to be firing at the enemy.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"It may be treachery,\" said Prince Andrew, vividly imagining the gray\r\novercoats, wounds, the smoke of gunpowder, the sounds of firing, and the\r\nglory that awaited him.\r\n\r\n\"Not that either. That puts the court in too bad a light,\" replied\r\nBilibin. \"It's not treachery nor rascality nor stupidity: it is just\r\nas at Ulm... it is...\"--he seemed to be trying to find the right\r\nexpression. \"C'est... c'est du Mack. Nous sommes mackes (It is... it\r\nis a bit of Mack. We are Macked),\" he concluded, feeling that he\r\nhad produced a good epigram, a fresh one that would be repeated. His\r\nhitherto puckered brow became smooth as a sign of pleasure, and with a\r\nslight smile he began to examine his nails.\r\n\r\n\"Where are you off to?\" he said suddenly to Prince Andrew who had risen\r\nand was going toward his room.\r\n\r\n\"I am going away.\"\r\n\r\n\"Where to?\"\r\n\r\n\"To the army.\"\r\n\r\n\"But you meant to stay another two days?\"\r\n\r\n\"But now I am off at once.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Prince Andrew after giving directions about his departure went to\r\nhis room.\r\n\r\n\"Do you know, mon cher,\" said Bilibin following him, \"I have been\r\nthinking about you. Why are you going?\"\r\n\r\nAnd in proof of the conclusiveness of his opinion all the wrinkles\r\nvanished from his face.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew looked inquiringly at him and gave no reply.\r\n\r\n\"Why are you going? I know you think it your duty to gallop back to\r\nthe army now that it is in danger. I understand that. Mon cher, it is\r\nheroism!\"\r\n\r\n\"Not at all,\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"But as you are a philosopher, be a consistent one, look at the other\r\nside of the question and you will see that your duty, on the contrary,\r\nis to take care of yourself. Leave it to those who are no longer fit for\r\nanything else.... You have not been ordered to return and have not been\r\ndismissed from here; therefore, you can stay and go with us wherever our\r\nill luck takes us. They say we are going to Olmutz, and Olmutz is a very\r\ndecent town. You and I will travel comfortably in my caleche.\"\r\n\r\n\"Do stop joking, Bilibin,\" cried Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"I am speaking sincerely as a friend! Consider! Where and why are you\r\ngoing, when you might remain here? You are faced by one of two things,\"\r\nand the skin over his left temple puckered, \"either you will not reach\r\nyour regiment before peace is concluded, or you will share defeat and\r\ndisgrace with Kutuzov's whole army.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Bilibin unwrinkled his temple, feeling that the dilemma was\r\ninsoluble.\r\n\r\n\"I cannot argue about it,\" replied Prince Andrew coldly, but he thought:\r\n\"I am going to save the army.\"\r\n\r\n\"My dear fellow, you are a hero!\" said Bilibin.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIII\r\n\r\n\r\nThat same night, having taken leave of the Minister of War, Bolkonski\r\nset off to rejoin the army, not knowing where he would find it and\r\nfearing to be captured by the French on the way to Krems.\r\n\r\nIn Brunn everybody attached to the court was packing up, and the heavy\r\nbaggage was already being dispatched to Olmutz. Near Hetzelsdorf Prince\r\nAndrew struck the high road along which the Russian army was moving with\r\ngreat haste and in the greatest disorder. The road was so obstructed\r\nwith carts that it was impossible to get by in a carriage. Prince Andrew\r\ntook a horse and a Cossack from a Cossack commander, and hungry and\r\nweary, making his way past the baggage wagons, rode in search of the\r\ncommander in chief and of his own luggage. Very sinister reports of the\r\nposition of the army reached him as he went along, and the appearance of\r\nthe troops in their disorderly flight confirmed these rumors.\r\n\r\n\"Cette armee russe que l'or de l'Angleterre a transportee des extremites\r\nde l'univers, nous allons lui faire eprouver le meme sort--(le sort de\r\nl'armee d'Ulm).\" * He remembered these words in Bonaparte's address\r\nto his army at the beginning of the campaign, and they awoke in him\r\nastonishment at the genius of his hero, a feeling of wounded pride,\r\nand a hope of glory. \"And should there be nothing left but to die?\" he\r\nthought. \"Well, if need be, I shall do it no worse than others.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"That Russian army which has been brought from the ends of\r\n     the earth by English gold, we shall cause to share the same\r\n     fate--(the fate of the army at Ulm).\"\r\n\r\n\r\nHe looked with disdain at the endless confused mass of detachments,\r\ncarts, guns, artillery, and again baggage wagons and vehicles of all\r\nkinds overtaking one another and blocking the muddy road, three and\r\nsometimes four abreast. From all sides, behind and before, as far as ear\r\ncould reach, there were the rattle of wheels, the creaking of carts\r\nand gun carriages, the tramp of horses, the crack of whips, shouts, the\r\nurging of horses, and the swearing of soldiers, orderlies, and officers.\r\nAll along the sides of the road fallen horses were to be seen, some\r\nflayed, some not, and broken-down carts beside which solitary soldiers\r\nsat waiting for something, and again soldiers straggling from their\r\ncompanies, crowds of whom set off to the neighboring villages, or\r\nreturned from them dragging sheep, fowls, hay, and bulging sacks. At\r\neach ascent or descent of the road the crowds were yet denser and the\r\ndin of shouting more incessant. Soldiers floundering knee-deep in mud\r\npushed the guns and wagons themselves. Whips cracked, hoofs slipped,\r\ntraces broke, and lungs were strained with shouting. The officers\r\ndirecting the march rode backward and forward between the carts. Their\r\nvoices were but feebly heard amid the uproar and one saw by their faces\r\nthat they despaired of the possibility of checking this disorder.\r\n\r\n\"Here is our dear Orthodox Russian army,\" thought Bolkonski, recalling\r\nBilibin's words.\r\n\r\nWishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode up to\r\na convoy. Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle,\r\nevidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and\r\nlooking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a caleche. A\r\nsoldier was driving, and a woman enveloped in shawls sat behind the\r\napron under the leather hood of the vehicle. Prince Andrew rode up\r\nand was just putting his question to a soldier when his attention\r\nwas diverted by the desperate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle. An\r\nofficer in charge of transport was beating the soldier who was driving\r\nthe woman's vehicle for trying to get ahead of others, and the strokes\r\nof his whip fell on the apron of the equipage. The woman screamed\r\npiercingly. Seeing Prince Andrew she leaned out from behind the apron\r\nand, waving her thin arms from under the woolen shawl, cried:\r\n\r\n\"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp!... For heaven's sake... Protect\r\nme! What will become of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh\r\nChasseurs.... They won't let us pass, we are left behind and have lost\r\nour people...\"\r\n\r\n\"I'll flatten you into a pancake!\" shouted the angry officer to the\r\nsoldier. \"Turn back with your slut!\"\r\n\r\n\"Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me!... What does it all mean?\" screamed the\r\ndoctor's wife.\r\n\r\n\"Kindly let this cart pass. Don't you see it's a woman?\" said Prince\r\nAndrew riding up to the officer.\r\n\r\nThe officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again to the\r\nsoldier. \"I'll teach you to push on!... Back!\"\r\n\r\n\"Let them pass, I tell you!\" repeated Prince Andrew, compressing his\r\nlips.\r\n\r\n\"And who are you?\" cried the officer, turning on him with tipsy rage,\r\n\"who are you? Are you in command here? Eh? I am commander here, not\r\nyou! Go back or I'll flatten you into a pancake,\" repeated he. This\r\nexpression evidently pleased him.\r\n\r\n\"That was a nice snub for the little aide-de-camp,\" came a voice from\r\nbehind.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew saw that the officer was in that state of senseless,\r\ntipsy rage when a man does not know what he is saying. He saw that his\r\nchampionship of the doctor's wife in her queer trap might expose him to\r\nwhat he dreaded more than anything in the world--to ridicule; but his\r\ninstinct urged him on. Before the officer finished his sentence Prince\r\nAndrew, his face distorted with fury, rode up to him and raised his\r\nriding whip.\r\n\r\n\"Kind...ly let--them--pass!\"\r\n\r\nThe officer flourished his arm and hastily rode away.\r\n\r\n\"It's all the fault of these fellows on the staff that there's this\r\ndisorder,\" he muttered. \"Do as you like.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew without lifting his eyes rode hastily away from the\r\ndoctor's wife, who was calling him her deliverer, and recalling with\r\na sense of disgust the minutest details of this humiliating scene he\r\ngalloped on to the village where he was told that the commander in chief\r\nwas.\r\n\r\nOn reaching the village he dismounted and went to the nearest house,\r\nintending to rest if but for a moment, eat something, and try to sort\r\nout the stinging and tormenting thoughts that confused his mind. \"This\r\nis a mob of scoundrels and not an army,\" he was thinking as he went up\r\nto the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called him by\r\nname.\r\n\r\nHe turned round. Nesvitski's handsome face looked out of the little\r\nwindow. Nesvitski, moving his moist lips as he chewed something, and\r\nflourishing his arm, called him to enter.\r\n\r\n\"Bolkonski! Bolkonski!... Don't you hear? Eh? Come quick...\" he shouted.\r\n\r\nEntering the house, Prince Andrew saw Nesvitski and another adjutant\r\nhaving something to eat. They hastily turned round to him asking if he\r\nhad any news. On their familiar faces he read agitation and alarm. This\r\nwas particularly noticeable on Nesvitski's usually laughing countenance.\r\n\r\n\"Where is the commander in chief?\" asked Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"Here, in that house,\" answered the adjutant.\r\n\r\n\"Well, is it true that it's peace and capitulation?\" asked Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"I was going to ask you. I know nothing except that it was all I could\r\ndo to get here.\"\r\n\r\n\"And we, my dear boy! It's terrible! I was wrong to laugh at Mack,\r\nwe're getting it still worse,\" said Nesvitski. \"But sit down and have\r\nsomething to eat.\"\r\n\r\n\"You won't be able to find either your baggage or anything else now,\r\nPrince. And God only knows where your man Peter is,\" said the other\r\nadjutant.\r\n\r\n\"Where are headquarters?\"\r\n\r\n\"We are to spend the night in Znaim.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, I have got all I need into packs for two horses,\" said Nesvitski.\r\n\"They've made up splendid packs for me--fit to cross the Bohemian\r\nmountains with. It's a bad lookout, old fellow! But what's the matter\r\nwith you? You must be ill to shiver like that,\" he added, noticing that\r\nPrince Andrew winced as at an electric shock.\r\n\r\n\"It's nothing,\" replied Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\nHe had just remembered his recent encounter with the doctor's wife and\r\nthe convoy officer.\r\n\r\n\"What is the commander in chief doing here?\" he asked.\r\n\r\n\"I can't make out at all,\" said Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"Well, all I can make out is that everything is abominable, abominable,\r\nquite abominable!\" said Prince Andrew, and he went off to the house\r\nwhere the commander in chief was.\r\n\r\nPassing by Kutuzov's carriage and the exhausted saddle horses of his\r\nsuite, with their Cossacks who were talking loudly together, Prince\r\nAndrew entered the passage. Kutuzov himself, he was told, was in the\r\nhouse with Prince Bagration and Weyrother. Weyrother was the Austrian\r\ngeneral who had succeeded Schmidt. In the passage little Kozlovski was\r\nsquatting on his heels in front of a clerk. The clerk, with cuffs turned\r\nup, was hastily writing at a tub turned bottom upwards. Kozlovski's face\r\nlooked worn--he too had evidently not slept all night. He glanced at\r\nPrince Andrew and did not even nod to him.\r\n\r\n\"Second line... have you written it?\" he continued dictating to the\r\nclerk. \"The Kiev Grenadiers, Podolian...\"\r\n\r\n\"One can't write so fast, your honor,\" said the clerk, glancing angrily\r\nand disrespectfully at Kozlovski.\r\n\r\nThrough the door came the sounds of Kutuzov's voice, excited and\r\ndissatisfied, interrupted by another, an unfamiliar voice. From the\r\nsound of these voices, the inattentive way Kozlovski looked at him, the\r\ndisrespectful manner of the exhausted clerk, the fact that the clerk and\r\nKozlovski were squatting on the floor by a tub so near to the commander\r\nin chief, and from the noisy laughter of the Cossacks holding the\r\nhorses near the window, Prince Andrew felt that something important and\r\ndisastrous was about to happen.\r\n\r\nHe turned to Kozlovski with urgent questions.\r\n\r\n\"Immediately, Prince,\" said Kozlovski. \"Dispositions for Bagration.\"\r\n\r\n\"What about capitulation?\"\r\n\r\n\"Nothing of the sort. Orders are issued for a battle.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew moved toward the door from whence voices were heard.\r\nJust as he was going to open it the sounds ceased, the door opened,\r\nand Kutuzov with his eagle nose and puffy face appeared in the doorway.\r\nPrince Andrew stood right in front of Kutuzov but the expression of the\r\ncommander in chief's one sound eye showed him to be so preoccupied with\r\nthoughts and anxieties as to be oblivious of his presence. He looked\r\nstraight at his adjutant's face without recognizing him.\r\n\r\n\"Well, have you finished?\" said he to Kozlovski.\r\n\r\n\"One moment, your excellency.\"\r\n\r\nBagration, a gaunt middle-aged man of medium height with a firm,\r\nimpassive face of Oriental type, came out after the commander in chief.\r\n\r\n\"I have the honor to present myself,\" repeated Prince Andrew rather\r\nloudly, handing Kutuzov an envelope.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, from Vienna? Very good. Later, later!\"\r\n\r\nKutuzov went out into the porch with Bagration.\r\n\r\n\"Well, good-by, Prince,\" said he to Bagration. \"My blessing, and may\r\nChrist be with you in your great endeavor!\"\r\n\r\nHis face suddenly softened and tears came into his eyes. With his left\r\nhand he drew Bagration toward him, and with his right, on which he wore\r\na ring, he made the sign of the cross over him with a gesture evidently\r\nhabitual, offering his puffy cheek, but Bagration kissed him on the neck\r\ninstead.\r\n\r\n\"Christ be with you!\" Kutuzov repeated and went toward his carriage.\r\n\"Get in with me,\" said he to Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency, I should like to be of use here. Allow me to remain\r\nwith Prince Bagration's detachment.\"\r\n\r\n\"Get in,\" said Kutuzov, and noticing that Bolkonski still delayed, he\r\nadded: \"I need good officers myself, need them myself!\"\r\n\r\nThey got into the carriage and drove for a few minutes in silence.\r\n\r\n\"There is still much, much before us,\" he said, as if with an old man's\r\npenetration he understood all that was passing in Bolkonski's mind. \"If\r\na tenth part of his detachment returns I shall thank God,\" he added as\r\nif speaking to himself.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew glanced at Kutuzov's face only a foot distant from him and\r\ninvoluntarily noticed the carefully washed seams of the scar near his\r\ntemple, where an Ismail bullet had pierced his skull, and the empty eye\r\nsocket. \"Yes, he has a right to speak so calmly of those men's death,\"\r\nthought Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"That is why I beg to be sent to that detachment,\" he said.\r\n\r\nKutuzov did not reply. He seemed to have forgotten what he had been\r\nsaying, and sat plunged in thought. Five minutes later, gently swaying\r\non the soft springs of the carriage, he turned to Prince Andrew.\r\nThere was not a trace of agitation on his face. With delicate irony he\r\nquestioned Prince Andrew about the details of his interview with the\r\nEmperor, about the remarks he had heard at court concerning the Krems\r\naffair, and about some ladies they both knew.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIV\r\n\r\n\r\nOn November 1 Kutuzov had received, through a spy, news that the army he\r\ncommanded was in an almost hopeless position. The spy reported that the\r\nFrench, after crossing the bridge at Vienna, were advancing in immense\r\nforce upon Kutuzov's line of communication with the troops that were\r\narriving from Russia. If Kutuzov decided to remain at Krems, Napoleon's\r\narmy of one hundred and fifty thousand men would cut him off completely\r\nand surround his exhausted army of forty thousand, and he would find\r\nhimself in the position of Mack at Ulm. If Kutuzov decided to abandon\r\nthe road connecting him with the troops arriving from Russia, he would\r\nhave to march with no road into unknown parts of the Bohemian mountains,\r\ndefending himself against superior forces of the enemy and abandoning\r\nall hope of a junction with Buxhowden. If Kutuzov decided to retreat\r\nalong the road from Krems to Olmutz, to unite with the troops arriving\r\nfrom Russia, he risked being forestalled on that road by the French\r\nwho had crossed the Vienna bridge, and encumbered by his baggage and\r\ntransport, having to accept battle on the march against an enemy three\r\ntimes as strong, who would hem him in from two sides.\r\n\r\nKutuzov chose this latter course.\r\n\r\nThe French, the spy reported, having crossed the Vienna bridge, were\r\nadvancing by forced marches toward Znaim, which lay sixty-six miles off\r\non the line of Kutuzov's retreat. If he reached Znaim before the\r\nFrench, there would be great hope of saving the army; to let the\r\nFrench forestall him at Znaim meant the exposure of his whole army to a\r\ndisgrace such as that of Ulm, or to utter destruction. But to forestall\r\nthe French with his whole army was impossible. The road for the French\r\nfrom Vienna to Znaim was shorter and better than the road for the\r\nRussians from Krems to Znaim.\r\n\r\nThe night he received the news, Kutuzov sent Bagration's vanguard, four\r\nthousand strong, to the right across the hills from the Krems-Znaim to\r\nthe Vienna-Znaim road. Bagration was to make this march without resting,\r\nand to halt facing Vienna with Znaim to his rear, and if he succeeded\r\nin forestalling the French he was to delay them as long as possible.\r\nKutuzov himself with all his transport took the road to Znaim.\r\n\r\nMarching thirty miles that stormy night across roadless hills, with his\r\nhungry, ill-shod soldiers, and losing a third of his men as stragglers\r\nby the way, Bagration came out on the Vienna-Znaim road at Hollabrunn\r\na few hours ahead of the French who were approaching Hollabrunn from\r\nVienna. Kutuzov with his transport had still to march for some days\r\nbefore he could reach Znaim. Hence Bagration with his four thousand\r\nhungry, exhausted men would have to detain for days the whole enemy army\r\nthat came upon him at Hollabrunn, which was clearly impossible. But a\r\nfreak of fate made the impossible possible. The success of the trick\r\nthat had placed the Vienna bridge in the hands of the French without\r\na fight led Murat to try to deceive Kutuzov in a similar way. Meeting\r\nBagration's weak detachment on the Znaim road he supposed it to be\r\nKutuzov's whole army. To be able to crush it absolutely he awaited the\r\narrival of the rest of the troops who were on their way from Vienna,\r\nand with this object offered a three days' truce on condition that both\r\narmies should remain in position without moving. Murat declared that\r\nnegotiations for peace were already proceeding, and that he therefore\r\noffered this truce to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Count Nostitz, the\r\nAustrian general occupying the advanced posts, believed Murat's emissary\r\nand retired, leaving Bagration's division exposed. Another emissary rode\r\nto the Russian line to announce the peace negotiations and to offer the\r\nRussian army the three days' truce. Bagration replied that he was not\r\nauthorized either to accept or refuse a truce and sent his adjutant to\r\nKutuzov to report the offer he had received.\r\n\r\nA truce was Kutuzov's sole chance of gaining time, giving Bagration's\r\nexhausted troops some rest, and letting the transport and heavy convoys\r\n(whose movements were concealed from the French) advance if but one\r\nstage nearer Znaim. The offer of a truce gave the only, and a quite\r\nunexpected, chance of saving the army. On receiving the news he\r\nimmediately dispatched Adjutant General Wintzingerode, who was in\r\nattendance on him, to the enemy camp. Wintzingerode was not merely\r\nto agree to the truce but also to offer terms of capitulation, and\r\nmeanwhile Kutuzov sent his adjutants back to hasten to the utmost the\r\nmovements of the baggage trains of the entire army along the Krems-Znaim\r\nroad. Bagration's exhausted and hungry detachment, which alone covered\r\nthis movement of the transport and of the whole army, had to remain\r\nstationary in face of an enemy eight times as strong as itself.\r\n\r\nKutuzov's expectations that the proposals of capitulation (which were in\r\nno way binding) might give time for part of the transport to pass, and\r\nalso that Murat's mistake would very soon be discovered, proved\r\ncorrect. As soon as Bonaparte (who was at Schonbrunn, sixteen miles from\r\nHollabrunn) received Murat's dispatch with the proposal of a truce and\r\na capitulation, he detected a ruse and wrote the following letter to\r\nMurat:\r\n\r\n\r\nSchonbrunn, 25th Brumaire, 1805,\r\n\r\nat eight o'clock in the morning\r\n\r\nTo PRINCE MURAT,\r\n\r\nI cannot find words to express to you my displeasure. You command only\r\nmy advance guard, and have no right to arrange an armistice without my\r\norder. You are causing me to lose the fruits of a campaign. Break\r\nthe armistice immediately and march on the enemy. Inform him that the\r\ngeneral who signed that capitulation had no right to do so, and that no\r\none but the Emperor of Russia has that right.\r\n\r\nIf, however, the Emperor of Russia ratifies that convention, I will\r\nratify it; but it is only a trick. March on, destroy the Russian\r\narmy.... You are in a position to seize its baggage and artillery.\r\n\r\nThe Russian Emperor's aide-de-camp is an impostor. Officers are nothing\r\nwhen they have no powers; this one had none.... The Austrians let\r\nthemselves be tricked at the crossing of the Vienna bridge, you are\r\nletting yourself be tricked by an aide-de-camp of the Emperor.\r\n\r\nNAPOLEON\r\n\r\n\r\nBonaparte's adjutant rode full gallop with this menacing letter to\r\nMurat. Bonaparte himself, not trusting to his generals, moved with all\r\nthe Guards to the field of battle, afraid of letting a ready victim\r\nescape, and Bagration's four thousand men merrily lighted campfires,\r\ndried and warmed themselves, cooked their porridge for the first time\r\nfor three days, and not one of them knew or imagined what was in store\r\nfor him.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XV\r\n\r\n\r\nBetween three and four o'clock in the afternoon Prince Andrew, who had\r\npersisted in his request to Kutuzov, arrived at Grunth and reported\r\nhimself to Bagration. Bonaparte's adjutant had not yet reached Murat's\r\ndetachment and the battle had not yet begun. In Bagration's detachment\r\nno one knew anything of the general position of affairs. They talked of\r\npeace but did not believe in its possibility; others talked of a battle\r\nbut also disbelieved in the nearness of an engagement. Bagration,\r\nknowing Bolkonski to be a favorite and trusted adjutant, received him\r\nwith distinction and special marks of favor, explaining to him that\r\nthere would probably be an engagement that day or the next, and giving\r\nhim full liberty to remain with him during the battle or to join the\r\nrearguard and have an eye on the order of retreat, \"which is also very\r\nimportant.\"\r\n\r\n\"However, there will hardly be an engagement today,\" said Bagration as\r\nif to reassure Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"If he is one of the ordinary little staff dandies sent to earn a medal\r\nhe can get his reward just as well in the rearguard, but if he wishes to\r\nstay with me, let him... he'll be of use here if he's a brave officer,\"\r\nthought Bagration. Prince Andrew, without replying, asked the prince's\r\npermission to ride round the position to see the disposition of the\r\nforces, so as to know his bearings should he be sent to execute an\r\norder. The officer on duty, a handsome, elegantly dressed man with a\r\ndiamond ring on his forefinger, who was fond of speaking French though\r\nhe spoke it badly, offered to conduct Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\nOn all sides they saw rain-soaked officers with dejected faces who\r\nseemed to be seeking something, and soldiers dragging doors, benches,\r\nand fencing from the village.\r\n\r\n\"There now, Prince! We can't stop those fellows,\" said the staff officer\r\npointing to the soldiers. \"The officers don't keep them in hand. And\r\nthere,\" he pointed to a sutler's tent, \"they crowd in and sit. This\r\nmorning I turned them all out and now look, it's full again. I must go\r\nthere, Prince, and scare them a bit. It won't take a moment.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, let's go in and I will get myself a roll and some cheese,\" said\r\nPrince Andrew who had not yet had time to eat anything.\r\n\r\n\"Why didn't you mention it, Prince? I would have offered you something.\"\r\n\r\nThey dismounted and entered the tent. Several officers, with flushed and\r\nweary faces, were sitting at the table eating and drinking.\r\n\r\n\"Now what does this mean, gentlemen?\" said the staff officer, in the\r\nreproachful tone of a man who has repeated the same thing more than\r\nonce. \"You know it won't do to leave your posts like this. The prince\r\ngave orders that no one should leave his post. Now you, Captain,\" and he\r\nturned to a thin, dirty little artillery officer who without his boots\r\n(he had given them to the canteen keeper to dry), in only his stockings,\r\nrose when they entered, smiling not altogether comfortably.\r\n\r\n\"Well, aren't you ashamed of yourself, Captain Tushin?\" he continued.\r\n\"One would think that as an artillery officer you would set a good\r\nexample, yet here you are without your boots! The alarm will be sounded\r\nand you'll be in a pretty position without your boots!\" (The staff\r\nofficer smiled.) \"Kindly return to your posts, gentlemen, all of you,\r\nall!\" he added in a tone of command.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew smiled involuntarily as he looked at the artillery officer\r\nTushin, who silent and smiling, shifting from one stockinged foot to the\r\nother, glanced inquiringly with his large, intelligent, kindly eyes from\r\nPrince Andrew to the staff officer.\r\n\r\n\"The soldiers say it feels easier without boots,\" said Captain Tushin\r\nsmiling shyly in his uncomfortable position, evidently wishing to adopt\r\na jocular tone. But before he had finished he felt that his jest was\r\nunacceptable and had not come off. He grew confused.\r\n\r\n\"Kindly return to your posts,\" said the staff officer trying to preserve\r\nhis gravity.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew glanced again at the artillery officer's small figure.\r\nThere was something peculiar about it, quite unsoldierly, rather comic,\r\nbut extremely attractive.\r\n\r\nThe staff officer and Prince Andrew mounted their horses and rode on.\r\n\r\nHaving ridden beyond the village, continually meeting and overtaking\r\nsoldiers and officers of various regiments, they saw on their left some\r\nentrenchments being thrown up, the freshly dug clay of which showed up\r\nred. Several battalions of soldiers, in their shirt sleeves despite\r\nthe cold wind, swarmed in these earthworks like a host of white ants;\r\nspadefuls of red clay were continually being thrown up from behind the\r\nbank by unseen hands. Prince Andrew and the officer rode up, looked at\r\nthe entrenchment, and went on again. Just behind it they came upon some\r\ndozens of soldiers, continually replaced by others, who ran from the\r\nentrenchment. They had to hold their noses and put their horses to a\r\ntrot to escape from the poisoned atmosphere of these latrines.\r\n\r\n\"Voila l'agrement des camps, monsieur le Prince,\" * said the staff\r\nofficer.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"This is a pleasure one gets in camp, Prince.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nThey rode up the opposite hill. From there the French could already be\r\nseen. Prince Andrew stopped and began examining the position.\r\n\r\n\"That's our battery,\" said the staff officer indicating the highest\r\npoint. \"It's in charge of the queer fellow we saw without his boots. You\r\ncan see everything from there; let's go there, Prince.\"\r\n\r\n\"Thank you very much, I will go on alone,\" said Prince Andrew, wishing\r\nto rid himself of this staff officer's company, \"please don't trouble\r\nyourself further.\"\r\n\r\nThe staff officer remained behind and Prince Andrew rode on alone.\r\n\r\nThe farther forward and nearer the enemy he went, the more orderly and\r\ncheerful were the troops. The greatest disorder and depression had been\r\nin the baggage train he had passed that morning on the Znaim road seven\r\nmiles away from the French. At Grunth also some apprehension and alarm\r\ncould be felt, but the nearer Prince Andrew came to the French lines the\r\nmore confident was the appearance of our troops. The soldiers in\r\ntheir greatcoats were ranged in lines, the sergeants major and company\r\nofficers were counting the men, poking the last man in each section in\r\nthe ribs and telling him to hold his hand up. Soldiers scattered over\r\nthe whole place were dragging logs and brushwood and were building\r\nshelters with merry chatter and laughter; around the fires sat others,\r\ndressed and undressed, drying their shirts and leg bands or mending\r\nboots or overcoats and crowding round the boilers and porridge cookers.\r\nIn one company dinner was ready, and the soldiers were gazing eagerly\r\nat the steaming boiler, waiting till the sample, which a quartermaster\r\nsergeant was carrying in a wooden bowl to an officer who sat on a log\r\nbefore his shelter, had been tasted.\r\n\r\nAnother company, a lucky one for not all the companies had vodka,\r\ncrowded round a pockmarked, broad-shouldered sergeant major who, tilting\r\na keg, filled one after another the canteen lids held out to him. The\r\nsoldiers lifted the canteen lids to their lips with reverential faces,\r\nemptied them, rolling the vodka in their mouths, and walked away from\r\nthe sergeant major with brightened expressions, licking their lips and\r\nwiping them on the sleeves of their greatcoats. All their faces were\r\nas serene as if all this were happening at home awaiting peaceful\r\nencampment, and not within sight of the enemy before an action in\r\nwhich at least half of them would be left on the field. After passing a\r\nchasseur regiment and in the lines of the Kiev grenadiers--fine fellows\r\nbusy with similar peaceful affairs--near the shelter of the regimental\r\ncommander, higher than and different from the others, Prince Andrew came\r\nout in front of a platoon of grenadiers before whom lay a naked man. Two\r\nsoldiers held him while two others were flourishing their switches and\r\nstriking him regularly on his bare back. The man shrieked unnaturally.\r\nA stout major was pacing up and down the line, and regardless of the\r\nscreams kept repeating:\r\n\r\n\"It's a shame for a soldier to steal; a soldier must be honest,\r\nhonorable, and brave, but if he robs his fellows there is no honor in\r\nhim, he's a scoundrel. Go on! Go on!\"\r\n\r\nSo the swishing sound of the strokes, and the desperate but unnatural\r\nscreams, continued.\r\n\r\n\"Go on, go on!\" said the major.\r\n\r\nA young officer with a bewildered and pained expression on his face\r\nstepped away from the man and looked round inquiringly at the adjutant\r\nas he rode by.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew, having reached the front line, rode along it. Our front\r\nline and that of the enemy were far apart on the right and left flanks,\r\nbut in the center where the men with a flag of truce had passed that\r\nmorning, the lines were so near together that the men could see one\r\nanother's faces and speak to one another. Besides the soldiers who\r\nformed the picket line on either side, there were many curious onlookers\r\nwho, jesting and laughing, stared at their strange foreign enemies.\r\n\r\nSince early morning--despite an injunction not to approach the picket\r\nline--the officers had been unable to keep sight-seers away. The\r\nsoldiers forming the picket line, like showmen exhibiting a curiosity,\r\nno longer looked at the French but paid attention to the sight-seers and\r\ngrew weary waiting to be relieved. Prince Andrew halted to have a look\r\nat the French.\r\n\r\n\"Look! Look there!\" one soldier was saying to another, pointing to a\r\nRussian musketeer who had gone up to the picket line with an officer and\r\nwas rapidly and excitedly talking to a French grenadier. \"Hark to him\r\njabbering! Fine, isn't it? It's all the Frenchy can do to keep up with\r\nhim. There now, Sidorov!\"\r\n\r\n\"Wait a bit and listen. It's fine!\" answered Sidorov, who was considered\r\nan adept at French.\r\n\r\nThe soldier to whom the laughers referred was Dolokhov. Prince Andrew\r\nrecognized him and stopped to listen to what he was saying. Dolokhov had\r\ncome from the left flank where their regiment was stationed, with his\r\ncaptain.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, go on, go on!\" incited the officer, bending forward and\r\ntrying not to lose a word of the speech which was incomprehensible to\r\nhim. \"More, please: more! What's he saying?\"\r\n\r\nDolokhov did not answer the captain; he had been drawn into a hot\r\ndispute with the French grenadier. They were naturally talking about the\r\ncampaign. The Frenchman, confusing the Austrians with the Russians, was\r\ntrying to prove that the Russians had surrendered and had fled all\r\nthe way from Ulm, while Dolokhov maintained that the Russians had not\r\nsurrendered but had beaten the French.\r\n\r\n\"We have orders to drive you off here, and we shall drive you off,\" said\r\nDolokhov.\r\n\r\n\"Only take care you and your Cossacks are not all captured!\" said the\r\nFrench grenadier.\r\n\r\nThe French onlookers and listeners laughed.\r\n\r\n\"We'll make you dance as we did under Suvorov...,\" * said Dolokhov.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"On vous fera danser.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Qu' est-ce qu'il chante?\" * asked a Frenchman.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"What's he singing about?\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\"It's ancient history,\" said another, guessing that it referred to a\r\nformer war. \"The Emperor will teach your Suvara as he has taught the\r\nothers...\"\r\n\r\n\"Bonaparte...\" began Dolokhov, but the Frenchman interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"Not Bonaparte. He is the Emperor! Sacre nom...!\" cried he angrily.\r\n\r\n\"The devil skin your Emperor.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Dolokhov swore at him in coarse soldier's Russian and shouldering\r\nhis musket walked away.\r\n\r\n\"Let us go, Ivan Lukich,\" he said to the captain.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, that's the way to talk French,\" said the picket soldiers. \"Now,\r\nSidorov, you have a try!\"\r\n\r\nSidorov, turning to the French, winked, and began to jabber meaningless\r\nsounds very fast: \"Kari, mala, tafa, safi, muter, Kaska,\" he said,\r\ntrying to give an expressive intonation to his voice.\r\n\r\n\"Ho! ho! ho! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Ouh! ouh!\" came peals of such healthy and\r\ngood-humored laughter from the soldiers that it infected the French\r\ninvoluntarily, so much so that the only thing left to do seemed to be\r\nto unload the muskets, explode the ammunition, and all return home as\r\nquickly as possible.\r\n\r\nBut the guns remained loaded, the loopholes in blockhouses and\r\nentrenchments looked out just as menacingly, and the unlimbered cannon\r\nconfronted one another as before.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVI\r\n\r\n\r\nHaving ridden round the whole line from right flank to left, Prince\r\nAndrew made his way up to the battery from which the staff officer had\r\ntold him the whole field could be seen. Here he dismounted, and stopped\r\nbeside the farthest of the four unlimbered cannon. Before the guns an\r\nartillery sentry was pacing up and down; he stood at attention when the\r\nofficer arrived, but at a sign resumed his measured, monotonous pacing.\r\nBehind the guns were their limbers and still farther back picket ropes\r\nand artillerymen's bonfires. To the left, not far from the farthest\r\ncannon, was a small, newly constructed wattle shed from which came the\r\nsound of officers' voices in eager conversation.\r\n\r\nIt was true that a view over nearly the whole Russian position and the\r\ngreater part of the enemy's opened out from this battery. Just facing\r\nit, on the crest of the opposite hill, the village of Schon Grabern\r\ncould be seen, and in three places to left and right the French troops\r\namid the smoke of their campfires, the greater part of whom were\r\nevidently in the village itself and behind the hill. To the left from\r\nthat village, amid the smoke, was something resembling a battery, but it\r\nwas impossible to see it clearly with the naked eye. Our right flank was\r\nposted on a rather steep incline which dominated the French position.\r\nOur infantry were stationed there, and at the farthest point the\r\ndragoons. In the center, where Tushin's battery stood and from which\r\nPrince Andrew was surveying the position, was the easiest and most\r\ndirect descent and ascent to the brook separating us from Schon Grabern.\r\nOn the left our troops were close to a copse, in which smoked the\r\nbonfires of our infantry who were felling wood. The French line was\r\nwider than ours, and it was plain that they could easily outflank us\r\non both sides. Behind our position was a steep and deep dip, making it\r\ndifficult for artillery and cavalry to retire. Prince Andrew took\r\nout his notebook and, leaning on the cannon, sketched a plan of the\r\nposition. He made some notes on two points, intending to mention them to\r\nBagration. His idea was, first, to concentrate all the artillery in the\r\ncenter, and secondly, to withdraw the cavalry to the other side of the\r\ndip. Prince Andrew, being always near the commander in chief, closely\r\nfollowing the mass movements and general orders, and constantly studying\r\nhistorical accounts of battles, involuntarily pictured to himself the\r\ncourse of events in the forthcoming action in broad outline. He imagined\r\nonly important possibilities: \"If the enemy attacks the right flank,\"\r\nhe said to himself, \"the Kiev grenadiers and the Podolsk chasseurs must\r\nhold their position till reserves from the center come up. In that case\r\nthe dragoons could successfully make a flank counterattack. If they\r\nattack our center we, having the center battery on this high ground,\r\nshall withdraw the left flank under its cover, and retreat to the dip by\r\nechelons.\" So he reasoned.... All the time he had been beside the gun,\r\nhe had heard the voices of the officers distinctly, but as often happens\r\nhad not understood a word of what they were saying. Suddenly, however,\r\nhe was struck by a voice coming from the shed, and its tone was so\r\nsincere that he could not but listen.\r\n\r\n\"No, friend,\" said a pleasant and, as it seemed to Prince Andrew, a\r\nfamiliar voice, \"what I say is that if it were possible to know what is\r\nbeyond death, none of us would be afraid of it. That's so, friend.\"\r\n\r\nAnother, a younger voice, interrupted him: \"Afraid or not, you can't\r\nescape it anyhow.\"\r\n\r\n\"All the same, one is afraid! Oh, you clever people,\" said a third manly\r\nvoice interrupting them both. \"Of course you artillery men are very\r\nwise, because you can take everything along with you--vodka and snacks.\"\r\n\r\nAnd the owner of the manly voice, evidently an infantry officer,\r\nlaughed.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, one is afraid,\" continued the first speaker, he of the familiar\r\nvoice. \"One is afraid of the unknown, that's what it is. Whatever we may\r\nsay about the soul going to the sky... we know there is no sky but only\r\nan atmosphere.\"\r\n\r\nThe manly voice again interrupted the artillery officer.\r\n\r\n\"Well, stand us some of your herb vodka, Tushin,\" it said.\r\n\r\n\"Why,\" thought Prince Andrew, \"that's the captain who stood up in\r\nthe sutler's hut without his boots.\" He recognized the agreeable,\r\nphilosophizing voice with pleasure.\r\n\r\n\"Some herb vodka? Certainly!\" said Tushin. \"But still, to conceive a\r\nfuture life...\"\r\n\r\nHe did not finish. Just then there was a whistle in the air; nearer and\r\nnearer, faster and louder, louder and faster, a cannon ball, as if it\r\nhad not finished saying what was necessary, thudded into the ground near\r\nthe shed with super human force, throwing up a mass of earth. The ground\r\nseemed to groan at the terrible impact.\r\n\r\nAnd immediately Tushin, with a short pipe in the corner of his mouth and\r\nhis kind, intelligent face rather pale, rushed out of the shed followed\r\nby the owner of the manly voice, a dashing infantry officer who hurried\r\noff to his company, buttoning up his coat as he ran.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVII\r\n\r\n\r\nMounting his horse again Prince Andrew lingered with the battery,\r\nlooking at the puff from the gun that had sent the ball. His eyes\r\nran rapidly over the wide space, but he only saw that the hitherto\r\nmotionless masses of the French now swayed and that there really was\r\na battery to their left. The smoke above it had not yet dispersed. Two\r\nmounted Frenchmen, probably adjutants, were galloping up the hill. A\r\nsmall but distinctly visible enemy column was moving down the hill,\r\nprobably to strengthen the front line. The smoke of the first shot had\r\nnot yet dispersed before another puff appeared, followed by a report.\r\nThe battle had begun! Prince Andrew turned his horse and galloped back\r\nto Grunth to find Prince Bagration. He heard the cannonade behind him\r\ngrowing louder and more frequent. Evidently our guns had begun to reply.\r\nFrom the bottom of the slope, where the parleys had taken place, came\r\nthe report of musketry.\r\n\r\nLemarrois had just arrived at a gallop with Bonaparte's stern letter,\r\nand Murat, humiliated and anxious to expiate his fault, had at once\r\nmoved his forces to attack the center and outflank both the Russian\r\nwings, hoping before evening and before the arrival of the Emperor to\r\ncrush the contemptible detachment that stood before him.\r\n\r\n\"It has begun. Here it is!\" thought Prince Andrew, feeling the blood\r\nrush to his heart. \"But where and how will my Toulon present itself?\"\r\n\r\nPassing between the companies that had been eating porridge and drinking\r\nvodka a quarter of an hour before, he saw everywhere the same rapid\r\nmovement of soldiers forming ranks and getting their muskets ready,\r\nand on all their faces he recognized the same eagerness that filled his\r\nheart. \"It has begun! Here it is, dreadful but enjoyable!\" was what the\r\nface of each soldier and each officer seemed to say.\r\n\r\nBefore he had reached the embankments that were being thrown up, he saw,\r\nin the light of the dull autumn evening, mounted men coming toward him.\r\nThe foremost, wearing a Cossack cloak and lambskin cap and riding a\r\nwhite horse, was Prince Bagration. Prince Andrew stopped, waiting for\r\nhim to come up; Prince Bagration reined in his horse and recognizing\r\nPrince Andrew nodded to him. He still looked ahead while Prince Andrew\r\ntold him what he had seen.\r\n\r\nThe feeling, \"It has begun! Here it is!\" was seen even on Prince\r\nBagration's hard brown face with its half-closed, dull, sleepy eyes.\r\nPrince Andrew gazed with anxious curiosity at that impassive face\r\nand wished he could tell what, if anything, this man was thinking and\r\nfeeling at that moment. \"Is there anything at all behind that impassive\r\nface?\" Prince Andrew asked himself as he looked. Prince Bagration bent\r\nhis head in sign of agreement with what Prince Andrew told him, and\r\nsaid, \"Very good!\" in a tone that seemed to imply that everything that\r\ntook place and was reported to him was exactly what he had foreseen.\r\nPrince Andrew, out of breath with his rapid ride, spoke quickly.\r\nPrince Bagration, uttering his words with an Oriental accent, spoke\r\nparticularly slowly, as if to impress the fact that there was no need to\r\nhurry. However, he put his horse to a trot in the direction of Tushin's\r\nbattery. Prince Andrew followed with the suite. Behind Prince Bagration\r\nrode an officer of the suite, the prince's personal adjutant, Zherkov,\r\nan orderly officer, the staff officer on duty, riding a fine bobtailed\r\nhorse, and a civilian--an accountant who had asked permission to\r\nbe present at the battle out of curiosity. The accountant, a stout,\r\nfull-faced man, looked around him with a naive smile of satisfaction\r\nand presented a strange appearance among the hussars, Cossacks, and\r\nadjutants, in his camlet coat, as he jolted on his horse with a convoy\r\nofficer's saddle.\r\n\r\n\"He wants to see a battle,\" said Zherkov to Bolkonski, pointing to the\r\naccountant, \"but he feels a pain in the pit of his stomach already.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, leave off!\" said the accountant with a beaming but rather cunning\r\nsmile, as if flattered at being made the subject of Zherkov's joke, and\r\npurposely trying to appear stupider than he really was.\r\n\r\n\"It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince,\" said the staff officer. (He\r\nremembered that in French there is some peculiar way of addressing a\r\nprince, but could not get it quite right.)\r\n\r\nBy this time they were all approaching Tushin's battery, and a ball\r\nstruck the ground in front of them.\r\n\r\n\"What's that that has fallen?\" asked the accountant with a naive smile.\r\n\r\n\"A French pancake,\" answered Zherkov.\r\n\r\n\"So that's what they hit with?\" asked the accountant. \"How awful!\"\r\n\r\nHe seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had hardly finished speaking\r\nwhen they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling which suddenly\r\nended with a thud into something soft... f-f-flop! and a Cossack, riding\r\na little to their right and behind the accountant, crashed to earth with\r\nhis horse. Zherkov and the staff officer bent over their saddles and\r\nturned their horses away. The accountant stopped, facing the Cossack,\r\nand examined him with attentive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the\r\nhorse still struggled.\r\n\r\nPrince Bagration screwed up his eyes, looked round, and, seeing the\r\ncause of the confusion, turned away with indifference, as if to say, \"Is\r\nit worth while noticing trifles?\" He reined in his horse with the case\r\nof a skillful rider and, slightly bending over, disengaged his saber\r\nwhich had caught in his cloak. It was an old-fashioned saber of a kind\r\nno longer in general use. Prince Andrew remembered the story of Suvorov\r\ngiving his saber to Bagration in Italy, and the recollection was\r\nparticularly pleasant at that moment. They had reached the battery at\r\nwhich Prince Andrew had been when he examined the battlefield.\r\n\r\n\"Whose company?\" asked Prince Bagration of an artilleryman standing by\r\nthe ammunition wagon.\r\n\r\nHe asked, \"Whose company?\" but he really meant, \"Are you frightened\r\nhere?\" and the artilleryman understood him.\r\n\r\n\"Captain Tushin's, your excellency!\" shouted the red-haired, freckled\r\ngunner in a merry voice, standing to attention.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes,\" muttered Bagration as if considering something, and he rode\r\npast the limbers to the farthest cannon.\r\n\r\nAs he approached, a ringing shot issued from it deafening him and his\r\nsuite, and in the smoke that suddenly surrounded the gun they could see\r\nthe gunners who had seized it straining to roll it quickly back to its\r\nformer position. A huge, broad-shouldered gunner, Number One, holding\r\na mop, his legs far apart, sprang to the wheel; while Number Two with\r\na trembling hand placed a charge in the cannon's mouth. The short,\r\nround-shouldered Captain Tushin, stumbling over the tail of the gun\r\ncarriage, moved forward and, not noticing the general, looked out\r\nshading his eyes with his small hand.\r\n\r\n\"Lift it two lines more and it will be just right,\" cried he in a feeble\r\nvoice to which he tried to impart a dashing note, ill suited to his weak\r\nfigure. \"Number Two!\" he squeaked. \"Fire, Medvedev!\"\r\n\r\nBagration called to him, and Tushin, raising three fingers to his cap\r\nwith a bashful and awkward gesture not at all like a military salute\r\nbut like a priest's benediction, approached the general. Though Tushin's\r\nguns had been intended to cannonade the valley, he was firing incendiary\r\nballs at the village of Schon Grabern visible just opposite, in front of\r\nwhich large masses of French were advancing.\r\n\r\nNo one had given Tushin orders where and at what to fire, but after\r\nconsulting his sergeant major, Zakharchenko, for whom he had great\r\nrespect, he had decided that it would be a good thing to set fire to the\r\nvillage. \"Very good!\" said Bagration in reply to the officer's report,\r\nand began deliberately to examine the whole battlefield extended before\r\nhim. The French had advanced nearest on our right. Below the height on\r\nwhich the Kiev regiment was stationed, in the hollow where the rivulet\r\nflowed, the soul-stirring rolling and crackling of musketry was heard,\r\nand much farther to the right beyond the dragoons, the officer of the\r\nsuite pointed out to Bagration a French column that was outflanking us.\r\nTo the left the horizon bounded by the adjacent wood. Prince Bagration\r\nordered two battalions from the center to be sent to reinforce the right\r\nflank. The officer of the suite ventured to remark to the prince that\r\nif these battalions went away, the guns would remain without support.\r\nPrince Bagration turned to the officer and with his dull eyes looked at\r\nhim in silence. It seemed to Prince Andrew that the officer's remark was\r\njust and that really no answer could be made to it. But at that moment\r\nan adjutant galloped up with a message from the commander of the\r\nregiment in the hollow and news that immense masses of the French were\r\ncoming down upon them and that his regiment was in disorder and was\r\nretreating upon the Kiev grenadiers. Prince Bagration bowed his head in\r\nsign of assent and approval. He rode off at a walk to the right and sent\r\nan adjutant to the dragoons with orders to attack the French. But this\r\nadjutant returned half an hour later with the news that the commander\r\nof the dragoons had already retreated beyond the dip in the ground, as\r\na heavy fire had been opened on him and he was losing men uselessly, and\r\nso had hastened to throw some sharpshooters into the wood.\r\n\r\n\"Very good!\" said Bagration.\r\n\r\nAs he was leaving the battery, firing was heard on the left also, and\r\nas it was too far to the left flank for him to have time to go there\r\nhimself, Prince Bagration sent Zherkov to tell the general in command\r\n(the one who had paraded his regiment before Kutuzov at Braunau) that\r\nhe must retreat as quickly as possible behind the hollow in the rear,\r\nas the right flank would probably not be able to withstand the enemy's\r\nattack very long. About Tushin and the battalion that had been in\r\nsupport of his battery all was forgotten. Prince Andrew listened\r\nattentively to Bagration's colloquies with the commanding officers and\r\nthe orders he gave them and, to his surprise, found that no orders were\r\nreally given, but that Prince Bagration tried to make it appear that\r\neverything done by necessity, by accident, or by the will of subordinate\r\ncommanders was done, if not by his direct command, at least in accord\r\nwith his intentions. Prince Andrew noticed, however, that though what\r\nhappened was due to chance and was independent of the commander's will,\r\nowing to the tact Bagration showed, his presence was very valuable.\r\nOfficers who approached him with disturbed countenances became calm;\r\nsoldiers and officers greeted him gaily, grew more cheerful in his\r\npresence, and were evidently anxious to display their courage before\r\nhim.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVIII\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Bagration, having reached the highest point of our right flank,\r\nbegan riding downhill to where the roll of musketry was heard but where\r\non account of the smoke nothing could be seen. The nearer they got to\r\nthe hollow the less they could see but the more they felt the nearness\r\nof the actual battlefield. They began to meet wounded men. One with a\r\nbleeding head and no cap was being dragged along by two soldiers who\r\nsupported him under the arms. There was a gurgle in his throat and he\r\nwas spitting blood. A bullet had evidently hit him in the throat or\r\nmouth. Another was walking sturdily by himself but without his musket,\r\ngroaning aloud and swinging his arm which had just been hurt, while\r\nblood from it was streaming over his greatcoat as from a bottle. He had\r\nthat moment been wounded and his face showed fear rather than suffering.\r\nCrossing a road they descended a steep incline and saw several men\r\nlying on the ground; they also met a crowd of soldiers some of whom were\r\nunwounded. The soldiers were ascending the hill breathing heavily, and\r\ndespite the general's presence were talking loudly and gesticulating.\r\nIn front of them rows of gray cloaks were already visible through the\r\nsmoke, and an officer catching sight of Bagration rushed shouting after\r\nthe crowd of retreating soldiers, ordering them back. Bagration rode up\r\nto the ranks along which shots crackled now here and now there, drowning\r\nthe sound of voices and the shouts of command. The whole air reeked with\r\nsmoke. The excited faces of the soldiers were blackened with it. Some\r\nwere using their ramrods, others putting powder on the touchpans or\r\ntaking charges from their pouches, while others were firing, though who\r\nthey were firing at could not be seen for the smoke which there was no\r\nwind to carry away. A pleasant humming and whistling of bullets were\r\noften heard. \"What is this?\" thought Prince Andrew approaching the crowd\r\nof soldiers. \"It can't be an attack, for they are not moving; it can't\r\nbe a square--for they are not drawn up for that.\"\r\n\r\nThe commander of the regiment, a thin, feeble-looking old man with a\r\npleasant smile--his eyelids drooping more than half over his old eyes,\r\ngiving him a mild expression, rode up to Bagration and welcomed him as\r\na host welcomes an honored guest. He reported that his regiment had\r\nbeen attacked by French cavalry and that, though the attack had been\r\nrepulsed, he had lost more than half his men. He said the attack\r\nhad been repulsed, employing this military term to describe what had\r\noccurred to his regiment, but in reality he did not himself know what\r\nhad happened during that half-hour to the troops entrusted to him, and\r\ncould not say with certainty whether the attack had been repulsed or his\r\nregiment had been broken up. All he knew was that at the commencement\r\nof the action balls and shells began flying all over his regiment and\r\nhitting men and that afterwards someone had shouted \"Cavalry!\" and our\r\nmen had begun firing. They were still firing, not at the cavalry which\r\nhad disappeared, but at French infantry who had come into the hollow and\r\nwere firing at our men. Prince Bagration bowed his head as a sign\r\nthat this was exactly what he had desired and expected. Turning to his\r\nadjutant he ordered him to bring down the two battalions of the Sixth\r\nChasseurs whom they had just passed. Prince Andrew was struck by\r\nthe changed expression on Prince Bagration's face at this moment. It\r\nexpressed the concentrated and happy resolution you see on the face of\r\na man who on a hot day takes a final run before plunging into the water.\r\nThe dull, sleepy expression was no longer there, nor the affectation\r\nof profound thought. The round, steady, hawk's eyes looked before him\r\neagerly and rather disdainfully, not resting on anything although his\r\nmovements were still slow and measured.\r\n\r\nThe commander of the regiment turned to Prince Bagration, entreating him\r\nto go back as it was too dangerous to remain where they were. \"Please,\r\nyour excellency, for God's sake!\" he kept saying, glancing for support\r\nat an officer of the suite who turned away from him. \"There, you see!\"\r\nand he drew attention to the bullets whistling, singing, and hissing\r\ncontinually around them. He spoke in the tone of entreaty and reproach\r\nthat a carpenter uses to a gentleman who has picked up an ax: \"We are\r\nused to it, but you, sir, will blister your hands.\" He spoke as if those\r\nbullets could not kill him, and his half-closed eyes gave still more\r\npersuasiveness to his words. The staff officer joined in the colonel's\r\nappeals, but Bagration did not reply; he only gave an order to\r\ncease firing and re-form, so as to give room for the two approaching\r\nbattalions. While he was speaking, the curtain of smoke that had\r\nconcealed the hollow, driven by a rising wind, began to move from right\r\nto left as if drawn by an invisible hand, and the hill opposite, with\r\nthe French moving about on it, opened out before them. All eyes fastened\r\ninvoluntarily on this French column advancing against them and winding\r\ndown over the uneven ground. One could already see the soldiers' shaggy\r\ncaps, distinguish the officers from the men, and see the standard\r\nflapping against its staff.\r\n\r\n\"They march splendidly,\" remarked someone in Bagration's suite.\r\n\r\nThe head of the column had already descended into the hollow. The clash\r\nwould take place on this side of it...\r\n\r\nThe remains of our regiment which had been in action rapidly formed up\r\nand moved to the right; from behind it, dispersing the laggards, came\r\ntwo battalions of the Sixth Chasseurs in fine order. Before they had\r\nreached Bagration, the weighty tread of the mass of men marching in step\r\ncould be heard. On their left flank, nearest to Bagration, marched\r\na company commander, a fine round-faced man, with a stupid and happy\r\nexpression--the same man who had rushed out of the wattle shed. At that\r\nmoment he was clearly thinking of nothing but how dashing a fellow he\r\nwould appear as he passed the commander.\r\n\r\nWith the self-satisfaction of a man on parade, he stepped lightly with\r\nhis muscular legs as if sailing along, stretching himself to his full\r\nheight without the smallest effort, his ease contrasting with the heavy\r\ntread of the soldiers who were keeping step with him. He carried close\r\nto his leg a narrow unsheathed sword (small, curved, and not like a real\r\nweapon) and looked now at the superior officers and now back at the men\r\nwithout losing step, his whole powerful body turning flexibly. It was as\r\nif all the powers of his soul were concentrated on passing the commander\r\nin the best possible manner, and feeling that he was doing it well he\r\nwas happy. \"Left... left... left...\" he seemed to repeat to himself at\r\neach alternate step; and in time to this, with stern but varied faces,\r\nthe wall of soldiers burdened with knapsacks and muskets marched in\r\nstep, and each one of these hundreds of soldiers seemed to be repeating\r\nto himself at each alternate step, \"Left... left... left...\" A fat\r\nmajor skirted a bush, puffing and falling out of step; a soldier who had\r\nfallen behind, his face showing alarm at his defection, ran at a trot,\r\npanting to catch up with his company. A cannon ball, cleaving the air,\r\nflew over the heads of Bagration and his suite, and fell into the\r\ncolumn to the measure of \"Left... left!\" \"Close up!\" came the company\r\ncommander's voice in jaunty tones. The soldiers passed in a semicircle\r\nround something where the ball had fallen, and an old trooper on the\r\nflank, a noncommissioned officer who had stopped beside the dead men,\r\nran to catch up his line and, falling into step with a hop, looked back\r\nangrily, and through the ominous silence and the regular tramp of feet\r\nbeating the ground in unison, one seemed to hear left... left... left.\r\n\r\n\"Well done, lads!\" said Prince Bagration.\r\n\r\n\"Glad to do our best, your ex'len-lency!\" came a confused shout from\r\nthe ranks. A morose soldier marching on the left turned his eyes on\r\nBagration as he shouted, with an expression that seemed to say: \"We know\r\nthat ourselves!\" Another, without looking round, as though fearing to\r\nrelax, shouted with his mouth wide open and passed on.\r\n\r\nThe order was given to halt and down knapsacks.\r\n\r\nBagration rode round the ranks that had marched past him and dismounted.\r\nHe gave the reins to a Cossack, took off and handed over his felt coat,\r\nstretched his legs, and set his cap straight. The head of the French\r\ncolumn, with its officers leading, appeared from below the hill.\r\n\r\n\"Forward, with God!\" said Bagration, in a resolute, sonorous voice,\r\nturning for a moment to the front line, and slightly swinging his arms,\r\nhe went forward uneasily over the rough field with the awkward gait of\r\na cavalryman. Prince Andrew felt that an invisible power was leading him\r\nforward, and experienced great happiness.\r\n\r\nThe French were already near. Prince Andrew, walking beside Bagration,\r\ncould clearly distinguish their bandoliers, red epaulets, and even their\r\nfaces. (He distinctly saw an old French officer who, with gaitered legs\r\nand turned-out toes, climbed the hill with difficulty.) Prince Bagration\r\ngave no further orders and silently continued to walk on in front of the\r\nranks. Suddenly one shot after another rang out from the French, smoke\r\nappeared all along their uneven ranks, and musket shots sounded. Several\r\nof our men fell, among them the round-faced officer who had marched so\r\ngaily and complacently. But at the moment the first report was heard,\r\nBagration looked round and shouted, \"Hurrah!\"\r\n\r\n\"Hurrah--ah!--ah!\" rang a long-drawn shout from our ranks, and passing\r\nBagration and racing one another they rushed in an irregular but joyous\r\nand eager crowd down the hill at their disordered foe.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIX\r\n\r\n\r\nThe attack of the Sixth Chasseurs secured the retreat of our right\r\nflank. In the center Tushin's forgotten battery, which had managed to\r\nset fire to the Schon Grabern village, delayed the French advance. The\r\nFrench were putting out the fire which the wind was spreading, and thus\r\ngave us time to retreat. The retirement of the center to the other side\r\nof the dip in the ground at the rear was hurried and noisy, but the\r\ndifferent companies did not get mixed. But our left--which consisted\r\nof the Azov and Podolsk infantry and the Pavlograd hussars--was\r\nsimultaneously attacked and outflanked by superior French forces under\r\nLannes and was thrown into confusion. Bagration had sent Zherkov to the\r\ngeneral commanding that left flank with orders to retreat immediately.\r\n\r\nZherkov, not removing his hand from his cap, turned his horse about\r\nand galloped off. But no sooner had he left Bagration than his courage\r\nfailed him. He was seized by panic and could not go where it was\r\ndangerous.\r\n\r\nHaving reached the left flank, instead of going to the front where the\r\nfiring was, he began to look for the general and his staff where they\r\ncould not possibly be, and so did not deliver the order.\r\n\r\nThe command of the left flank belonged by seniority to the commander of\r\nthe regiment Kutuzov had reviewed at Braunau and in which Dolokhov was\r\nserving as a private. But the command of the extreme left flank had been\r\nassigned to the commander of the Pavlograd regiment in which Rostov\r\nwas serving, and a misunderstanding arose. The two commanders were much\r\nexasperated with one another and, long after the action had begun on\r\nthe right flank and the French were already advancing, were engaged\r\nin discussion with the sole object of offending one another. But the\r\nregiments, both cavalry and infantry, were by no means ready for the\r\nimpending action. From privates to general they were not expecting a\r\nbattle and were engaged in peaceful occupations, the cavalry feeding the\r\nhorses and the infantry collecting wood.\r\n\r\n\"He higher iss dan I in rank,\" said the German colonel of the hussars,\r\nflushing and addressing an adjutant who had ridden up, \"so let him do\r\nwhat he vill, but I cannot sacrifice my hussars... Bugler, sount ze\r\nretreat!\"\r\n\r\nBut haste was becoming imperative. Cannon and musketry, mingling\r\ntogether, thundered on the right and in the center, while the capotes of\r\nLannes' sharpshooters were already seen crossing the milldam and forming\r\nup within twice the range of a musket shot. The general in command of\r\nthe infantry went toward his horse with jerky steps, and having mounted\r\ndrew himself up very straight and tall and rode to the Pavlograd\r\ncommander. The commanders met with polite bows but with secret\r\nmalevolence in their hearts.\r\n\r\n\"Once again, Colonel,\" said the general, \"I can't leave half my men\r\nin the wood. I beg of you, I beg of you,\" he repeated, \"to occupy the\r\nposition and prepare for an attack.\"\r\n\r\n\"I peg of you yourself not to mix in vot is not your business!\" suddenly\r\nreplied the irate colonel. \"If you vere in the cavalry...\"\r\n\r\n\"I am not in the cavalry, Colonel, but I am a Russian general and if you\r\nare not aware of the fact...\"\r\n\r\n\"Quite avare, your excellency,\" suddenly shouted the colonel, touching\r\nhis horse and turning purple in the face. \"Vill you be so goot to\r\ncome to ze front and see dat zis position iss no goot? I don't vish to\r\ndestroy my men for your pleasure!\"\r\n\r\n\"You forget yourself, Colonel. I am not considering my own pleasure and\r\nI won't allow it to be said!\"\r\n\r\nTaking the colonel's outburst as a challenge to his courage, the general\r\nexpanded his chest and rode, frowning, beside him to the front line, as\r\nif their differences would be settled there amongst the bullets. They\r\nreached the front, several bullets sped over them, and they halted in\r\nsilence. There was nothing fresh to be seen from the line, for from\r\nwhere they had been before it had been evident that it was impossible\r\nfor cavalry to act among the bushes and broken ground, as well as that\r\nthe French were outflanking our left. The general and colonel looked\r\nsternly and significantly at one another like two fighting cocks\r\npreparing for battle, each vainly trying to detect signs of cowardice\r\nin the other. Both passed the examination successfully. As there was\r\nnothing to be said, and neither wished to give occasion for it to be\r\nalleged that he had been the first to leave the range of fire, they\r\nwould have remained there for a long time testing each other's courage\r\nhad it not been that just then they heard the rattle of musketry and a\r\nmuffled shout almost behind them in the wood. The French had attacked\r\nthe men collecting wood in the copse. It was no longer possible for the\r\nhussars to retreat with the infantry. They were cut off from the line of\r\nretreat on the left by the French. However inconvenient the position, it\r\nwas now necessary to attack in order to cut away through for themselves.\r\n\r\nThe squadron in which Rostov was serving had scarcely time to mount\r\nbefore it was halted facing the enemy. Again, as at the Enns bridge,\r\nthere was nothing between the squadron and the enemy, and again that\r\nterrible dividing line of uncertainty and fear--resembling the line\r\nseparating the living from the dead--lay between them. All were\r\nconscious of this unseen line, and the question whether they would cross\r\nit or not, and how they would cross it, agitated them all.\r\n\r\nThe colonel rode to the front, angrily gave some reply to questions put\r\nto him by the officers, and, like a man desperately insisting on having\r\nhis own way, gave an order. No one said anything definite, but the rumor\r\nof an attack spread through the squadron. The command to form up rang\r\nout and the sabers whizzed as they were drawn from their scabbards.\r\nStill no one moved. The troops of the left flank, infantry and hussars\r\nalike, felt that the commander did not himself know what to do, and this\r\nirresolution communicated itself to the men.\r\n\r\n\"If only they would be quick!\" thought Rostov, feeling that at last\r\nthe time had come to experience the joy of an attack of which he had so\r\noften heard from his fellow hussars.\r\n\r\n\"Fo'ward, with God, lads!\" rang out Denisov's voice. \"At a twot\r\nfo'ward!\"\r\n\r\nThe horses' croups began to sway in the front line. Rook pulled at the\r\nreins and started of his own accord.\r\n\r\nBefore him, on the right, Rostov saw the front lines of his hussars and\r\nstill farther ahead a dark line which he could not see distinctly but\r\ntook to be the enemy. Shots could be heard, but some way off.\r\n\r\n\"Faster!\" came the word of command, and Rostov felt Rook's flanks\r\ndrooping as he broke into a gallop.\r\n\r\nRostov anticipated his horse's movements and became more and more\r\nelated. He had noticed a solitary tree ahead of him. This tree had been\r\nin the middle of the line that had seemed so terrible--and now he\r\nhad crossed that line and not only was there nothing terrible, but\r\neverything was becoming more and more happy and animated. \"Oh, how I\r\nwill slash at him!\" thought Rostov, gripping the hilt of his saber.\r\n\r\n\"Hur-a-a-a-ah!\" came a roar of voices. \"Let anyone come my way now,\"\r\nthought Rostov driving his spurs into Rook and letting him go at a full\r\ngallop so that he outstripped the others. Ahead, the enemy was already\r\nvisible. Suddenly something like a birch broom seemed to sweep over the\r\nsquadron. Rostov raised his saber, ready to strike, but at that instant\r\nthe trooper Nikitenko, who was galloping ahead, shot away from him, and\r\nRostov felt as in a dream that he continued to be carried forward\r\nwith unnatural speed but yet stayed on the same spot. From behind him\r\nBondarchuk, an hussar he knew, jolted against him and looked angrily at\r\nhim. Bondarchuk's horse swerved and galloped past.\r\n\r\n\"How is it I am not moving? I have fallen, I am killed!\" Rostov asked\r\nand answered at the same instant. He was alone in the middle of a field.\r\nInstead of the moving horses and hussars' backs, he saw nothing before\r\nhim but the motionless earth and the stubble around him. There was warm\r\nblood under his arm. \"No, I am wounded and the horse is killed.\" Rook\r\ntried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his rider's leg.\r\nBlood was flowing from his head; he struggled but could not rise. Rostov\r\nalso tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache having become entangled\r\nin the saddle. Where our men were, and where the French, he did not\r\nknow. There was no one near.\r\n\r\nHaving disentangled his leg, he rose. \"Where, on which side, was now the\r\nline that had so sharply divided the two armies?\" he asked himself and\r\ncould not answer. \"Can something bad have happened to me?\" he wondered\r\nas he got up: and at that moment he felt that something superfluous was\r\nhanging on his benumbed left arm. The wrist felt as if it were not his.\r\nHe examined his hand carefully, vainly trying to find blood on it. \"Ah,\r\nhere are people coming,\" he thought joyfully, seeing some men running\r\ntoward him. \"They will help me!\" In front came a man wearing a strange\r\nshako and a blue cloak, swarthy, sunburned, and with a hooked nose. Then\r\ncame two more, and many more running behind. One of them said something\r\nstrange, not in Russian. In among the hindmost of these men wearing\r\nsimilar shakos was a Russian hussar. He was being held by the arms and\r\nhis horse was being led behind him.\r\n\r\n\"It must be one of ours, a prisoner. Yes. Can it be that they will take\r\nme too? Who are these men?\" thought Rostov, scarcely believing his eyes.\r\n\"Can they be French?\" He looked at the approaching Frenchmen, and though\r\nbut a moment before he had been galloping to get at them and hack them\r\nto pieces, their proximity now seemed so awful that he could not believe\r\nhis eyes. \"Who are they? Why are they running? Can they be coming at me?\r\nAnd why? To kill me? Me whom everyone is so fond of?\" He remembered\r\nhis mother's love for him, and his family's, and his friends', and the\r\nenemy's intention to kill him seemed impossible. \"But perhaps they may\r\ndo it!\" For more than ten seconds he stood not moving from the spot or\r\nrealizing the situation. The foremost Frenchman, the one with the hooked\r\nnose, was already so close that the expression of his face could be\r\nseen. And the excited, alien face of that man, his bayonet hanging down,\r\nholding his breath, and running so lightly, frightened Rostov. He seized\r\nhis pistol and, instead of firing it, flung it at the Frenchman and\r\nran with all his might toward the bushes. He did not now run with the\r\nfeeling of doubt and conflict with which he had trodden the Enns bridge,\r\nbut with the feeling of a hare fleeing from the hounds. One single\r\nsentiment, that of fear for his young and happy life, possessed his\r\nwhole being. Rapidly leaping the furrows, he fled across the field with\r\nthe impetuosity he used to show at catchplay, now and then turning his\r\ngood-natured, pale, young face to look back. A shudder of terror went\r\nthrough him: \"No, better not look,\" he thought, but having reached the\r\nbushes he glanced round once more. The French had fallen behind, and\r\njust as he looked round the first man changed his run to a walk and,\r\nturning, shouted something loudly to a comrade farther back. Rostov\r\npaused. \"No, there's some mistake,\" thought he. \"They can't have wanted\r\nto kill me.\" But at the same time, his left arm felt as heavy as if\r\na seventy-pound weight were tied to it. He could run no more. The\r\nFrenchman also stopped and took aim. Rostov closed his eyes and stooped\r\ndown. One bullet and then another whistled past him. He mustered his\r\nlast remaining strength, took hold of his left hand with his right, and\r\nreached the bushes. Behind these were some Russian sharpshooters.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XX\r\n\r\n\r\nThe infantry regiments that had been caught unawares in the outskirts\r\nof the wood ran out of it, the different companies getting mixed, and\r\nretreated as a disorderly crowd. One soldier, in his fear, uttered the\r\nsenseless cry, \"Cut off!\" that is so terrible in battle, and that word\r\ninfected the whole crowd with a feeling of panic.\r\n\r\n\"Surrounded! Cut off? We're lost!\" shouted the fugitives.\r\n\r\nThe moment he heard the firing and the cry from behind, the general\r\nrealized that something dreadful had happened to his regiment, and the\r\nthought that he, an exemplary officer of many years' service who had\r\nnever been to blame, might be held responsible at headquarters for\r\nnegligence or inefficiency so staggered him that, forgetting the\r\nrecalcitrant cavalry colonel, his own dignity as a general, and above\r\nall quite forgetting the danger and all regard for self-preservation, he\r\nclutched the crupper of his saddle and, spurring his horse, galloped to\r\nthe regiment under a hail of bullets which fell around, but fortunately\r\nmissed him. His one desire was to know what was happening and at any\r\ncost correct, or remedy, the mistake if he had made one, so that he,\r\nan exemplary officer of twenty-two years' service, who had never been\r\ncensured, should not be held to blame.\r\n\r\nHaving galloped safely through the French, he reached a field behind\r\nthe copse across which our men, regardless of orders, were running and\r\ndescending the valley. That moment of moral hesitation which decides\r\nthe fate of battles had arrived. Would this disorderly crowd of soldiers\r\nattend to the voice of their commander, or would they, disregarding him,\r\ncontinue their flight? Despite his desperate shouts that used to seem\r\nso terrible to the soldiers, despite his furious purple countenance\r\ndistorted out of all likeness to his former self, and the flourishing of\r\nhis saber, the soldiers all continued to run, talking, firing into the\r\nair, and disobeying orders. The moral hesitation which decided the fate\r\nof battles was evidently culminating in a panic.\r\n\r\nThe general had a fit of coughing as a result of shouting and of the\r\npowder smoke and stopped in despair. Everything seemed lost. But at that\r\nmoment the French who were attacking, suddenly and without any apparent\r\nreason, ran back and disappeared from the outskirts, and Russian\r\nsharpshooters showed themselves in the copse. It was Timokhin's company,\r\nwhich alone had maintained its order in the wood and, having lain in\r\nambush in a ditch, now attacked the French unexpectedly. Timokhin, armed\r\nonly with a sword, had rushed at the enemy with such a desperate cry and\r\nsuch mad, drunken determination that, taken by surprise, the French had\r\nthrown down their muskets and run. Dolokhov, running beside Timokhin,\r\nkilled a Frenchman at close quarters and was the first to seize the\r\nsurrendering French officer by his collar. Our fugitives returned, the\r\nbattalions re-formed, and the French who had nearly cut our left flank\r\nin half were for the moment repulsed. Our reserve units were able to\r\njoin up, and the fight was at an end. The regimental commander and Major\r\nEkonomov had stopped beside a bridge, letting the retreating companies\r\npass by them, when a soldier came up and took hold of the commander's\r\nstirrup, almost leaning against him. The man was wearing a bluish coat\r\nof broadcloth, he had no knapsack or cap, his head was bandaged, and\r\nover his shoulder a French munition pouch was slung. He had an officer's\r\nsword in his hand. The soldier was pale, his blue eyes looked impudently\r\ninto the commander's face, and his lips were smiling. Though the\r\ncommander was occupied in giving instructions to Major Ekonomov, he\r\ncould not help taking notice of the soldier.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency, here are two trophies,\" said Dolokhov, pointing to the\r\nFrench sword and pouch. \"I have taken an officer prisoner. I stopped the\r\ncompany.\" Dolokhov breathed heavily from weariness and spoke in abrupt\r\nsentences. \"The whole company can bear witness. I beg you will remember\r\nthis, your excellency!\"\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right,\" replied the commander, and turned to Major\r\nEkonomov.\r\n\r\nBut Dolokhov did not go away; he untied the handkerchief around his\r\nhead, pulled it off, and showed the blood congealed on his hair.\r\n\r\n\"A bayonet wound. I remained at the front. Remember, your excellency!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nTushin's battery had been forgotten and only at the very end of the\r\naction did Prince Bagration, still hearing the cannonade in the center,\r\nsend his orderly staff officer, and later Prince Andrew also, to order\r\nthe battery to retire as quickly as possible. When the supports attached\r\nto Tushin's battery had been moved away in the middle of the action\r\nby someone's order, the battery had continued firing and was only not\r\ncaptured by the French because the enemy could not surmise that anyone\r\ncould have the effrontery to continue firing from four quite undefended\r\nguns. On the contrary, the energetic action of that battery led the\r\nFrench to suppose that here--in the center--the main Russian forces were\r\nconcentrated. Twice they had attempted to attack this point, but on each\r\noccasion had been driven back by grapeshot from the four isolated guns\r\non the hillock.\r\n\r\nSoon after Prince Bagration had left him, Tushin had succeeded in\r\nsetting fire to Schon Grabern.\r\n\r\n\"Look at them scurrying! It's burning! Just see the smoke! Fine! Grand!\r\nLook at the smoke, the smoke!\" exclaimed the artillerymen, brightening\r\nup.\r\n\r\nAll the guns, without waiting for orders, were being fired in the\r\ndirection of the conflagration. As if urging each other on, the soldiers\r\ncried at each shot: \"Fine! That's good! Look at it... Grand!\" The fire,\r\nfanned by the breeze, was rapidly spreading. The French columns that had\r\nadvanced beyond the village went back; but as though in revenge for this\r\nfailure, the enemy placed ten guns to the right of the village and began\r\nfiring them at Tushin's battery.\r\n\r\nIn their childlike glee, aroused by the fire and their luck in\r\nsuccessfully cannonading the French, our artillerymen only noticed this\r\nbattery when two balls, and then four more, fell among our guns, one\r\nknocking over two horses and another tearing off a munition-wagon\r\ndriver's leg. Their spirits once roused were, however, not diminished,\r\nbut only changed character. The horses were replaced by others from a\r\nreserve gun carriage, the wounded were carried away, and the four guns\r\nwere turned against the ten-gun battery. Tushin's companion officer\r\nhad been killed at the beginning of the engagement and within an hour\r\nseventeen of the forty men of the guns' crews had been disabled, but the\r\nartillerymen were still as merry and lively as ever. Twice they noticed\r\nthe French appearing below them, and then they fired grapeshot at them.\r\n\r\nLittle Tushin, moving feebly and awkwardly, kept telling his orderly to\r\n\"refill my pipe for that one!\" and then, scattering sparks from it, ran\r\nforward shading his eyes with his small hand to look at the French.\r\n\r\n\"Smack at 'em, lads!\" he kept saying, seizing the guns by the wheels and\r\nworking the screws himself.\r\n\r\nAmid the smoke, deafened by the incessant reports which always made him\r\njump, Tushin not taking his pipe from his mouth ran from gun to gun, now\r\naiming, now counting the charges, now giving orders about replacing dead\r\nor wounded horses and harnessing fresh ones, and shouting in his feeble\r\nvoice, so high pitched and irresolute. His face grew more and more\r\nanimated. Only when a man was killed or wounded did he frown and turn\r\naway from the sight, shouting angrily at the men who, as is always the\r\ncase, hesitated about lifting the injured or dead. The soldiers, for the\r\nmost part handsome fellows and, as is always the case in an artillery\r\ncompany, a head and shoulders taller and twice as broad as their\r\nofficer--all looked at their commander like children in an embarrassing\r\nsituation, and the expression on his face was invariably reflected on\r\ntheirs.\r\n\r\nOwing to the terrible uproar and the necessity for concentration and\r\nactivity, Tushin did not experience the slightest unpleasant sense of\r\nfear, and the thought that he might be killed or badly wounded never\r\noccurred to him. On the contrary, he became more and more elated. It\r\nseemed to him that it was a very long time ago, almost a day, since he\r\nhad first seen the enemy and fired the first shot, and that the corner\r\nof the field he stood on was well-known and familiar ground. Though he\r\nthought of everything, considered everything, and did everything the\r\nbest of officers could do in his position, he was in a state akin to\r\nfeverish delirium or drunkenness.\r\n\r\nFrom the deafening sounds of his own guns around him, the whistle and\r\nthud of the enemy's cannon balls, from the flushed and perspiring faces\r\nof the crew bustling round the guns, from the sight of the blood of men\r\nand horses, from the little puffs of smoke on the enemy's side (always\r\nfollowed by a ball flying past and striking the earth, a man, a gun, a\r\nhorse), from the sight of all these things a fantastic world of his\r\nown had taken possession of his brain and at that moment afforded him\r\npleasure. The enemy's guns were in his fancy not guns but pipes from\r\nwhich occasional puffs were blown by an invisible smoker.\r\n\r\n\"There... he's puffing again,\" muttered Tushin to himself, as a small\r\ncloud rose from the hill and was borne in a streak to the left by the\r\nwind.\r\n\r\n\"Now look out for the ball... we'll throw it back.\"\r\n\r\n\"What do you want, your honor?\" asked an artilleryman, standing close\r\nby, who heard him muttering.\r\n\r\n\"Nothing... only a shell...\" he answered.\r\n\r\n\"Come along, our Matvevna!\" he said to himself. \"Matvevna\" * was the\r\nname his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which was large\r\nand of an old pattern. The French swarming round their guns seemed to\r\nhim like ants. In that world, the handsome drunkard Number One of the\r\nsecond gun's crew was \"uncle\"; Tushin looked at him more often than\r\nat anyone else and took delight in his every movement. The sound of\r\nmusketry at the foot of the hill, now diminishing, now increasing,\r\nseemed like someone's breathing. He listened intently to the ebb and\r\nflow of these sounds.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Daughter of Matthew.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Ah! Breathing again, breathing!\" he muttered to himself.\r\n\r\nHe imagined himself as an enormously tall, powerful man who was throwing\r\ncannon balls at the French with both hands.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, Matvevna, dear old lady, don't let me down!\" he was saying as\r\nhe moved from the gun, when a strange, unfamiliar voice called above his\r\nhead: \"Captain Tushin! Captain!\"\r\n\r\nTushin turned round in dismay. It was the staff officer who had turned\r\nhim out of the booth at Grunth. He was shouting in a gasping voice:\r\n\r\n\"Are you mad? You have twice been ordered to retreat, and you...\"\r\n\r\n\"Why are they down on me?\" thought Tushin, looking in alarm at his\r\nsuperior.\r\n\r\n\"I... don't...\" he muttered, holding up two fingers to his cap. \"I...\"\r\n\r\nBut the staff officer did not finish what he wanted to say. A cannon\r\nball, flying close to him, caused him to duck and bend over his horse.\r\nHe paused, and just as he was about to say something more, another ball\r\nstopped him. He turned his horse and galloped off.\r\n\r\n\"Retire! All to retire!\" he shouted from a distance.\r\n\r\nThe soldiers laughed. A moment later, an adjutant arrived with the same\r\norder.\r\n\r\nIt was Prince Andrew. The first thing he saw on riding up to the space\r\nwhere Tushin's guns were stationed was an unharnessed horse with a\r\nbroken leg, that lay screaming piteously beside the harnessed horses.\r\nBlood was gushing from its leg as from a spring. Among the limbers lay\r\nseveral dead men. One ball after another passed over as he approached\r\nand he felt a nervous shudder run down his spine. But the mere thought\r\nof being afraid roused him again. \"I cannot be afraid,\" thought he, and\r\ndismounted slowly among the guns. He delivered the order and did not\r\nleave the battery. He decided to have the guns removed from their\r\npositions and withdrawn in his presence. Together with Tushin, stepping\r\nacross the bodies and under a terrible fire from the French, he attended\r\nto the removal of the guns.\r\n\r\n\"A staff officer was here a minute ago, but skipped off,\" said an\r\nartilleryman to Prince Andrew. \"Not like your honor!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew said nothing to Tushin. They were both so busy as to seem\r\nnot to notice one another. When having limbered up the only two cannon\r\nthat remained uninjured out of the four, they began moving down the hill\r\n(one shattered gun and one unicorn were left behind), Prince Andrew rode\r\nup to Tushin.\r\n\r\n\"Well, till we meet again...\" he said, holding out his hand to Tushin.\r\n\r\n\"Good-by, my dear fellow,\" said Tushin. \"Dear soul! Good-by, my dear\r\nfellow!\" and for some unknown reason tears suddenly filled his eyes.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XXI\r\n\r\n\r\nThe wind had fallen and black clouds, merging with the powder smoke,\r\nhung low over the field of battle on the horizon. It was growing\r\ndark and the glow of two conflagrations was the more conspicuous. The\r\ncannonade was dying down, but the rattle of musketry behind and on\r\nthe right sounded oftener and nearer. As soon as Tushin with his guns,\r\ncontinually driving round or coming upon wounded men, was out of range\r\nof fire and had descended into the dip, he was met by some of the staff,\r\namong them the staff officer and Zherkov, who had been twice sent to\r\nTushin's battery but had never reached it. Interrupting one another,\r\nthey all gave, and transmitted, orders as to how to proceed,\r\nreprimanding and reproaching him. Tushin gave no orders, and,\r\nsilently--fearing to speak because at every word he felt ready to weep\r\nwithout knowing why--rode behind on his artillery nag. Though the orders\r\nwere to abandon the wounded, many of them dragged themselves after\r\ntroops and begged for seats on the gun carriages. The jaunty infantry\r\nofficer who just before the battle had rushed out of Tushin's wattle\r\nshed was laid, with a bullet in his stomach, on \"Matvevna's\" carriage.\r\nAt the foot of the hill, a pale hussar cadet, supporting one hand with\r\nthe other, came up to Tushin and asked for a seat.\r\n\r\n\"Captain, for God's sake! I've hurt my arm,\" he said timidly. \"For God's\r\nsake... I can't walk. For God's sake!\"\r\n\r\nIt was plain that this cadet had already repeatedly asked for a lift and\r\nbeen refused. He asked in a hesitating, piteous voice.\r\n\r\n\"Tell them to give me a seat, for God's sake!\"\r\n\r\n\"Give him a seat,\" said Tushin. \"Lay a cloak for him to sit on, lad,\"\r\nhe said, addressing his favorite soldier. \"And where is the wounded\r\nofficer?\"\r\n\r\n\"He has been set down. He died,\" replied someone.\r\n\r\n\"Help him up. Sit down, dear fellow, sit down! Spread out the cloak,\r\nAntonov.\"\r\n\r\nThe cadet was Rostov. With one hand he supported the other; he was pale\r\nand his jaw trembled, shivering feverishly. He was placed on \"Matvevna,\"\r\nthe gun from which they had removed the dead officer. The cloak they\r\nspread under him was wet with blood which stained his breeches and arm.\r\n\r\n\"What, are you wounded, my lad?\" said Tushin, approaching the gun on\r\nwhich Rostov sat.\r\n\r\n\"No, it's a sprain.\"\r\n\r\n\"Then what is this blood on the gun carriage?\" inquired Tushin.\r\n\r\n\"It was the officer, your honor, stained it,\" answered the artilleryman,\r\nwiping away the blood with his coat sleeve, as if apologizing for the\r\nstate of his gun.\r\n\r\nIt was all that they could do to get the guns up the rise aided by the\r\ninfantry, and having reached the village of Gruntersdorf they halted. It\r\nhad grown so dark that one could not distinguish the uniforms ten paces\r\noff, and the firing had begun to subside. Suddenly, near by on the\r\nright, shouting and firing were again heard. Flashes of shot gleamed in\r\nthe darkness. This was the last French attack and was met by soldiers\r\nwho had sheltered in the village houses. They all rushed out of the\r\nvillage again, but Tushin's guns could not move, and the artillerymen,\r\nTushin, and the cadet exchanged silent glances as they awaited their\r\nfate. The firing died down and soldiers, talking eagerly, streamed out\r\nof a side street.\r\n\r\n\"Not hurt, Petrov?\" asked one.\r\n\r\n\"We've given it 'em hot, mate! They won't make another push now,\" said\r\nanother.\r\n\r\n\"You couldn't see a thing. How they shot at their own fellows! Nothing\r\ncould be seen. Pitch-dark, brother! Isn't there something to drink?\"\r\n\r\nThe French had been repulsed for the last time. And again and again in\r\nthe complete darkness Tushin's guns moved forward, surrounded by the\r\nhumming infantry as by a frame.\r\n\r\nIn the darkness, it seemed as though a gloomy unseen river was flowing\r\nalways in one direction, humming with whispers and talk and the sound of\r\nhoofs and wheels. Amid the general rumble, the groans and voices of the\r\nwounded were more distinctly heard than any other sound in the darkness\r\nof the night. The gloom that enveloped the army was filled with their\r\ngroans, which seemed to melt into one with the darkness of the night.\r\nAfter a while the moving mass became agitated, someone rode past on a\r\nwhite horse followed by his suite, and said something in passing: \"What\r\ndid he say? Where to, now? Halt, is it? Did he thank us?\" came eager\r\nquestions from all sides. The whole moving mass began pressing closer\r\ntogether and a report spread that they were ordered to halt: evidently\r\nthose in front had halted. All remained where they were in the middle of\r\nthe muddy road.\r\n\r\nFires were lighted and the talk became more audible. Captain Tushin,\r\nhaving given orders to his company, sent a soldier to find a dressing\r\nstation or a doctor for the cadet, and sat down by a bonfire the\r\nsoldiers had kindled on the road. Rostov, too, dragged himself to the\r\nfire. From pain, cold, and damp, a feverish shivering shook his whole\r\nbody. Drowsiness was irresistibly mastering him, but he kept awake by\r\nan excruciating pain in his arm, for which he could find no satisfactory\r\nposition. He kept closing his eyes and then again looking at the fire,\r\nwhich seemed to him dazzlingly red, and at the feeble, round-shouldered\r\nfigure of Tushin who was sitting cross-legged like a Turk beside him.\r\nTushin's large, kind, intelligent eyes were fixed with sympathy and\r\ncommiseration on Rostov, who saw that Tushin with his whole heart wished\r\nto help him but could not.\r\n\r\nFrom all sides were heard the footsteps and talk of the infantry, who\r\nwere walking, driving past, and settling down all around. The sound\r\nof voices, the tramping feet, the horses' hoofs moving in mud, the\r\ncrackling of wood fires near and afar, merged into one tremulous rumble.\r\n\r\nIt was no longer, as before, a dark, unseen river flowing through the\r\ngloom, but a dark sea swelling and gradually subsiding after a storm.\r\nRostov looked at and listened listlessly to what passed before and\r\naround him. An infantryman came to the fire, squatted on his heels, held\r\nhis hands to the blaze, and turned away his face.\r\n\r\n\"You don't mind your honor?\" he asked Tushin. \"I've lost my company,\r\nyour honor. I don't know where... such bad luck!\"\r\n\r\nWith the soldier, an infantry officer with a bandaged cheek came up to\r\nthe bonfire, and addressing Tushin asked him to have the guns moved a\r\ntrifle to let a wagon go past. After he had gone, two soldiers rushed to\r\nthe campfire. They were quarreling and fighting desperately, each trying\r\nto snatch from the other a boot they were both holding on to.\r\n\r\n\"You picked it up?... I dare say! You're very smart!\" one of them\r\nshouted hoarsely.\r\n\r\nThen a thin, pale soldier, his neck bandaged with a bloodstained leg\r\nband, came up and in angry tones asked the artillerymen for water.\r\n\r\n\"Must one die like a dog?\" said he.\r\n\r\nTushin told them to give the man some water. Then a cheerful soldier ran\r\nup, begging a little fire for the infantry.\r\n\r\n\"A nice little hot torch for the infantry! Good luck to you, fellow\r\ncountrymen. Thanks for the fire--we'll return it with interest,\" said\r\nhe, carrying away into the darkness a glowing stick.\r\n\r\nNext came four soldiers, carrying something heavy on a cloak, and passed\r\nby the fire. One of them stumbled.\r\n\r\n\"Who the devil has put the logs on the road?\" snarled he.\r\n\r\n\"He's dead--why carry him?\" said another.\r\n\r\n\"Shut up!\"\r\n\r\nAnd they disappeared into the darkness with their load.\r\n\r\n\"Still aching?\" Tushin asked Rostov in a whisper.\r\n\r\n\"Yes.\"\r\n\r\n\"Your honor, you're wanted by the general. He is in the hut here,\" said\r\na gunner, coming up to Tushin.\r\n\r\n\"Coming, friend.\"\r\n\r\nTushin rose and, buttoning his greatcoat and pulling it straight, walked\r\naway from the fire.\r\n\r\nNot far from the artillery campfire, in a hut that had been prepared\r\nfor him, Prince Bagration sat at dinner, talking with some commanding\r\nofficers who had gathered at his quarters. The little old man with\r\nthe half-closed eyes was there greedily gnawing a mutton bone, and the\r\ngeneral who had served blamelessly for twenty-two years, flushed by a\r\nglass of vodka and the dinner; and the staff officer with the signet\r\nring, and Zherkov, uneasily glancing at them all, and Prince Andrew,\r\npale, with compressed lips and feverishly glittering eyes.\r\n\r\nIn a corner of the hut stood a standard captured from the French, and\r\nthe accountant with the naive face was feeling its texture, shaking his\r\nhead in perplexity--perhaps because the banner really interested him,\r\nperhaps because it was hard for him, hungry as he was, to look on at\r\na dinner where there was no place for him. In the next hut there was a\r\nFrench colonel who had been taken prisoner by our dragoons. Our officers\r\nwere flocking in to look at him. Prince Bagration was thanking the\r\nindividual commanders and inquiring into details of the action and our\r\nlosses. The general whose regiment had been inspected at Braunau was\r\ninforming the prince that as soon as the action began he had withdrawn\r\nfrom the wood, mustered the men who were woodcutting, and, allowing the\r\nFrench to pass him, had made a bayonet charge with two battalions and\r\nhad broken up the French troops.\r\n\r\n\"When I saw, your excellency, that their first battalion was\r\ndisorganized, I stopped in the road and thought: 'I'll let them come\r\non and will meet them with the fire of the whole battalion'--and that's\r\nwhat I did.\"\r\n\r\nThe general had so wished to do this and was so sorry he had not managed\r\nto do it that it seemed to him as if it had really happened. Perhaps\r\nit might really have been so? Could one possibly make out amid all that\r\nconfusion what did or did not happen?\r\n\r\n\"By the way, your excellency, I should inform you,\" he\r\ncontinued--remembering Dolokhov's conversation with Kutuzov and his last\r\ninterview with the gentleman-ranker--\"that Private Dolokhov, who was\r\nreduced to the ranks, took a French officer prisoner in my presence and\r\nparticularly distinguished himself.\"\r\n\r\n\"I saw the Pavlograd hussars attack there, your excellency,\" chimed in\r\nZherkov, looking uneasily around. He had not seen the hussars all that\r\nday, but had heard about them from an infantry officer. \"They broke up\r\ntwo squares, your excellency.\"\r\n\r\nSeveral of those present smiled at Zherkov's words, expecting one of his\r\nusual jokes, but noticing that what he was saying redounded to the glory\r\nof our arms and of the day's work, they assumed a serious expression,\r\nthough many of them knew that what he was saying was a lie devoid of any\r\nfoundation. Prince Bagration turned to the old colonel:\r\n\r\n\"Gentlemen, I thank you all; all arms have behaved heroically: infantry,\r\ncavalry, and artillery. How was it that two guns were abandoned in\r\nthe center?\" he inquired, searching with his eyes for someone. (Prince\r\nBagration did not ask about the guns on the left flank; he knew that all\r\nthe guns there had been abandoned at the very beginning of the action.)\r\n\"I think I sent you?\" he added, turning to the staff officer on duty.\r\n\r\n\"One was damaged,\" answered the staff officer, \"and the other I can't\r\nunderstand. I was there all the time giving orders and had only just\r\nleft.... It is true that it was hot there,\" he added, modestly.\r\n\r\nSomeone mentioned that Captain Tushin was bivouacking close to the\r\nvillage and had already been sent for.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, but you were there?\" said Prince Bagration, addressing Prince\r\nAndrew.\r\n\r\n\"Of course, we only just missed one another,\" said the staff officer,\r\nwith a smile to Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"I had not the pleasure of seeing you,\" said Prince Andrew, coldly and\r\nabruptly.\r\n\r\nAll were silent. Tushin appeared at the threshold and made his way\r\ntimidly from behind the backs of the generals. As he stepped past the\r\ngenerals in the crowded hut, feeling embarrassed as he always was by the\r\nsight of his superiors, he did not notice the staff of the banner and\r\nstumbled over it. Several of those present laughed.\r\n\r\n\"How was it a gun was abandoned?\" asked Bagration, frowning, not so much\r\nat the captain as at those who were laughing, among whom Zherkov laughed\r\nloudest.\r\n\r\nOnly now, when he was confronted by the stern authorities, did his guilt\r\nand the disgrace of having lost two guns and yet remaining alive present\r\nthemselves to Tushin in all their horror. He had been so excited that\r\nhe had not thought about it until that moment. The officers' laughter\r\nconfused him still more. He stood before Bagration with his lower\r\njaw trembling and was hardly able to mutter: \"I don't know... your\r\nexcellency... I had no men... your excellency.\"\r\n\r\n\"You might have taken some from the covering troops.\"\r\n\r\nTushin did not say that there were no covering troops, though that\r\nwas perfectly true. He was afraid of getting some other officer into\r\ntrouble, and silently fixed his eyes on Bagration as a schoolboy who has\r\nblundered looks at an examiner.\r\n\r\nThe silence lasted some time. Prince Bagration, apparently not wishing\r\nto be severe, found nothing to say; the others did not venture to\r\nintervene. Prince Andrew looked at Tushin from under his brows and his\r\nfingers twitched nervously.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency!\" Prince Andrew broke the silence with his abrupt\r\nvoice, \"you were pleased to send me to Captain Tushin's battery. I went\r\nthere and found two thirds of the men and horses knocked out, two guns\r\nsmashed, and no supports at all.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Bagration and Tushin looked with equal intentness at Bolkonski,\r\nwho spoke with suppressed agitation.\r\n\r\n\"And, if your excellency will allow me to express my opinion,\" he\r\ncontinued, \"we owe today's success chiefly to the action of that battery\r\nand the heroic endurance of Captain Tushin and his company,\" and without\r\nawaiting a reply, Prince Andrew rose and left the table.\r\n\r\nPrince Bagration looked at Tushin, evidently reluctant to show distrust\r\nin Bolkonski's emphatic opinion yet not feeling able fully to credit it,\r\nbent his head, and told Tushin that he could go. Prince Andrew went out\r\nwith him.\r\n\r\n\"Thank you; you saved me, my dear fellow!\" said Tushin.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew gave him a look, but said nothing and went away. He felt\r\nsad and depressed. It was all so strange, so unlike what he had hoped.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Who are they? Why are they here? What do they want? And when will all\r\nthis end?\" thought Rostov, looking at the changing shadows before\r\nhim. The pain in his arm became more and more intense. Irresistible\r\ndrowsiness overpowered him, red rings danced before his eyes, and the\r\nimpression of those voices and faces and a sense of loneliness merged\r\nwith the physical pain. It was they, these soldiers--wounded and\r\nunwounded--it was they who were crushing, weighing down, and twisting\r\nthe sinews and scorching the flesh of his sprained arm and shoulder. To\r\nrid himself of them he closed his eyes.\r\n\r\nFor a moment he dozed, but in that short interval innumerable things\r\nappeared to him in a dream: his mother and her large white hand, Sonya's\r\nthin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and laughter, Denisov with his\r\nvoice and mustache, and Telyanin and all that affair with Telyanin and\r\nBogdanich. That affair was the same thing as this soldier with the harsh\r\nvoice, and it was that affair and this soldier that were so agonizingly,\r\nincessantly pulling and pressing his arm and always dragging it in one\r\ndirection. He tried to get away from them, but they would not for an\r\ninstant let his shoulder move a hair's breadth. It would not ache--it\r\nwould be well--if only they did not pull it, but it was impossible to\r\nget rid of them.\r\n\r\nHe opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of night hung less\r\nthan a yard above the glow of the charcoal. Flakes of falling snow were\r\nfluttering in that light. Tushin had not returned, the doctor had not\r\ncome. He was alone now, except for a soldier who was sitting naked at\r\nthe other side of the fire, warming his thin yellow body.\r\n\r\n\"Nobody wants me!\" thought Rostov. \"There is no one to help me or pity\r\nme. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy, and loved.\" He sighed and,\r\ndoing so, groaned involuntarily.\r\n\r\n\"Eh, is anything hurting you?\" asked the soldier, shaking his shirt out\r\nover the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and added:\r\n\"What a lot of men have been crippled today--frightful!\"\r\n\r\nRostov did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the snowflakes\r\nfluttering above the fire and remembered a Russian winter at his warm,\r\nbright home, his fluffy fur coat, his quickly gliding sleigh, his\r\nhealthy body, and all the affection and care of his family. \"And why did\r\nI come here?\" he wondered.\r\n\r\nNext day the French army did not renew their attack, and the remnant of\r\nBagration's detachment was reunited to Kutuzov's army.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK THREE: 1805\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I\r\n\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili was not a man who deliberately thought out his plans.\r\nStill less did he think of injuring anyone for his own advantage. He\r\nwas merely a man of the world who had got on and to whom getting on had\r\nbecome a habit. Schemes and devices for which he never rightly accounted\r\nto himself, but which formed the whole interest of his life,\r\nwere constantly shaping themselves in his mind, arising from the\r\ncircumstances and persons he met. Of these plans he had not merely one\r\nor two in his head but dozens, some only beginning to form themselves,\r\nsome approaching achievement, and some in course of disintegration. He\r\ndid not, for instance, say to himself: \"This man now has influence, I\r\nmust gain his confidence and friendship and through him obtain a special\r\ngrant.\" Nor did he say to himself: \"Pierre is a rich man, I must entice\r\nhim to marry my daughter and lend me the forty thousand rubles I need.\"\r\nBut when he came across a man of position his instinct immediately told\r\nhim that this man could be useful, and without any premeditation Prince\r\nVasili took the first opportunity to gain his confidence, flatter him,\r\nbecome intimate with him, and finally make his request.\r\n\r\nHe had Pierre at hand in Moscow and procured for him an appointment as\r\nGentleman of the Bedchamber, which at that time conferred the status of\r\nCouncilor of State, and insisted on the young man accompanying him to\r\nPetersburg and staying at his house. With apparent absent-mindedness,\r\nyet with unhesitating assurance that he was doing the right thing,\r\nPrince Vasili did everything to get Pierre to marry his daughter. Had he\r\nthought out his plans beforehand he could not have been so natural and\r\nshown such unaffected familiarity in intercourse with everybody both\r\nabove and below him in social standing. Something always drew him toward\r\nthose richer and more powerful than himself and he had rare skill in\r\nseizing the most opportune moment for making use of people.\r\n\r\nPierre, on unexpectedly becoming Count Bezukhov and a rich man, felt\r\nhimself after his recent loneliness and freedom from cares so beset and\r\npreoccupied that only in bed was he able to be by himself. He had to\r\nsign papers, to present himself at government offices, the purpose of\r\nwhich was not clear to him, to question his chief steward, to visit his\r\nestate near Moscow, and to receive many people who formerly did not\r\neven wish to know of his existence but would now have been offended\r\nand grieved had he chosen not to see them. These different\r\npeople--businessmen, relations, and acquaintances alike--were all\r\ndisposed to treat the young heir in the most friendly and flattering\r\nmanner: they were all evidently firmly convinced of Pierre's noble\r\nqualities. He was always hearing such words as: \"With your remarkable\r\nkindness,\" or, \"With your excellent heart,\" \"You are yourself so\r\nhonorable Count,\" or, \"Were he as clever as you,\" and so on, till\r\nhe began sincerely to believe in his own exceptional kindness and\r\nextraordinary intelligence, the more so as in the depth of his heart it\r\nhad always seemed to him that he really was very kind and intelligent.\r\nEven people who had formerly been spiteful toward him and evidently\r\nunfriendly now became gentle and affectionate. The angry eldest\r\nprincess, with the long waist and hair plastered down like a doll's,\r\nhad come into Pierre's room after the funeral. With drooping eyes\r\nand frequent blushes she told him she was very sorry about their past\r\nmisunderstandings and did not now feel she had a right to ask him for\r\nanything, except only for permission, after the blow she had received,\r\nto remain for a few weeks longer in the house she so loved and where\r\nshe had sacrificed so much. She could not refrain from weeping at these\r\nwords. Touched that this statuesque princess could so change, Pierre\r\ntook her hand and begged her forgiveness, without knowing what for.\r\nFrom that day the eldest princess quite changed toward Pierre and began\r\nknitting a striped scarf for him.\r\n\r\n\"Do this for my sake, mon cher; after all, she had to put up with a\r\ngreat deal from the deceased,\" said Prince Vasili to him, handing him a\r\ndeed to sign for the princess' benefit.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to throw\r\nthis bone--a bill for thirty thousand rubles--to the poor princess that\r\nit might not occur to her to speak of his share in the affair of the\r\ninlaid portfolio. Pierre signed the deed and after that the princess\r\ngrew still kinder. The younger sisters also became affectionate to him,\r\nespecially the youngest, the pretty one with the mole, who often made\r\nhim feel confused by her smiles and her own confusion when meeting him.\r\n\r\nIt seemed so natural to Pierre that everyone should like him, and it\r\nwould have seemed so unnatural had anyone disliked him, that he could\r\nnot but believe in the sincerity of those around him. Besides, he had\r\nno time to ask himself whether these people were sincere or not. He\r\nwas always busy and always felt in a state of mild and cheerful\r\nintoxication. He felt as though he were the center of some important and\r\ngeneral movement; that something was constantly expected of him, that if\r\nhe did not do it he would grieve and disappoint many people, but if he\r\ndid this and that, all would be well; and he did what was demanded of\r\nhim, but still that happy result always remained in the future.\r\n\r\nMore than anyone else, Prince Vasili took possession of Pierre's affairs\r\nand of Pierre himself in those early days. From the death of Count\r\nBezukhov he did not let go his hold of the lad. He had the air of a\r\nman oppressed by business, weary and suffering, who yet would not, for\r\npity's sake, leave this helpless youth who, after all, was the son of\r\nhis old friend and the possessor of such enormous wealth, to the caprice\r\nof fate and the designs of rogues. During the few days he spent in\r\nMoscow after the death of Count Bezukhov, he would call Pierre, or go to\r\nhim himself, and tell him what ought to be done in a tone of weariness\r\nand assurance, as if he were adding every time: \"You know I am\r\noverwhelmed with business and it is purely out of charity that I trouble\r\nmyself about you, and you also know quite well that what I propose is\r\nthe only thing possible.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, my dear fellow, tomorrow we are off at last,\" said Prince Vasili\r\none day, closing his eyes and fingering Pierre's elbow, speaking as if\r\nhe were saying something which had long since been agreed upon and could\r\nnot now be altered. \"We start tomorrow and I'm giving you a place in\r\nmy carriage. I am very glad. All our important business here is now\r\nsettled, and I ought to have been off long ago. Here is something I have\r\nreceived from the chancellor. I asked him for you, and you have been\r\nentered in the diplomatic corps and made a Gentleman of the Bedchamber.\r\nThe diplomatic career now lies open before you.\"\r\n\r\nNotwithstanding the tone of wearied assurance with which these words\r\nwere pronounced, Pierre, who had so long been considering his career,\r\nwished to make some suggestion. But Prince Vasili interrupted him in the\r\nspecial deep cooing tone, precluding the possibility of interrupting\r\nhis speech, which he used in extreme cases when special persuasion was\r\nneeded.\r\n\r\n\"Mais, mon cher, I did this for my own sake, to satisfy my conscience,\r\nand there is nothing to thank me for. No one has ever complained yet of\r\nbeing too much loved; and besides, you are free, you could throw it\r\nup tomorrow. But you will see everything for yourself when you get to\r\nPetersburg. It is high time for you to get away from these terrible\r\nrecollections.\" Prince Vasili sighed. \"Yes, yes, my boy. And my valet\r\ncan go in your carriage. Ah! I was nearly forgetting,\" he added. \"You\r\nknow, mon cher, your father and I had some accounts to settle, so I have\r\nreceived what was due from the Ryazan estate and will keep it; you won't\r\nrequire it. We'll go into the accounts later.\"\r\n\r\nBy \"what was due from the Ryazan estate\" Prince Vasili meant several\r\nthousand rubles quitrent received from Pierre's peasants, which the\r\nprince had retained for himself.\r\n\r\nIn Petersburg, as in Moscow, Pierre found the same atmosphere of\r\ngentleness and affection. He could not refuse the post, or rather the\r\nrank (for he did nothing), that Prince Vasili had procured for him,\r\nand acquaintances, invitations, and social occupations were so numerous\r\nthat, even more than in Moscow, he felt a sense of bewilderment, bustle,\r\nand continual expectation of some good, always in front of him but never\r\nattained.\r\n\r\nOf his former bachelor acquaintances many were no longer in Petersburg.\r\nThe Guards had gone to the front; Dolokhov had been reduced to the\r\nranks; Anatole was in the army somewhere in the provinces; Prince Andrew\r\nwas abroad; so Pierre had not the opportunity to spend his nights as he\r\nused to like to spend them, or to open his mind by intimate talks with\r\na friend older than himself and whom he respected. His whole time was\r\ntaken up with dinners and balls and was spent chiefly at Prince Vasili's\r\nhouse in the company of the stout princess, his wife, and his beautiful\r\ndaughter Helene.\r\n\r\nLike the others, Anna Pavlovna Scherer showed Pierre the change of\r\nattitude toward him that had taken place in society.\r\n\r\nFormerly in Anna Pavlovna's presence, Pierre had always felt that what\r\nhe was saying was out of place, tactless and unsuitable, that remarks\r\nwhich seemed to him clever while they formed in his mind became foolish\r\nas soon as he uttered them, while on the contrary Hippolyte's stupidest\r\nremarks came out clever and apt. Now everything Pierre said was\r\ncharmant. Even if Anna Pavlovna did not say so, he could see that she\r\nwished to and only refrained out of regard for his modesty.\r\n\r\nIn the beginning of the winter of 1805-6 Pierre received one of Anna\r\nPavlovna's usual pink notes with an invitation to which was added: \"You\r\nwill find the beautiful Helene here, whom it is always delightful to\r\nsee.\"\r\n\r\nWhen he read that sentence, Pierre felt for the first time that some\r\nlink which other people recognized had grown up between himself and\r\nHelene, and that thought both alarmed him, as if some obligation were\r\nbeing imposed on him which he could not fulfill, and pleased him as an\r\nentertaining supposition.\r\n\r\nAnna Pavlovna's \"At Home\" was like the former one, only the novelty she\r\noffered her guests this time was not Mortemart, but a diplomatist fresh\r\nfrom Berlin with the very latest details of the Emperor Alexander's\r\nvisit to Potsdam, and of how the two august friends had pledged\r\nthemselves in an indissoluble alliance to uphold the cause of justice\r\nagainst the enemy of the human race. Anna Pavlovna received Pierre with\r\na shade of melancholy, evidently relating to the young man's recent loss\r\nby the death of Count Bezukhov (everyone constantly considered it a\r\nduty to assure Pierre that he was greatly afflicted by the death of the\r\nfather he had hardly known), and her melancholy was just like the august\r\nmelancholy she showed at the mention of her most august Majesty the\r\nEmpress Marya Fedorovna. Pierre felt flattered by this. Anna Pavlovna\r\narranged the different groups in her drawing room with her habitual\r\nskill. The large group, in which were Prince Vasili and the generals,\r\nhad the benefit of the diplomat. Another group was at the tea table.\r\nPierre wished to join the former, but Anna Pavlovna--who was in the\r\nexcited condition of a commander on a battlefield to whom thousands\r\nof new and brilliant ideas occur which there is hardly time to put in\r\naction--seeing Pierre, touched his sleeve with her finger, saying:\r\n\r\n\"Wait a bit, I have something in view for you this evening.\" (She\r\nglanced at Helene and smiled at her.) \"My dear Helene, be charitable to\r\nmy poor aunt who adores you. Go and keep her company for ten minutes.\r\nAnd that it will not be too dull, here is the dear count who will not\r\nrefuse to accompany you.\"\r\n\r\nThe beauty went to the aunt, but Anna Pavlovna detained Pierre, looking\r\nas if she had to give some final necessary instructions.\r\n\r\n\"Isn't she exquisite?\" she said to Pierre, pointing to the stately\r\nbeauty as she glided away. \"And how she carries herself! For so young a\r\ngirl, such tact, such masterly perfection of manner! It comes from her\r\nheart. Happy the man who wins her! With her the least worldly of men\r\nwould occupy a most brilliant position in society. Don't you think so? I\r\nonly wanted to know your opinion,\" and Anna Pavlovna let Pierre go.\r\n\r\nPierre, in reply, sincerely agreed with her as to Helene's perfection of\r\nmanner. If he ever thought of Helene, it was just of her beauty and her\r\nremarkable skill in appearing silently dignified in society.\r\n\r\nThe old aunt received the two young people in her corner, but seemed\r\ndesirous of hiding her adoration for Helene and inclined rather to show\r\nher fear of Anna Pavlovna. She looked at her niece, as if inquiring what\r\nshe was to do with these people. On leaving them, Anna Pavlovna again\r\ntouched Pierre's sleeve, saying: \"I hope you won't say that it is dull\r\nin my house again,\" and she glanced at Helene.\r\n\r\nHelene smiled, with a look implying that she did not admit the\r\npossibility of anyone seeing her without being enchanted. The aunt\r\ncoughed, swallowed, and said in French that she was very pleased to see\r\nHelene, then she turned to Pierre with the same words of welcome and\r\nthe same look. In the middle of a dull and halting conversation, Helene\r\nturned to Pierre with the beautiful bright smile that she gave to\r\neveryone. Pierre was so used to that smile, and it had so little meaning\r\nfor him, that he paid no attention to it. The aunt was just speaking of\r\na collection of snuffboxes that had belonged to Pierre's father, Count\r\nBezukhov, and showed them her own box. Princess Helene asked to see the\r\nportrait of the aunt's husband on the box lid.\r\n\r\n\"That is probably the work of Vinesse,\" said Pierre, mentioning a\r\ncelebrated miniaturist, and he leaned over the table to take the\r\nsnuffbox while trying to hear what was being said at the other table.\r\n\r\nHe half rose, meaning to go round, but the aunt handed him the snuffbox,\r\npassing it across Helene's back. Helene stooped forward to make room,\r\nand looked round with a smile. She was, as always at evening parties,\r\nwearing a dress such as was then fashionable, cut very low at front and\r\nback. Her bust, which had always seemed like marble to Pierre, was\r\nso close to him that his shortsighted eyes could not but perceive the\r\nliving charm of her neck and shoulders, so near to his lips that he need\r\nonly have bent his head a little to have touched them. He was conscious\r\nof the warmth of her body, the scent of perfume, and the creaking of her\r\ncorset as she moved. He did not see her marble beauty forming a complete\r\nwhole with her dress, but all the charm of her body only covered by her\r\ngarments. And having once seen this he could not help being aware of it,\r\njust as we cannot renew an illusion we have once seen through.\r\n\r\n\"So you have never noticed before how beautiful I am?\" Helene seemed to\r\nsay. \"You had not noticed that I am a woman? Yes, I am a woman who\r\nmay belong to anyone--to you too,\" said her glance. And at that moment\r\nPierre felt that Helene not only could, but must, be his wife, and that\r\nit could not be otherwise.\r\n\r\nHe knew this at that moment as surely as if he had been standing at the\r\naltar with her. How and when this would be he did not know, he did not\r\neven know if it would be a good thing (he even felt, he knew not why,\r\nthat it would be a bad thing), but he knew it would happen.\r\n\r\nPierre dropped his eyes, lifted them again, and wished once more to see\r\nher as a distant beauty far removed from him, as he had seen her every\r\nday until then, but he could no longer do it. He could not, any more\r\nthan a man who has been looking at a tuft of steppe grass through the\r\nmist and taking it for a tree can again take it for a tree after he has\r\nonce recognized it to be a tuft of grass. She was terribly close to him.\r\nShe already had power over him, and between them there was no longer any\r\nbarrier except the barrier of his own will.\r\n\r\n\"Well, I will leave you in your little corner,\" came Anna Pavlovna's\r\nvoice, \"I see you are all right there.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Pierre, anxiously trying to remember whether he had done anything\r\nreprehensible, looked round with a blush. It seemed to him that everyone\r\nknew what had happened to him as he knew it himself.\r\n\r\nA little later when he went up to the large circle, Anna Pavlovna said\r\nto him: \"I hear you are refitting your Petersburg house?\"\r\n\r\nThis was true. The architect had told him that it was necessary, and\r\nPierre, without knowing why, was having his enormous Petersburg house\r\ndone up.\r\n\r\n\"That's a good thing, but don't move from Prince Vasili's. It is good to\r\nhave a friend like the prince,\" she said, smiling at Prince Vasili. \"I\r\nknow something about that. Don't I? And you are still so young. You need\r\nadvice. Don't be angry with me for exercising an old woman's privilege.\"\r\n\r\nShe paused, as women always do, expecting something after they have\r\nmentioned their age. \"If you marry it will be a different thing,\" she\r\ncontinued, uniting them both in one glance. Pierre did not look at\r\nHelene nor she at him. But she was just as terribly close to him. He\r\nmuttered something and colored.\r\n\r\nWhen he got home he could not sleep for a long time for thinking of what\r\nhad happened. What had happened? Nothing. He had merely understood that\r\nthe woman he had known as a child, of whom when her beauty was\r\nmentioned he had said absent-mindedly: \"Yes, she's good looking,\" he had\r\nunderstood that this woman might belong to him.\r\n\r\n\"But she's stupid. I have myself said she is stupid,\" he thought. \"There\r\nis something nasty, something wrong, in the feeling she excites in me.\r\nI have been told that her brother Anatole was in love with her and she\r\nwith him, that there was quite a scandal and that that's why he was sent\r\naway. Hippolyte is her brother... Prince Vasili is her father... It's\r\nbad....\" he reflected, but while he was thinking this (the reflection\r\nwas still incomplete), he caught himself smiling and was conscious\r\nthat another line of thought had sprung up, and while thinking of her\r\nworthlessness he was also dreaming of how she would be his wife, how she\r\nwould love him become quite different, and how all he had thought and\r\nheard of her might be false. And he again saw her not as the daughter\r\nof Prince Vasili, but visualized her whole body only veiled by its gray\r\ndress. \"But no! Why did this thought never occur to me before?\" and\r\nagain he told himself that it was impossible, that there would be\r\nsomething unnatural, and as it seemed to him dishonorable, in this\r\nmarriage. He recalled her former words and looks and the words and looks\r\nof those who had seen them together. He recalled Anna Pavlovna's words\r\nand looks when she spoke to him about his house, recalled thousands of\r\nsuch hints from Prince Vasili and others, and was seized by terror lest\r\nhe had already, in some way, bound himself to do something that was\r\nevidently wrong and that he ought not to do. But at the very time he was\r\nexpressing this conviction to himself, in another part of his mind her\r\nimage rose in all its womanly beauty.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II\r\n\r\n\r\nIn November, 1805, Prince Vasili had to go on a tour of inspection in\r\nfour different provinces. He had arranged this for himself so as to\r\nvisit his neglected estates at the same time and pick up his son Anatole\r\nwhere his regiment was stationed, and take him to visit Prince Nicholas\r\nBolkonski in order to arrange a match for him with the daughter of that\r\nrich old man. But before leaving home and undertaking these new affairs,\r\nPrince Vasili had to settle matters with Pierre, who, it is true, had\r\nlatterly spent whole days at home, that is, in Prince Vasili's house\r\nwhere he was staying, and had been absurd, excited, and foolish in\r\nHelene's presence (as a lover should be), but had not yet proposed to\r\nher.\r\n\r\n\"This is all very fine, but things must be settled,\" said Prince Vasili\r\nto himself, with a sorrowful sigh, one morning, feeling that Pierre\r\nwho was under such obligations to him (\"But never mind that\") was not\r\nbehaving very well in this matter. \"Youth, frivolity... well, God be\r\nwith him,\" thought he, relishing his own goodness of heart, \"but it must\r\nbe brought to a head. The day after tomorrow will be Lelya's name day.\r\nI will invite two or three people, and if he does not understand what he\r\nought to do then it will be my affair--yes, my affair. I am her father.\"\r\n\r\nSix weeks after Anna Pavlovna's \"At Home\" and after the sleepless night\r\nwhen he had decided that to marry Helene would be a calamity and that he\r\nought to avoid her and go away, Pierre, despite that decision, had not\r\nleft Prince Vasili's and felt with terror that in people's eyes he was\r\nevery day more and more connected with her, that it was impossible for\r\nhim to return to his former conception of her, that he could not break\r\naway from her, and that though it would be a terrible thing he would\r\nhave to unite his fate with hers. He might perhaps have been able\r\nto free himself but that Prince Vasili (who had rarely before given\r\nreceptions) now hardly let a day go by without having an evening party\r\nat which Pierre had to be present unless he wished to spoil the general\r\npleasure and disappoint everyone's expectation. Prince Vasili, in the\r\nrare moments when he was at home, would take Pierre's hand in passing\r\nand draw it downwards, or absent-mindedly hold out his wrinkled,\r\nclean-shaven cheek for Pierre to kiss and would say: \"Till tomorrow,\"\r\nor, \"Be in to dinner or I shall not see you,\" or, \"I am staying in for\r\nyour sake,\" and so on. And though Prince Vasili, when he stayed in (as\r\nhe said) for Pierre's sake, hardly exchanged a couple of words with him,\r\nPierre felt unable to disappoint him. Every day he said to himself one\r\nand the same thing: \"It is time I understood her and made up my mind\r\nwhat she really is. Was I mistaken before, or am I mistaken now? No, she\r\nis not stupid, she is an excellent girl,\" he sometimes said to himself\r\n\"she never makes a mistake, never says anything stupid. She says little,\r\nbut what she does say is always clear and simple, so she is not stupid.\r\nShe never was abashed and is not abashed now, so she cannot be a bad\r\nwoman!\" He had often begun to make reflections or think aloud in\r\nher company, and she had always answered him either by a brief but\r\nappropriate remark--showing that it did not interest her--or by a silent\r\nlook and smile which more palpably than anything else showed Pierre her\r\nsuperiority. She was right in regarding all arguments as nonsense in\r\ncomparison with that smile.\r\n\r\nShe always addressed him with a radiantly confiding smile meant for him\r\nalone, in which there was something more significant than in the general\r\nsmile that usually brightened her face. Pierre knew that everyone was\r\nwaiting for him to say a word and cross a certain line, and he knew that\r\nsooner or later he would step across it, but an incomprehensible terror\r\nseized him at the thought of that dreadful step. A thousand times during\r\nthat month and a half while he felt himself drawn nearer and nearer to\r\nthat dreadful abyss, Pierre said to himself: \"What am I doing? I need\r\nresolution. Can it be that I have none?\"\r\n\r\nHe wished to take a decision, but felt with dismay that in this matter\r\nhe lacked that strength of will which he had known in himself and really\r\npossessed. Pierre was one of those who are only strong when they feel\r\nthemselves quite innocent, and since that day when he was overpowered by\r\na feeling of desire while stooping over the snuffbox at Anna Pavlovna's,\r\nan unacknowledged sense of the guilt of that desire paralyzed his will.\r\n\r\nOn Helene's name day, a small party of just their own people--as his\r\nwife said--met for supper at Prince Vasili's. All these friends and\r\nrelations had been given to understand that the fate of the young girl\r\nwould be decided that evening. The visitors were seated at supper.\r\nPrincess Kuragina, a portly imposing woman who had once been handsome,\r\nwas sitting at the head of the table. On either side of her sat the\r\nmore important guests--an old general and his wife, and Anna Pavlovna\r\nScherer. At the other end sat the younger and less important guests, and\r\nthere too sat the members of the family, and Pierre and Helene, side by\r\nside. Prince Vasili was not having any supper: he went round the table\r\nin a merry mood, sitting down now by one, now by another, of the guests.\r\nTo each of them he made some careless and agreeable remark except to\r\nPierre and Helene, whose presence he seemed not to notice. He enlivened\r\nthe whole party. The wax candles burned brightly, the silver and crystal\r\ngleamed, so did the ladies' toilets and the gold and silver of the\r\nmen's epaulets; servants in scarlet liveries moved round the table, the\r\nclatter of plates, knives, and glasses mingled with the animated hum of\r\nseveral conversations. At one end of the table, the old chamberlain was\r\nheard assuring an old baroness that he loved her passionately, at which\r\nshe laughed; at the other could be heard the story of the misfortunes of\r\nsome Mary Viktorovna or other. At the center of the table, Prince Vasili\r\nattracted everybody's attention. With a facetious smile on his face, he\r\nwas telling the ladies about last Wednesday's meeting of the Imperial\r\nCouncil, at which Sergey Kuzmich Vyazmitinov, the new military governor\r\ngeneral of Petersburg, had received and read the then famous rescript\r\nof the Emperor Alexander from the army to Sergey Kuzmich, in which the\r\nEmperor said that he was receiving from all sides declarations of\r\nthe people's loyalty, that the declaration from Petersburg gave him\r\nparticular pleasure, and that he was proud to be at the head of such a\r\nnation and would endeavor to be worthy of it. This rescript began with\r\nthe words: \"Sergey Kuzmich, From all sides reports reach me,\" etc.\r\n\r\n\"Well, and so he never got farther than: 'Sergey Kuzmich'?\" asked one of\r\nthe ladies.\r\n\r\n\"Exactly, not a hair's breadth farther,\" answered Prince Vasili,\r\nlaughing, \"'Sergey Kuzmich... From all sides... From all sides... Sergey\r\nKuzmich...' Poor Vyazmitinov could not get any farther! He began the\r\nrescript again and again, but as soon as he uttered 'Sergey' he sobbed,\r\n'Kuz-mi-ch,' tears, and 'From all sides' was smothered in sobs and he\r\ncould get no farther. And again his handkerchief, and again: 'Sergey\r\nKuzmich, From all sides,'... and tears, till at last somebody else was\r\nasked to read it.\"\r\n\r\n\"Kuzmich... From all sides... and then tears,\" someone repeated\r\nlaughing.\r\n\r\n\"Don't be unkind,\" cried Anna Pavlovna from her end of the table holding\r\nup a threatening finger. \"He is such a worthy and excellent man, our\r\ndear Vyazmitinov....\"\r\n\r\nEverybody laughed a great deal. At the head of the table, where the\r\nhonored guests sat, everyone seemed to be in high spirits and under the\r\ninfluence of a variety of exciting sensations. Only Pierre and\r\nHelene sat silently side by side almost at the bottom of the table, a\r\nsuppressed smile brightening both their faces, a smile that had nothing\r\nto do with Sergey Kuzmich--a smile of bashfulness at their own feelings.\r\nBut much as all the rest laughed, talked, and joked, much as they\r\nenjoyed their Rhine wine, saute, and ices, and however they avoided\r\nlooking at the young couple, and heedless and unobservant as they seemed\r\nof them, one could feel by the occasional glances they gave that the\r\nstory about Sergey Kuzmich, the laughter, and the food were all a\r\npretense, and that the whole attention of that company was directed\r\nto--Pierre and Helene. Prince Vasili mimicked the sobbing of Sergey\r\nKuzmich and at the same time his eyes glanced toward his daughter, and\r\nwhile he laughed the expression on his face clearly said: \"Yes... it's\r\ngetting on, it will all be settled today.\" Anna Pavlovna threatened\r\nhim on behalf of \"our dear Vyazmitinov,\" and in her eyes, which, for an\r\ninstant, glanced at Pierre, Prince Vasili read a congratulation on his\r\nfuture son-in-law and on his daughter's happiness. The old princess\r\nsighed sadly as she offered some wine to the old lady next to her and\r\nglanced angrily at her daughter, and her sigh seemed to say: \"Yes,\r\nthere's nothing left for you and me but to sip sweet wine, my dear,\r\nnow that the time has come for these young ones to be thus boldly,\r\nprovocatively happy.\" \"And what nonsense all this is that I am saying!\"\r\nthought a diplomatist, glancing at the happy faces of the lovers.\r\n\"That's happiness!\"\r\n\r\nInto the insignificant, trifling, and artificial interests uniting that\r\nsociety had entered the simple feeling of the attraction of a healthy\r\nand handsome young man and woman for one another. And this human feeling\r\ndominated everything else and soared above all their affected chatter.\r\nJests fell flat, news was not interesting, and the animation was\r\nevidently forced. Not only the guests but even the footmen waiting at\r\ntable seemed to feel this, and they forgot their duties as they looked\r\nat the beautiful Helene with her radiant face and at the red, broad, and\r\nhappy though uneasy face of Pierre. It seemed as if the very light of\r\nthe candles was focused on those two happy faces alone.\r\n\r\nPierre felt that he was the center of it all, and this both pleased and\r\nembarrassed him. He was like a man entirely absorbed in some occupation.\r\nHe did not see, hear, or understand anything clearly. Only now and\r\nthen detached ideas and impressions from the world of reality shot\r\nunexpectedly through his mind.\r\n\r\n\"So it is all finished!\" he thought. \"And how has it all happened? How\r\nquickly! Now I know that not because of her alone, nor of myself alone,\r\nbut because of everyone, it must inevitably come about. They are all\r\nexpecting it, they are so sure that it will happen that I cannot, I\r\ncannot, disappoint them. But how will it be? I do not know, but it will\r\ncertainly happen!\" thought Pierre, glancing at those dazzling shoulders\r\nclose to his eyes.\r\n\r\nOr he would suddenly feel ashamed of he knew not what. He felt it\r\nawkward to attract everyone's attention and to be considered a lucky man\r\nand, with his plain face, to be looked on as a sort of Paris possessed\r\nof a Helen. \"But no doubt it always is and must be so!\" he consoled\r\nhimself. \"And besides, what have I done to bring it about? How did\r\nit begin? I traveled from Moscow with Prince Vasili. Then there was\r\nnothing. So why should I not stay at his house? Then I played cards with\r\nher and picked up her reticule and drove out with her. How did it begin,\r\nwhen did it all come about?\" And here he was sitting by her side as her\r\nbetrothed, seeing, hearing, feeling her nearness, her breathing, her\r\nmovements, her beauty. Then it would suddenly seem to him that it was\r\nnot she but he was so unusually beautiful, and that that was why they\r\nall looked so at him, and flattered by this general admiration he would\r\nexpand his chest, raise his head, and rejoice at his good fortune.\r\nSuddenly he heard a familiar voice repeating something to him a second\r\ntime. But Pierre was so absorbed that he did not understand what was\r\nsaid.\r\n\r\n\"I am asking you when you last heard from Bolkonski,\" repeated Prince\r\nVasili a third time. \"How absent-minded you are, my dear fellow.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili smiled, and Pierre noticed that everyone was smiling at\r\nhim and Helene. \"Well, what of it, if you all know it?\" thought Pierre.\r\n\"What of it? It's the truth!\" and he himself smiled his gentle childlike\r\nsmile, and Helene smiled too.\r\n\r\n\"When did you get the letter? Was it from Olmutz?\" repeated Prince\r\nVasili, who pretended to want to know this in order to settle a dispute.\r\n\r\n\"How can one talk or think of such trifles?\" thought Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, from Olmutz,\" he answered, with a sigh.\r\n\r\nAfter supper Pierre with his partner followed the others into the\r\ndrawing room. The guests began to disperse, some without taking leave\r\nof Helene. Some, as if unwilling to distract her from an important\r\noccupation, came up to her for a moment and made haste to go away,\r\nrefusing to let her see them off. The diplomatist preserved a mournful\r\nsilence as he left the drawing room. He pictured the vanity of his\r\ndiplomatic career in comparison with Pierre's happiness. The old general\r\ngrumbled at his wife when she asked how his leg was. \"Oh, the old fool,\"\r\nhe thought. \"That Princess Helene will be beautiful still when she's\r\nfifty.\"\r\n\r\n\"I think I may congratulate you,\" whispered Anna Pavlovna to the old\r\nprincess, kissing her soundly. \"If I hadn't this headache I'd have\r\nstayed longer.\"\r\n\r\nThe old princess did not reply, she was tormented by jealousy of her\r\ndaughter's happiness.\r\n\r\nWhile the guests were taking their leave Pierre remained for a long time\r\nalone with Helene in the little drawing room where they were sitting.\r\nHe had often before, during the last six weeks, remained alone with her,\r\nbut had never spoken to her of love. Now he felt that it was inevitable,\r\nbut he could not make up his mind to take the final step. He felt\r\nashamed; he felt that he was occupying someone else's place here beside\r\nHelene. \"This happiness is not for you,\" some inner voice whispered to\r\nhim. \"This happiness is for those who have not in them what there is in\r\nyou.\"\r\n\r\nBut, as he had to say something, he began by asking her whether she was\r\nsatisfied with the party. She replied in her usual simple manner that\r\nthis name day of hers had been one of the pleasantest she had ever had.\r\n\r\nSome of the nearest relatives had not yet left. They were sitting in\r\nthe large drawing room. Prince Vasili came up to Pierre with languid\r\nfootsteps. Pierre rose and said it was getting late. Prince Vasili gave\r\nhim a look of stern inquiry, as though what Pierre had just said was\r\nso strange that one could not take it in. But then the expression of\r\nseverity changed, and he drew Pierre's hand downwards, made him sit\r\ndown, and smiled affectionately.\r\n\r\n\"Well, Lelya?\" he asked, turning instantly to his daughter and\r\naddressing her with the careless tone of habitual tenderness natural to\r\nparents who have petted their children from babyhood, but which Prince\r\nVasili had only acquired by imitating other parents.\r\n\r\nAnd he again turned to Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Sergey Kuzmich--From all sides-\" he said, unbuttoning the top button of\r\nhis waistcoat.\r\n\r\nPierre smiled, but his smile showed that he knew it was not the story\r\nabout Sergey Kuzmich that interested Prince Vasili just then, and Prince\r\nVasili saw that Pierre knew this. He suddenly muttered something and\r\nwent away. It seemed to Pierre that even the prince was disconcerted.\r\nThe sight of the discomposure of that old man of the world touched\r\nPierre: he looked at Helene and she too seemed disconcerted, and her\r\nlook seemed to say: \"Well, it is your own fault.\"\r\n\r\n\"The step must be taken but I cannot, I cannot!\" thought Pierre, and he\r\nagain began speaking about indifferent matters, about Sergey Kuzmich,\r\nasking what the point of the story was as he had not heard it properly.\r\nHelene answered with a smile that she too had missed it.\r\n\r\nWhen Prince Vasili returned to the drawing room, the princess, his wife,\r\nwas talking in low tones to the elderly lady about Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Of course, it is a very brilliant match, but happiness, my dear...\"\r\n\r\n\"Marriages are made in heaven,\" replied the elderly lady.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili passed by, seeming not to hear the ladies, and sat down on\r\na sofa in a far corner of the room. He closed his eyes and seemed to be\r\ndozing. His head sank forward and then he roused himself.\r\n\r\n\"Aline,\" he said to his wife, \"go and see what they are about.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess went up to the door, passed by it with a dignified and\r\nindifferent air, and glanced into the little drawing room. Pierre and\r\nHelene still sat talking just as before.\r\n\r\n\"Still the same,\" she said to her husband.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili frowned, twisting his mouth, his cheeks quivered and his\r\nface assumed the coarse, unpleasant expression peculiar to him. Shaking\r\nhimself, he rose, threw back his head, and with resolute steps went\r\npast the ladies into the little drawing room. With quick steps he went\r\njoyfully up to Pierre. His face was so unusually triumphant that Pierre\r\nrose in alarm on seeing it.\r\n\r\n\"Thank God!\" said Prince Vasili. \"My wife has told me everything!\" (He\r\nput one arm around Pierre and the other around his daughter.)--\"My dear\r\nboy... Lelya... I am very pleased.\" (His voice trembled.) \"I loved your\r\nfather... and she will make you a good wife... God bless you!...\"\r\n\r\nHe embraced his daughter, and then again Pierre, and kissed him with his\r\nmalodorous mouth. Tears actually moistened his cheeks.\r\n\r\n\"Princess, come here!\" he shouted.\r\n\r\nThe old princess came in and also wept. The elderly lady was using\r\nher handkerchief too. Pierre was kissed, and he kissed the beautiful\r\nHelene's hand several times. After a while they were left alone again.\r\n\r\n\"All this had to be and could not be otherwise,\" thought Pierre, \"so\r\nit is useless to ask whether it is good or bad. It is good because it's\r\ndefinite and one is rid of the old tormenting doubt.\" Pierre held the\r\nhand of his betrothed in silence, looking at her beautiful bosom as it\r\nrose and fell.\r\n\r\n\"Helene!\" he said aloud and paused.\r\n\r\n\"Something special is always said in such cases,\" he thought, but could\r\nnot remember what it was that people say. He looked at her face. She\r\ndrew nearer to him. Her face flushed.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, take those off... those...\" she said, pointing to his spectacles.\r\n\r\nPierre took them off, and his eyes, besides the strange look eyes have\r\nfrom which spectacles have just been removed, had also a frightened and\r\ninquiring look. He was about to stoop over her hand and kiss it, but\r\nwith a rapid, almost brutal movement of her head, she intercepted his\r\nlips and met them with her own. Her face struck Pierre, by its altered,\r\nunpleasantly excited expression.\r\n\r\n\"It is too late now, it's done; besides I love her,\" thought Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Je vous aime!\" * he said, remembering what has to be said at such\r\nmoments: but his words sounded so weak that he felt ashamed of himself.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"I love you.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nSix weeks later he was married, and settled in Count Bezukhov's large,\r\nnewly furnished Petersburg house, the happy possessor, as people said,\r\nof a wife who was a celebrated beauty and of millions of money.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III\r\n\r\n\r\nOld Prince Nicholas Bolkonski received a letter from Prince Vasili in\r\nNovember, 1805, announcing that he and his son would be paying him a\r\nvisit. \"I am starting on a journey of inspection, and of course I shall\r\nthink nothing of an extra seventy miles to come and see you at the same\r\ntime, my honored benefactor,\" wrote Prince Vasili. \"My son Anatole is\r\naccompanying me on his way to the army, so I hope you will allow him\r\npersonally to express the deep respect that, emulating his father, he\r\nfeels for you.\"\r\n\r\n\"It seems that there will be no need to bring Mary out, suitors are\r\ncoming to us of their own accord,\" incautiously remarked the little\r\nprincess on hearing the news.\r\n\r\nPrince Nicholas frowned, but said nothing.\r\n\r\nA fortnight after the letter Prince Vasili's servants came one evening\r\nin advance of him, and he and his son arrived next day.\r\n\r\nOld Bolkonski had always had a poor opinion of Prince Vasili's\r\ncharacter, but more so recently, since in the new reigns of Paul and\r\nAlexander Prince Vasili had risen to high position and honors. And now,\r\nfrom the hints contained in his letter and given by the little princess,\r\nhe saw which way the wind was blowing, and his low opinion changed into\r\na feeling of contemptuous ill will. He snorted whenever he mentioned\r\nhim. On the day of Prince Vasili's arrival, Prince Bolkonski was\r\nparticularly discontented and out of temper. Whether he was in a bad\r\ntemper because Prince Vasili was coming, or whether his being in a bad\r\ntemper made him specially annoyed at Prince Vasili's visit, he was in a\r\nbad temper, and in the morning Tikhon had already advised the architect\r\nnot to go to the prince with his report.\r\n\r\n\"Do you hear how he's walking?\" said Tikhon, drawing the architect's\r\nattention to the sound of the prince's footsteps. \"Stepping flat on his\r\nheels--we know what that means....\"\r\n\r\nHowever, at nine o'clock the prince, in his velvet coat with a sable\r\ncollar and cap, went out for his usual walk. It had snowed the day\r\nbefore and the path to the hothouse, along which the prince was in the\r\nhabit of walking, had been swept: the marks of the broom were still\r\nvisible in the snow and a shovel had been left sticking in one of the\r\nsoft snowbanks that bordered both sides of the path. The prince went\r\nthrough the conservatories, the serfs' quarters, and the outbuildings,\r\nfrowning and silent.\r\n\r\n\"Can a sleigh pass?\" he asked his overseer, a venerable man, resembling\r\nhis master in manners and looks, who was accompanying him back to the\r\nhouse.\r\n\r\n\"The snow is deep. I am having the avenue swept, your honor.\"\r\n\r\nThe prince bowed his head and went up to the porch. \"God be thanked,\"\r\nthought the overseer, \"the storm has blown over!\"\r\n\r\n\"It would have been hard to drive up, your honor,\" he added. \"I heard,\r\nyour honor, that a minister is coming to visit your honor.\"\r\n\r\nThe prince turned round to the overseer and fixed his eyes on him,\r\nfrowning.\r\n\r\n\"What? A minister? What minister? Who gave orders?\" he said in his\r\nshrill, harsh voice. \"The road is not swept for the princess my\r\ndaughter, but for a minister! For me, there are no ministers!\"\r\n\r\n\"Your honor, I thought...\"\r\n\r\n\"You thought!\" shouted the prince, his words coming more and more\r\nrapidly and indistinctly. \"You thought!... Rascals! Blackguards!... I'll\r\nteach you to think!\" and lifting his stick he swung it and would have\r\nhit Alpatych, the overseer, had not the latter instinctively avoided the\r\nblow. \"Thought... Blackguards...\" shouted the prince rapidly.\r\n\r\nBut although Alpatych, frightened at his own temerity in avoiding the\r\nstroke, came up to the prince, bowing his bald head resignedly before\r\nhim, or perhaps for that very reason, the prince, though he continued to\r\nshout: \"Blackguards!... Throw the snow back on the road!\" did not lift\r\nhis stick again but hurried into the house.\r\n\r\nBefore dinner, Princess Mary and Mademoiselle Bourienne, who knew\r\nthat the prince was in a bad humor, stood awaiting him; Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne with a radiant face that said: \"I know nothing, I am the same\r\nas usual,\" and Princess Mary pale, frightened, and with downcast eyes.\r\nWhat she found hardest to bear was to know that on such occasions she\r\nought to behave like Mademoiselle Bourienne, but could not. She thought:\r\n\"If I seem not to notice he will think that I do not sympathize with\r\nhim; if I seem sad and out of spirits myself, he will say (as he has\r\ndone before) that I'm in the dumps.\"\r\n\r\nThe prince looked at his daughter's frightened face and snorted.\r\n\r\n\"Fool... or dummy!\" he muttered.\r\n\r\n\"And the other one is not here. They've been telling tales,\" he\r\nthought--referring to the little princess who was not in the dining\r\nroom.\r\n\r\n\"Where is the princess?\" he asked. \"Hiding?\"\r\n\r\n\"She is not very well,\" answered Mademoiselle Bourienne with a bright\r\nsmile, \"so she won't come down. It is natural in her state.\"\r\n\r\n\"Hm! Hm!\" muttered the prince, sitting down.\r\n\r\nHis plate seemed to him not quite clean, and pointing to a spot he\r\nflung it away. Tikhon caught it and handed it to a footman. The little\r\nprincess was not unwell, but had such an overpowering fear of the prince\r\nthat, hearing he was in a bad humor, she had decided not to appear.\r\n\r\n\"I am afraid for the baby,\" she said to Mademoiselle Bourienne: \"Heaven\r\nknows what a fright might do.\"\r\n\r\nIn general at Bald Hills the little princess lived in constant fear, and\r\nwith a sense of antipathy to the old prince which she did not\r\nrealize because the fear was so much the stronger feeling. The prince\r\nreciprocated this antipathy, but it was overpowered by his contempt\r\nfor her. When the little princess had grown accustomed to life at Bald\r\nHills, she took a special fancy to Mademoiselle Bourienne, spent whole\r\ndays with her, asked her to sleep in her room, and often talked with her\r\nabout the old prince and criticized him.\r\n\r\n\"So we are to have visitors, mon prince?\" remarked Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne, unfolding her white napkin with her rosy fingers. \"His\r\nExcellency Prince Vasili Kuragin and his son, I understand?\" she said\r\ninquiringly.\r\n\r\n\"Hm!--his excellency is a puppy.... I got him his appointment in the\r\nservice,\" said the prince disdainfully. \"Why his son is coming I don't\r\nunderstand. Perhaps Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary know. I don't\r\nwant him.\" (He looked at his blushing daughter.) \"Are you unwell today?\r\nEh? Afraid of the 'minister' as that idiot Alpatych called him this\r\nmorning?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, mon pere.\"\r\n\r\nThough Mademoiselle Bourienne had been so unsuccessful in her choice\r\nof a subject, she did not stop talking, but chattered about the\r\nconservatories and the beauty of a flower that had just opened, and\r\nafter the soup the prince became more genial.\r\n\r\nAfter dinner, he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess\r\nwas sitting at a small table, chattering with Masha, her maid. She grew\r\npale on seeing her father-in-law.\r\n\r\nShe was much altered. She was now plain rather than pretty. Her cheeks\r\nhad sunk, her lip was drawn up, and her eyes drawn down.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I feel a kind of oppression,\" she said in reply to the prince's\r\nquestion as to how she felt.\r\n\r\n\"Do you want anything?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, merci, mon pere.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, all right, all right.\"\r\n\r\nHe left the room and went to the waiting room where Alpatych stood with\r\nbowed head.\r\n\r\n\"Has the snow been shoveled back?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, your excellency. Forgive me for heaven's sake... It was only my\r\nstupidity.\"\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right,\" interrupted the prince, and laughing his\r\nunnatural way, he stretched out his hand for Alpatych to kiss, and then\r\nproceeded to his study.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili arrived that evening. He was met in the avenue by coachmen\r\nand footmen, who, with loud shouts, dragged his sleighs up to one of the\r\nlodges over the road purposely laden with snow.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili and Anatole had separate rooms assigned to them.\r\n\r\nAnatole, having taken off his overcoat, sat with arms akimbo before a\r\ntable on a corner of which he smilingly and absent-mindedly fixed his\r\nlarge and handsome eyes. He regarded his whole life as a continual round\r\nof amusement which someone for some reason had to provide for him.\r\nAnd he looked on this visit to a churlish old man and a rich and ugly\r\nheiress in the same way. All this might, he thought, turn out very well\r\nand amusingly. \"And why not marry her if she really has so much money?\r\nThat never does any harm,\" thought Anatole.\r\n\r\nHe shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance which had\r\nbecome habitual to him and, his handsome head held high, entered his\r\nfather's room with the good-humored and victorious air natural to him.\r\nPrince Vasili's two valets were busy dressing him, and he looked round\r\nwith much animation and cheerfully nodded to his son as the latter\r\nentered, as if to say: \"Yes, that's how I want you to look.\"\r\n\r\n\"I say, Father, joking apart, is she very hideous?\" Anatole asked, as if\r\ncontinuing a conversation the subject of which had often been mentioned\r\nduring the journey.\r\n\r\n\"Enough! What nonsense! Above all, try to be respectful and cautious\r\nwith the old prince.\"\r\n\r\n\"If he starts a row I'll go away,\" said Prince Anatole. \"I can't bear\r\nthose old men! Eh?\"\r\n\r\n\"Remember, for you everything depends on this.\"\r\n\r\nIn the meantime, not only was it known in the maidservants' rooms that\r\nthe minister and his son had arrived, but the appearance of both had\r\nbeen minutely described. Princess Mary was sitting alone in her room,\r\nvainly trying to master her agitation.\r\n\r\n\"Why did they write, why did Lise tell me about it? It can never\r\nhappen!\" she said, looking at herself in the glass. \"How shall I enter\r\nthe drawing room? Even if I like him I can't now be myself with him.\"\r\nThe mere thought of her father's look filled her with terror. The little\r\nprincess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already received from Masha,\r\nthe lady's maid, the necessary report of how handsome the minister's son\r\nwas, with his rosy cheeks and dark eyebrows, and with what difficulty\r\nthe father had dragged his legs upstairs while the son had followed him\r\nlike an eagle, three steps at a time. Having received this information,\r\nthe little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne, whose chattering voices\r\nhad reached her from the corridor, went into Princess Mary's room.\r\n\r\n\"You know they've come, Marie?\" said the little princess, waddling in,\r\nand sinking heavily into an armchair.\r\n\r\nShe was no longer in the loose gown she generally wore in the morning,\r\nbut had on one of her best dresses. Her hair was carefully done and her\r\nface was animated, which, however, did not conceal its sunken and faded\r\noutlines. Dressed as she used to be in Petersburg society, it was still\r\nmore noticeable how much plainer she had become. Some unobtrusive touch\r\nhad been added to Mademoiselle Bourienne's toilet which rendered her\r\nfresh and pretty face yet more attractive.\r\n\r\n\"What! Are you going to remain as you are, dear princess?\" she began.\r\n\"They'll be announcing that the gentlemen are in the drawing room and we\r\nshall have to go down, and you have not smartened yourself up at all!\"\r\n\r\nThe little princess got up, rang for the maid, and hurriedly and merrily\r\nbegan to devise and carry out a plan of how Princess Mary should be\r\ndressed. Princess Mary's self-esteem was wounded by the fact that\r\nthe arrival of a suitor agitated her, and still more so by both her\r\ncompanions' not having the least conception that it could be otherwise.\r\nTo tell them that she felt ashamed for herself and for them would be to\r\nbetray her agitation, while to decline their offers to dress her would\r\nprolong their banter and insistence. She flushed, her beautiful eyes\r\ngrew dim, red blotches came on her face, and it took on the unattractive\r\nmartyrlike expression it so often wore, as she submitted herself to\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both these women quite sincerely tried\r\nto make her look pretty. She was so plain that neither of them could\r\nthink of her as a rival, so they began dressing her with perfect\r\nsincerity, and with the naive and firm conviction women have that dress\r\ncan make a face pretty.\r\n\r\n\"No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty,\" said Lise, looking\r\nsideways at Princess Mary from a little distance. \"You have a maroon\r\ndress, have it fetched. Really! You know the fate of your whole life may\r\nbe at stake. But this one is too light, it's not becoming!\"\r\n\r\nIt was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Mary\r\nthat was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the little\r\nprincess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon were placed\r\nin the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arranged lower on\r\nthe best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well. They forgot that\r\nthe frightened face and the figure could not be altered, and that\r\nhowever they might change the setting and adornment of that face, it\r\nwould still remain piteous and plain. After two or three changes to\r\nwhich Princess Mary meekly submitted, just as her hair had been arranged\r\non the top of her head (a style that quite altered and spoiled her\r\nlooks) and she had put on a maroon dress with a pale-blue scarf, the\r\nlittle princess walked twice round her, now adjusting a fold of the\r\ndress with her little hand, now arranging the scarf and looking at her\r\nwith her head bent first on one side and then on the other.\r\n\r\n\"No, it will not do,\" she said decidedly, clasping her hands. \"No, Mary,\r\nreally this dress does not suit you. I prefer you in your little gray\r\neveryday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. Katie,\" she said to the\r\nmaid, \"bring the princess her gray dress, and you'll see, Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne, how I shall arrange it,\" she added, smiling with a foretaste\r\nof artistic pleasure.\r\n\r\nBut when Katie brought the required dress, Princess Mary remained\r\nsitting motionless before the glass, looking at her face, and saw in the\r\nmirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth quivering, ready to burst\r\ninto sobs.\r\n\r\n\"Come, dear princess,\" said Mademoiselle Bourienne, \"just one more\r\nlittle effort.\"\r\n\r\nThe little princess, taking the dress from the maid, came up to Princess\r\nMary.\r\n\r\n\"Well, now we'll arrange something quite simple and becoming,\" she said.\r\n\r\nThe three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bourienne's, and Katie's, who was\r\nlaughing at something, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirping of\r\nbirds.\r\n\r\n\"No, leave me alone,\" said Princess Mary.\r\n\r\nHer voice sounded so serious and so sad that the chirping of the birds\r\nwas silenced at once. They looked at the beautiful, large, thoughtful\r\neyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing shiningly and imploringly at\r\nthem, and understood that it was useless and even cruel to insist.\r\n\r\n\"At least, change your coiffure,\" said the little princess. \"Didn't I\r\ntell you,\" she went on, turning reproachfully to Mademoiselle Bourienne,\r\n\"Mary's is a face which such a coiffure does not suit in the least. Not\r\nin the least! Please change it.\"\r\n\r\n\"Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It is all quite the same to me,\"\r\nanswered a voice struggling with tears.\r\n\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to own to themselves\r\nthat Princess Mary in this guise looked very plain, worse than usual,\r\nbut it was too late. She was looking at them with an expression they\r\nboth knew, an expression thoughtful and sad. This expression in Princess\r\nMary did not frighten them (she never inspired fear in anyone), but they\r\nknew that when it appeared on her face, she became mute and was not to\r\nbe shaken in her determination.\r\n\r\n\"You will change it, won't you?\" said Lise. And as Princess Mary gave no\r\nanswer, she left the room.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary was left alone. She did not comply with Lise's request,\r\nshe not only left her hair as it was, but did not even look in her\r\nglass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat with downcast eyes and\r\npondered. A husband, a man, a strong dominant and strangely attractive\r\nbeing rose in her imagination, and carried her into a totally different\r\nhappy world of his own. She fancied a child, her own--such as she had\r\nseen the day before in the arms of her nurse's daughter--at her own\r\nbreast, the husband standing by and gazing tenderly at her and the\r\nchild. \"But no, it is impossible, I am too ugly,\" she thought.\r\n\r\n\"Please come to tea. The prince will be out in a moment,\" came the\r\nmaid's voice at the door.\r\n\r\nShe roused herself, and felt appalled at what she had been thinking, and\r\nbefore going down she went into the room where the icons hung and, her\r\neyes fixed on the dark face of a large icon of the Saviour lit by a\r\nlamp, she stood before it with folded hands for a few moments. A painful\r\ndoubt filled her soul. Could the joy of love, of earthly love for a\r\nman, be for her? In her thoughts of marriage Princess Mary dreamed of\r\nhappiness and of children, but her strongest, most deeply hidden longing\r\nwas for earthly love. The more she tried to hide this feeling from\r\nothers and even from herself, the stronger it grew. \"O God,\" she said,\r\n\"how am I to stifle in my heart these temptations of the devil? How am I\r\nto renounce forever these vile fancies, so as peacefully to fulfill\r\nThy will?\" And scarcely had she put that question than God gave her the\r\nanswer in her own heart. \"Desire nothing for thyself, seek nothing, be\r\nnot anxious or envious. Man's future and thy own fate must remain hidden\r\nfrom thee, but live so that thou mayest be ready for anything. If it be\r\nGod's will to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to fulfill\r\nHis will.\" With this consoling thought (but yet with a hope for the\r\nfulfillment of her forbidden earthly longing) Princess Mary sighed,\r\nand having crossed herself went down, thinking neither of her gown and\r\ncoiffure nor of how she would go in nor of what she would say. What\r\ncould all that matter in comparison with the will of God, without Whose\r\ncare not a hair of man's head can fall?\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV\r\n\r\n\r\nWhen Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasili and his son were already\r\nin the drawing room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on her heels,\r\nthe gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and the little princess,\r\nindicating her to the gentlemen, said: \"Voila Marie!\" Princess Mary saw\r\nthem all and saw them in detail. She saw Prince Vasili's face, serious\r\nfor an instant at the sight of her, but immediately smiling again, and\r\nthe little princess curiously noting the impression \"Marie\" produced on\r\nthe visitors. And she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and\r\npretty face, and her unusually animated look which was fixed on him,\r\nbut him she could not see, she only saw something large, brilliant,\r\nand handsome moving toward her as she entered the room. Prince Vasili\r\napproached first, and she kissed the bold forehead that bent over her\r\nhand and answered his question by saying that, on the contrary, she\r\nremembered him quite well. Then Anatole came up to her. She still could\r\nnot see him. She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, and she\r\ntouched with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautiful\r\nlight-brown hair smelling of pomade. When she looked up at him she was\r\nstruck by his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb under a button\r\nof his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in, slightly\r\nswinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, looked with beaming\r\nface at the princess without speaking and evidently not thinking about\r\nher at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor ready or eloquent in\r\nconversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluable in society, of\r\ncomposure and imperturbable self-possession. If a man lacking in\r\nself-confidence remains dumb on a first introduction and betrays a\r\nconsciousness of the impropriety of such silence and an anxiety to find\r\nsomething to say, the effect is bad. But Anatole was dumb, swung his\r\nfoot, and smilingly examined the princess' hair. It was evident that he\r\ncould be silent in this way for a very long time. \"If anyone finds this\r\nsilence inconvenient, let him talk, but I don't want to,\" he seemed to\r\nsay. Besides this, in his behavior to women Anatole had a manner\r\nwhich particularly inspires in them curiosity, awe, and even love--a\r\nsupercilious consciousness of his own superiority. It was as if he said\r\nto them: \"I know you, I know you, but why should I bother about you?\r\nYou'd be only too glad, of course.\" Perhaps he did not really think this\r\nwhen he met women--even probably he did not, for in general he thought\r\nvery little--but his looks and manner gave that impression. The princess\r\nfelt this, and as if wishing to show him that she did not even dare\r\nexpect to interest him, she turned to his father. The conversation was\r\ngeneral and animated, thanks to Princess Lise's voice and little downy\r\nlip that lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Vasili with that\r\nplayful manner often employed by lively chatty people, and consisting\r\nin the assumption that between the person they so address and themselves\r\nthere are some semi-private, long-established jokes and amusing\r\nreminiscences, though no such reminiscences really exist--just as none\r\nexisted in this case. Prince Vasili readily adopted her tone and the\r\nlittle princess also drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew, into these\r\namusing recollections of things that had never occurred. Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne also shared them and even Princess Mary felt herself\r\npleasantly made to share in these merry reminiscences.\r\n\r\n\"Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all to\r\nourselves, dear prince,\" said the little princess (of course, in French)\r\nto Prince Vasili. \"It's not as at Annette's * receptions where you\r\nalways ran away; you remember cette chere Annette!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Anna Pavlovna.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Ah, but you won't talk politics to me like Annette!\"\r\n\r\n\"And our little tea table?\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, yes!\"\r\n\r\n\"Why is it you were never at Annette's?\" the little princess asked\r\nAnatole. \"Ah, I know, I know,\" she said with a sly glance, \"your brother\r\nHippolyte told me about your goings on. Oh!\" and she shook her finger at\r\nhim, \"I have even heard of your doings in Paris!\"\r\n\r\n\"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?\" asked Prince Vasili, turning to his son\r\nand seizing the little princess' arm as if she would have run away and\r\nhe had just managed to catch her, \"didn't he tell you how he himself was\r\npining for the dear princess, and how she showed him the door? Oh, she\r\nis a pearl among women, Princess,\" he added, turning to Princess Mary.\r\n\r\nWhen Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part seized the\r\nopportunity of joining in the general current of recollections.\r\n\r\nShe took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long since Anatole\r\nhad left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatole answered the\r\nFrenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with a smile, talked to her\r\nabout her native land. When he saw the pretty little Bourienne, Anatole\r\ncame to the conclusion that he would not find Bald Hills dull either.\r\n\"Not at all bad!\" he thought, examining her, \"not at all bad, that\r\nlittle companion! I hope she will bring her along with her when we're\r\nmarried, la petite est gentille.\" *\r\n\r\n\r\n    * The little one is charming.\r\n\r\n\r\nThe old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning and considering\r\nwhat he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyed him. \"What are\r\nPrince Vasili and that son of his to me? Prince Vasili is a shallow\r\nbraggart and his son, no doubt, is a fine specimen,\" he grumbled to\r\nhimself. What angered him was that the coming of these visitors revived\r\nin his mind an unsettled question he always tried to stifle, one about\r\nwhich he always deceived himself. The question was whether he could ever\r\nbring himself to part from his daughter and give her to a husband. The\r\nprince never directly asked himself that question, knowing beforehand\r\nthat he would have to answer it justly, and justice clashed not only\r\nwith his feelings but with the very possibility of life. Life without\r\nPrincess Mary, little as he seemed to value her, was unthinkable to\r\nhim. \"And why should she marry?\" he thought. \"To be unhappy for certain.\r\nThere's Lise, married to Andrew--a better husband one would think could\r\nhardly be found nowadays--but is she contented with her lot? And who\r\nwould marry Marie for love? Plain and awkward! They'll take her for her\r\nconnections and wealth. Are there no women living unmarried, and even\r\nthe happier for it?\" So thought Prince Bolkonski while dressing, and\r\nyet the question he was always putting off demanded an immediate\r\nanswer. Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evident intention of\r\nproposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably ask for an answer.\r\nHis birth and position in society were not bad. \"Well, I've nothing\r\nagainst it,\" the prince said to himself, \"but he must be worthy of her.\r\nAnd that is what we shall see.\"\r\n\r\n\"That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!\" he added aloud.\r\n\r\nHe entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancing rapidly\r\nround the company. He noticed the change in the little princess' dress,\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, Princess Mary's unbecoming coiffure,\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles, and the loneliness of his\r\ndaughter amid the general conversation. \"Got herself up like a fool!\"\r\nhe thought, looking irritably at her. \"She is shameless, and he ignores\r\nher!\"\r\n\r\nHe went straight up to Prince Vasili.\r\n\r\n\"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to see you!\"\r\n\r\n\"Friendship laughs at distance,\" began Prince Vasili in his usual rapid,\r\nself-confident, familiar tone. \"Here is my second son; please love and\r\nbefriend him.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Bolkonski surveyed Anatole.\r\n\r\n\"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!\" he said. \"Well, come and kiss\r\nme,\" and he offered his cheek.\r\n\r\nAnatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect\r\ncomposure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities his father had\r\ntold him to expect.\r\n\r\nPrince Bolkonski sat down in his usual place in the corner of the sofa\r\nand, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to it and began\r\nquestioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to listen\r\nattentively to what Prince Vasili said, but kept glancing at Princess\r\nMary.\r\n\r\n\"And so they are writing from Potsdam already?\" he said, repeating\r\nPrince Vasili's last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to his\r\ndaughter.\r\n\r\n\"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like that, eh?\" said he.\r\n\"Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new way for the\r\nvisitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future you are\r\nnever to dare to change your way of dress without my consent.\"\r\n\r\n\"It was my fault, mon pere,\" interceded the little princess, with a\r\nblush.\r\n\r\n\"You must do as you please,\" said Prince Bolkonski, bowing to his\r\ndaughter-in-law, \"but she need not make a fool of herself, she's plain\r\nenough as it is.\"\r\n\r\nAnd he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter, who was\r\nreduced to tears.\r\n\r\n\"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very well,\" said\r\nPrince Vasili.\r\n\r\n\"Now you, young prince, what's your name?\" said Prince Bolkonski,\r\nturning to Anatole, \"come here, let us talk and get acquainted.\"\r\n\r\n\"Now the fun begins,\" thought Anatole, sitting down with a smile beside\r\nthe old prince.\r\n\r\n\"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been educated abroad, not taught to\r\nread and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell me,\r\nmy dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards?\" asked the old man,\r\nscrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.\r\n\r\n\"No, I have been transferred to the line,\" said Anatole, hardly able to\r\nrestrain his laughter.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to serve the Tsar\r\nand the country? It is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve. Well, are\r\nyou off to the front?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but I am attached...\r\nwhat is it I am attached to, Papa?\" said Anatole, turning to his father\r\nwith a laugh.\r\n\r\n\"A splendid soldier, splendid! 'What am I attached to!' Ha, ha, ha!\"\r\nlaughed Prince Bolkonski, and Anatole laughed still louder. Suddenly\r\nPrince Bolkonski frowned.\r\n\r\n\"You may go,\" he said to Anatole.\r\n\r\nAnatole returned smiling to the ladies.\r\n\r\n\"And so you've had him educated abroad, Prince Vasili, haven't you?\"\r\nsaid the old prince to Prince Vasili.\r\n\r\n\"I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the education there\r\nis much better than ours.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is changed. The lad's\r\na fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with me now.\" He took Prince\r\nVasili's arm and led him to his study. As soon as they were alone\r\ntogether, Prince Vasili announced his hopes and wishes to the old\r\nprince.\r\n\r\n\"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can't part from her?\"\r\nsaid the old prince angrily. \"What an idea! I'm ready for it tomorrow!\r\nOnly let me tell you, I want to know my son-in-law better. You know\r\nmy principles--everything aboveboard? I will ask her tomorrow in your\r\npresence; if she is willing, then he can stay on. He can stay and I'll\r\nsee.\" The old prince snorted. \"Let her marry, it's all the same to me!\"\r\nhe screamed in the same piercing tone as when parting from his son.\r\n\r\n\"I will tell you frankly,\" said Prince Vasili in the tone of a crafty\r\nman convinced of the futility of being cunning with so keen-sighted\r\ncompanion. \"You know, you see right through people. Anatole is no\r\ngenius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; an excellent son or\r\nkinsman.\"\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right, we'll see!\"\r\n\r\nAs always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length of time\r\nwithout male society, on Anatole's appearance all the three women of\r\nPrince Bolkonski's household felt that their life had not been real\r\ntill then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling, and observing immediately\r\nincreased tenfold, and their life, which seemed to have been passed in\r\ndarkness, was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, full of significance.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure. The\r\nhandsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband absorbed\r\nall her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave, determined, manly, and\r\nmagnanimous. She felt convinced of that. Thousands of dreams of a future\r\nfamily life continually rose in her imagination. She drove them away and\r\ntried to conceal them.\r\n\r\n\"But am I not too cold with him?\" thought the princess. \"I try to be\r\nreserved because in the depth of my soul I feel too near to him already,\r\nbut then he cannot know what I think of him and may imagine that I do\r\nnot like him.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial to her new\r\nguest. \"Poor girl, she's devilish ugly!\" thought Anatole.\r\n\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by Anatole's\r\narrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome young woman\r\nwithout any definite position, without relations or even a country, did\r\nnot intend to devote her life to serving Prince Bolkonski, to reading\r\naloud to him and being friends with Princess Mary. Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne had long been waiting for a Russian prince who, able to\r\nappreciate at a glance her superiority to the plain, badly dressed,\r\nungainly Russian princesses, would fall in love with her and carry her\r\noff; and here at last was a Russian prince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew\r\na story, heard from her aunt but finished in her own way, which she\r\nliked to repeat to herself. It was the story of a girl who had been\r\nseduced, and to whom her poor mother (sa pauvre mere) appeared, and\r\nreproached her for yielding to a man without being married. Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne was often touched to tears as in imagination she told this\r\nstory to him, her seducer. And now he, a real Russian prince, had\r\nappeared. He would carry her away and then sa pauvre mere would appear\r\nand he would marry her. So her future shaped itself in Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne's head at the very time she was talking to Anatole about\r\nParis. It was not calculation that guided her (she did not even for a\r\nmoment consider what she should do), but all this had long been familiar\r\nto her, and now that Anatole had appeared it just grouped itself around\r\nhim and she wished and tried to please him as much as possible.\r\n\r\nThe little princess, like an old war horse that hears the trumpet,\r\nunconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared for the\r\nfamiliar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or any\r\nstruggle, but with naive and lighthearted gaiety.\r\n\r\nAlthough in female society Anatole usually assumed the role of a man\r\ntired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered by the\r\nspectacle of his power over these three women. Besides that, he was\r\nbeginning to feel for the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne\r\nthat passionate animal feeling which was apt to master him with great\r\nsuddenness and prompt him to the coarsest and most reckless actions.\r\n\r\nAfter tea, the company went into the sitting room and Princess Mary was\r\nasked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and in high spirits,\r\ncame and leaned on his elbows, facing her and beside Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with a painfully joyous emotion.\r\nHer favorite sonata bore her into a most intimately poetic world and the\r\nlook she felt upon her made that world still more poetic. But Anatole's\r\nexpression, though his eyes were fixed on her, referred not to her but\r\nto the movements of Mademoiselle Bourienne's little foot, which he was\r\nthen touching with his own under the clavichord. Mademoiselle Bourienne\r\nwas also looking at Princess Mary, and in her lovely eyes there was a\r\nlook of fearful joy and hope that was also new to the princess.\r\n\r\n\"How she loves me!\" thought Princess Mary. \"How happy I am now, and how\r\nhappy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Husband? Can it\r\nbe possible?\" she thought, not daring to look at his face, but still\r\nfeeling his eyes gazing at her.\r\n\r\nIn the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire, Anatole\r\nkissed Princess Mary's hand. She did not know how she found the courage,\r\nbut she looked straight into his handsome face as it came near to her\r\nshortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went up and kissed\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne's hand. (This was not etiquette, but then he did\r\neverything so simply and with such assurance!) Mademoiselle Bourienne\r\nflushed, and gave the princess a frightened look.\r\n\r\n\"What delicacy!\" thought the princess. \"Is it possible that Amelie\"\r\n(Mademoiselle Bourienne) \"thinks I could be jealous of her, and not\r\nvalue her pure affection and devotion to me?\" She went up to her and\r\nkissed her warmly. Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' hand.\r\n\r\n\"No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that you are behaving\r\nwell I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till then!\" she said. And\r\nsmilingly raising a finger at him, she left the room.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V\r\n\r\n\r\nThey all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon as he\r\ngot into bed, all kept awake a long time that night.\r\n\r\n\"Is he really to be my husband, this stranger who is so kind--yes, kind,\r\nthat is the chief thing,\" thought Princess Mary; and fear, which she had\r\nseldom experienced, came upon her. She feared to look round, it seemed\r\nto her that someone was there standing behind the screen in the dark\r\ncorner. And this someone was he--the devil--and he was also this man\r\nwith the white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.\r\n\r\nShe rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.\r\n\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the conservatory for a long\r\ntime that evening, vainly expecting someone, now smiling at someone, now\r\nworking herself up to tears with the imaginary words of her pauvre mere\r\nrebuking her for her fall.\r\n\r\nThe little princess grumbled to her maid that her bed was badly made.\r\nShe could not lie either on her face or on her side. Every position was\r\nawkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed her now more than\r\never because Anatole's presence had vividly recalled to her the time\r\nwhen she was not like that and when everything was light and gay. She\r\nsat in an armchair in her dressing jacket and nightcap and Katie, sleepy\r\nand disheveled, beat and turned the heavy feather bed for the third\r\ntime, muttering to herself.\r\n\r\n\"I told you it was all lumps and holes!\" the little princess repeated.\r\n\"I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so it's not my fault!\" and her\r\nvoice quivered like that of a child about to cry.\r\n\r\nThe old prince did not sleep either. Tikhon, half asleep, heard him\r\npacing angrily about and snorting. The old prince felt as though he\r\nhad been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the more pointed\r\nbecause it concerned not himself but another, his daughter, whom he\r\nloved more than himself. He kept telling himself that he would consider\r\nthe whole matter and decide what was right and how he should act, but\r\ninstead of that he only excited himself more and more.\r\n\r\n\"The first man that turns up--she forgets her father and everything\r\nelse, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags her tail and is unlike\r\nherself! Glad to throw her father over! And she knew I should notice\r\nit. Fr... fr... fr! And don't I see that that idiot had eyes only for\r\nBourienne--I shall have to get rid of her. And how is it she has not\r\npride enough to see it? If she has no pride for herself she might at\r\nleast have some for my sake! She must be shown that the blockhead thinks\r\nnothing of her and looks only at Bourienne. No, she has no pride... but\r\nI'll let her see....\"\r\n\r\nThe old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making a\r\nmistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne,\r\nPrincess Mary's self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not to\r\nbe parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with this\r\nthought, he called Tikhon and began to undress.\r\n\r\n\"What devil brought them here?\" thought he, while Tikhon was putting the\r\nnightshirt over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest. \"I never\r\ninvited them. They came to disturb my life--and there is not much of it\r\nleft.\"\r\n\r\n\"Devil take 'em!\" he muttered, while his head was still covered by the\r\nshirt.\r\n\r\nTikhon knew his master's habit of sometimes thinking aloud, and\r\ntherefore met with unaltered looks the angrily inquisitive expression of\r\nthe face that emerged from the shirt.\r\n\r\n\"Gone to bed?\" asked the prince.\r\n\r\nTikhon, like all good valets, instinctively knew the direction of his\r\nmaster's thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to Prince\r\nVasili and his son.\r\n\r\n\"They have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency.\"\r\n\r\n\"No good... no good...\" said the prince rapidly, and thrusting his feet\r\ninto his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressing gown, he\r\nwent to the couch on which he slept.\r\n\r\nThough no words had passed between Anatole and Mademoiselle Bourienne,\r\nthey quite understood one another as to the first part of their romance,\r\nup to the appearance of the pauvre mere; they understood that they had\r\nmuch to say to one another in private and so they had been seeking an\r\nopportunity since morning to meet one another alone. When Princess Mary\r\nwent to her father's room at the usual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and\r\nAnatole met in the conservatory.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary went to the door of the study with special trepidation.\r\nIt seemed to her that not only did everybody know that her fate would be\r\ndecided that day, but that they also knew what she thought about it.\r\nShe read this in Tikhon's face and in that of Prince Vasili's valet, who\r\nmade her a low bow when she met him in the corridor carrying hot water.\r\n\r\nThe old prince was very affectionate and careful in his treatment of\r\nhis daughter that morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstaking\r\nexpression of her father's. His face wore that expression when his\r\ndry hands clenched with vexation at her not understanding a sum in\r\narithmetic, when rising from his chair he would walk away from her,\r\nrepeating in a low voice the same words several times over.\r\n\r\nHe came to the point at once, treating her ceremoniously.\r\n\r\n\"I have had a proposition made me concerning you,\" he said with an\r\nunnatural smile. \"I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has not\r\ncome and brought his pupil with him\" (for some reason Prince Bolkonski\r\nreferred to Anatole as a \"pupil\") \"for the sake of my beautiful eyes.\r\nLast night a proposition was made me on your account and, as you know my\r\nprinciples, I refer it to you.\"\r\n\r\n\"How am I to understand you, mon pere?\" said the princess, growing pale\r\nand then blushing.\r\n\r\n\"How understand me!\" cried her father angrily. \"Prince Vasili finds you\r\nto his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a proposal to you on his\r\npupil's behalf. That's how it's to be understood! 'How understand\r\nit'!... And I ask you!\"\r\n\r\n\"I do not know what you think, Father,\" whispered the princess.\r\n\r\n\"I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the question. I'm not going to get\r\nmarried. What about you? That's what I want to know.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess saw that her father regarded the matter with disapproval,\r\nbut at that moment the thought occurred to her that her fate would be\r\ndecided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as not to see the gaze\r\nunder which she felt that she could not think, but would only be able to\r\nsubmit from habit, and she said: \"I wish only to do your will, but if\r\nI had to express my own desire...\" She had no time to finish. The old\r\nprince interrupted her.\r\n\r\n\"That's admirable!\" he shouted. \"He will take you with your dowry and\r\ntake Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be the wife, while\r\nyou...\"\r\n\r\nThe prince stopped. He saw the effect these words had produced on his\r\ndaughter. She lowered her head and was ready to burst into tears.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, now then, I'm only joking!\" he said. \"Remember this,\r\nPrincess, I hold to the principle that a maiden has a full right to\r\nchoose. I give you freedom. Only remember that your life's happiness\r\ndepends on your decision. Never mind me!\"\r\n\r\n\"But I do not know, Father!\"\r\n\r\n\"There's no need to talk! He receives his orders and will marry you or\r\nanybody; but you are free to choose.... Go to your room, think it over,\r\nand come back in an hour and tell me in his presence: yes or no. I know\r\nyou will pray over it. Well, pray if you like, but you had better think\r\nit over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!\" he still shouted when the\r\nprincess, as if lost in a fog, had already staggered out of the study.\r\n\r\nHer fate was decided and happily decided. But what her father had said\r\nabout Mademoiselle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to be sure, but\r\nstill it was terrible, and she could not help thinking of it. She was\r\ngoing straight on through the conservatory, neither seeing nor hearing\r\nanything, when suddenly the well-known whispering of Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two steps away saw\r\nAnatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something to her. With\r\na horrified expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked at Princess\r\nMary, but did not at once take his arm from the waist of Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne who had not yet seen her.\r\n\r\n\"Who's that? Why? Wait a moment!\" Anatole's face seemed to say. Princess\r\nMary looked at them in silence. She could not understand it. At last\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatole bowed to\r\nPrincess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to join in a laugh at\r\nthis strange incident, and then shrugging his shoulders went to the door\r\nthat led to his own apartments.\r\n\r\nAn hour later, Tikhon came to call Princess Mary to the old prince;\r\nhe added that Prince Vasili was also there. When Tikhon came to her\r\nPrincess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holding the weeping\r\nMademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking her hair. The\r\nprincess' beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiance were\r\nlooking with tender affection and pity at Mademoiselle Bourienne's\r\npretty face.\r\n\r\n\"No, Princess, I have lost your affection forever!\" said Mademoiselle\r\nBourienne.\r\n\r\n\"Why? I love you more than ever,\" said Princess Mary, \"and I will try to\r\ndo all I can for your happiness.\"\r\n\r\n\"But you despise me. You who are so pure can never understand being so\r\ncarried away by passion. Oh, only my poor mother...\"\r\n\r\n\"I quite understand,\" answered Princess Mary, with a sad smile. \"Calm\r\nyourself, my dear. I will go to my father,\" she said, and went out.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili, with one leg thrown high over the other and a snuffbox in\r\nhis hand, was sitting there with a smile of deep emotion on his face,\r\nas if stirred to his heart's core and himself regretting and laughing\r\nat his own sensibility, when Princess Mary entered. He hurriedly took a\r\npinch of snuff.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear, my dear!\" he began, rising and taking her by both hands.\r\nThen, sighing, he added: \"My son's fate is in your hands. Decide, my\r\ndear, good, gentle Marie, whom I have always loved as a daughter!\"\r\n\r\nHe drew back and a real tear appeared in his eye.\r\n\r\n\"Fr... fr...\" snorted Prince Bolkonski. \"The prince is making a\r\nproposition to you in his pupil's--I mean, his son's--name. Do you\r\nwish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin's wife? Reply: yes or no,\" he\r\nshouted, \"and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion also.\r\nYes, my opinion, and only my opinion,\" added Prince Bolkonski, turning\r\nto Prince Vasili and answering his imploring look. \"Yes, or no?\"\r\n\r\n\"My desire is never to leave you, Father, never to separate my life\r\nfrom yours. I don't wish to marry,\" she answered positively, glancing at\r\nPrince Vasili and at her father with her beautiful eyes.\r\n\r\n\"Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, humbug!\" cried Prince Bolkonski,\r\nfrowning and taking his daughter's hand; he did not kiss her, but only\r\nbending his forehead to hers just touched it, and pressed her hand so\r\nthat she winced and uttered a cry.\r\n\r\nPrince Vasili rose.\r\n\r\n\"My dear, I must tell you that this is a moment I shall never, never\r\nforget. But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching\r\nthis heart, so kind and generous? Say 'perhaps'... The future is so\r\nlong. Say 'perhaps.'\"\r\n\r\n\"Prince, what I have said is all there is in my heart. I thank you for\r\nthe honor, but I shall never be your son's wife.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, so that's finished, my dear fellow! I am very glad to have seen\r\nyou. Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess. Go!\" said the old\r\nprince. \"Very, very glad to have seen you,\" repeated he, embracing\r\nPrince Vasili.\r\n\r\n\"My vocation is a different one,\" thought Princess Mary. \"My vocation\r\nis to be happy with another kind of happiness, the happiness of love\r\nand self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I will arrange poor Amelie's\r\nhappiness, she loves him so passionately, and so passionately repents. I\r\nwill do all I can to arrange the match between them. If he is not rich I\r\nwill give her the means; I will ask my father and Andrew. I shall be so\r\nhappy when she is his wife. She is so unfortunate, a stranger, alone,\r\nhelpless! And, oh God, how passionately she must love him if she could\r\nso far forget herself! Perhaps I might have done the same!...\" thought\r\nPrincess Mary.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI\r\n\r\n\r\nIt was long since the Rostovs had news of Nicholas. Not till\r\nmidwinter was the count at last handed a letter addressed in his son's\r\nhandwriting. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his study in alarm and\r\nhaste, trying to escape notice, closed the door, and began to read the\r\nletter.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna, who always knew everything that passed in the house,\r\non hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into the room and\r\nfound the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughing at the same\r\ntime.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was still\r\nliving with the Rostovs.\r\n\r\n\"My dear friend?\" said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry, prepared to\r\nsympathize in any way.\r\n\r\nThe count sobbed yet more.\r\n\r\n\"Nikolenka... a letter... wa... a... s... wounded... my darling boy...\r\nthe countess... promoted to be an officer... thank God... How tell the\r\nlittle countess!\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchief wiped\r\nthe tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having dried her\r\nown eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner and till\r\nteatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with God's help,\r\nwould inform her.\r\n\r\nAt dinner Anna Mikhaylovna talked the whole time about the war news and\r\nabout Nikolenka, twice asked when the last letter had been received from\r\nhim, though she knew that already, and remarked that they might very\r\nlikely be getting a letter from him that day. Each time that these hints\r\nbegan to make the countess anxious and she glanced uneasily at the\r\ncount and at Anna Mikhaylovna, the latter very adroitly turned the\r\nconversation to insignificant matters. Natasha, who, of the whole\r\nfamily, was the most gifted with a capacity to feel any shades of\r\nintonation, look, and expression, pricked up her ears from the beginning\r\nof the meal and was certain that there was some secret between her\r\nfather and Anna Mikhaylovna, that it had something to do with her\r\nbrother, and that Anna Mikhaylovna was preparing them for it. Bold as\r\nshe was, Natasha, who knew how sensitive her mother was to anything\r\nrelating to Nikolenka, did not venture to ask any questions at dinner,\r\nbut she was too excited to eat anything and kept wriggling about on her\r\nchair regardless of her governess' remarks. After dinner, she rushed\r\nhead long after Anna Mikhaylovna and, dashing at her, flung herself on\r\nher neck as soon as she overtook her in the sitting room.\r\n\r\n\"Auntie, darling, do tell me what it is!\"\r\n\r\n\"Nothing, my dear.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, dearest, sweet one, honey, I won't give up--I know you know\r\nsomething.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna shook her head.\r\n\r\n\"You are a little slyboots,\" she said.\r\n\r\n\"A letter from Nikolenka! I'm sure of it!\" exclaimed Natasha, reading\r\nconfirmation in Anna Mikhaylovna's face.\r\n\r\n\"But for God's sake, be careful, you know how it may affect your mamma.\"\r\n\r\n\"I will, I will, only tell me! You won't? Then I will go and tell at\r\nonce.\"\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna, in a few words, told her the contents of the letter,\r\non condition that she should tell no one.\r\n\r\n\"No, on my true word of honor,\" said Natasha, crossing herself, \"I won't\r\ntell anyone!\" and she ran off at once to Sonya.\r\n\r\n\"Nikolenka... wounded... a letter,\" she announced in gleeful triumph.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas!\" was all Sonya said, instantly turning white.\r\n\r\nNatasha, seeing the impression the news of her brother's wound produced\r\non Sonya, felt for the first time the sorrowful side of the news.\r\n\r\nShe rushed to Sonya, hugged her, and began to cry.\r\n\r\n\"A little wound, but he has been made an officer; he is well now, he\r\nwrote himself,\" said she through her tears.\r\n\r\n\"There now! It's true that all you women are crybabies,\" remarked Petya,\r\npacing the room with large, resolute strides. \"Now I'm very glad, very\r\nglad indeed, that my brother has distinguished himself so. You are all\r\nblubberers and understand nothing.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha smiled through her tears.\r\n\r\n\"You haven't read the letter?\" asked Sonya.\r\n\r\n\"No, but she said that it was all over and that he's now an officer.\"\r\n\r\n\"Thank God!\" said Sonya, crossing herself. \"But perhaps she deceived\r\nyou. Let us go to Mamma.\"\r\n\r\nPetya paced the room in silence for a time.\r\n\r\n\"If I'd been in Nikolenka's place I would have killed even more of those\r\nFrenchmen,\" he said. \"What nasty brutes they are! I'd have killed so\r\nmany that there'd have been a heap of them.\"\r\n\r\n\"Hold your tongue, Petya, what a goose you are!\"\r\n\r\n\"I'm not a goose, but they are who cry about trifles,\" said Petya.\r\n\r\n\"Do you remember him?\" Natasha suddenly asked, after a moment's silence.\r\n\r\nSonya smiled.\r\n\r\n\"Do I remember Nicholas?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, Sonya, but do you remember so that you remember him perfectly,\r\nremember everything?\" said Natasha, with an expressive gesture,\r\nevidently wishing to give her words a very definite meaning. \"I remember\r\nNikolenka too, I remember him well,\" she said. \"But I don't remember\r\nBoris. I don't remember him a bit.\"\r\n\r\n\"What! You don't remember Boris?\" asked Sonya in surprise.\r\n\r\n\"It's not that I don't remember--I know what he is like, but not as I\r\nremember Nikolenka. Him--I just shut my eyes and remember, but Boris...\r\nNo!\" (She shut her eyes.) \"No! there's nothing at all.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, Natasha!\" said Sonya, looking ecstatically and earnestly at her\r\nfriend as if she did not consider her worthy to hear what she meant to\r\nsay and as if she were saying it to someone else, with whom joking was\r\nout of the question, \"I am in love with your brother once for all and,\r\nwhatever may happen to him or to me, shall never cease to love him as\r\nlong as I live.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha looked at Sonya with wondering and inquisitive eyes, and said\r\nnothing. She felt that Sonya was speaking the truth, that there was such\r\nlove as Sonya was speaking of. But Natasha had not yet felt anything\r\nlike it. She believed it could be, but did not understand it.\r\n\r\n\"Shall you write to him?\" she asked.\r\n\r\nSonya became thoughtful. The question of how to write to Nicholas, and\r\nwhether she ought to write, tormented her. Now that he was already an\r\nofficer and a wounded hero, would it be right to remind him of herself\r\nand, as it might seem, of the obligations to her he had taken on\r\nhimself?\r\n\r\n\"I don't know. I think if he writes, I will write too,\" she said,\r\nblushing.\r\n\r\n\"And you won't feel ashamed to write to him?\"\r\n\r\nSonya smiled.\r\n\r\n\"No.\"\r\n\r\n\"And I should be ashamed to write to Boris. I'm not going to.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why should you be ashamed?\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, I don't know. It's awkward and would make me ashamed.\"\r\n\r\n\"And I know why she'd be ashamed,\" said Petya, offended by Natasha's\r\nprevious remark. \"It's because she was in love with that fat one in\r\nspectacles\" (that was how Petya described his namesake, the new Count\r\nBezukhov) \"and now she's in love with that singer\" (he meant Natasha's\r\nItalian singing master), \"that's why she's ashamed!\"\r\n\r\n\"Petya, you're a stupid!\" said Natasha.\r\n\r\n\"Not more stupid than you, madam,\" said the nine-year-old Petya, with\r\nthe air of an old brigadier.\r\n\r\nThe countess had been prepared by Anna Mikhaylovna's hints at dinner.\r\nOn retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, her eyes fixed on a\r\nminiature portrait of her son on the lid of a snuffbox, while the tears\r\nkept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikhaylovna, with the letter, came on\r\ntiptoe to the countess' door and paused.\r\n\r\n\"Don't come in,\" she said to the old count who was following her. \"Come\r\nlater.\" And she went in, closing the door behind her.\r\n\r\nThe count put his ear to the keyhole and listened.\r\n\r\nAt first he heard the sound of indifferent voices, then Anna\r\nMikhaylovna's voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, then silence,\r\nthen both voices together with glad intonations, and then footsteps.\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proud expression of\r\na surgeon who has just performed a difficult operation and admits the\r\npublic to appreciate his skill.\r\n\r\n\"It is done!\" she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to the\r\ncountess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portrait and\r\nin the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to her lips.\r\n\r\nWhen she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him, embraced his\r\nbald head, over which she again looked at the letter and the portrait,\r\nand in order to press them again to her lips, she slightly pushed away\r\nthe bald head. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petya now entered the room,\r\nand the reading of the letter began. After a brief description of\r\nthe campaign and the two battles in which he had taken part, and his\r\npromotion, Nicholas said that he kissed his father's and mother's hands\r\nasking for their blessing, and that he kissed Vera, Natasha, and Petya.\r\nBesides that, he sent greetings to Monsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss,\r\nand his old nurse, and asked them to kiss for him \"dear Sonya, whom he\r\nloved and thought of just the same as ever.\" When she heard this Sonya\r\nblushed so that tears came into her eyes and, unable to bear the looks\r\nturned upon her, ran away into the dancing hall, whirled round it at\r\nfull speed with her dress puffed out like a balloon, and, flushed and\r\nsmiling, plumped down on the floor. The countess was crying.\r\n\r\n\"Why are you crying, Mamma?\" asked Vera. \"From all he says one should be\r\nglad and not cry.\"\r\n\r\nThis was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natasha looked\r\nat her reproachfully. \"And who is it she takes after?\" thought the\r\ncountess.\r\n\r\nNicholas' letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who were\r\nconsidered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for she\r\ndid not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses, and\r\nDmitri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread the letter\r\neach time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in it fresh\r\nproofs of Nikolenka's virtues. How strange, how extraordinary, how\r\njoyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion of whose\r\ntiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that son about whom\r\nshe used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count, that son who had\r\nfirst learned to say \"pear\" and then \"granny,\" that this son should now\r\nbe away in a foreign land amid strange surroundings, a manly warrior\r\ndoing some kind of man's work of his own, without help or guidance.\r\nThe universal experience of ages, showing that children do grow\r\nimperceptibly from the cradle to manhood, did not exist for the\r\ncountess. Her son's growth toward manhood, at each of its stages,\r\nhad seemed as extraordinary to her as if there had never existed the\r\nmillions of human beings who grew up in the same way. As twenty\r\nyears before, it seemed impossible that the little creature who lived\r\nsomewhere under her heart would ever cry, suck her breast, and begin to\r\nspeak, so now she could not believe that that little creature could be\r\nthis strong, brave man, this model son and officer that, judging by this\r\nletter, he now was.\r\n\r\n\"What a style! How charmingly he describes!\" said she, reading the\r\ndescriptive part of the letter. \"And what a soul! Not a word about\r\nhimself.... Not a word! About some Denisov or other, though he himself,\r\nI dare say, is braver than any of them. He says nothing about his\r\nsufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! And how he has remembered\r\neverybody! Not forgetting anyone. I always said when he was only so\r\nhigh--I always said....\"\r\n\r\nFor more than a week preparations were being made, rough drafts of\r\nletters to Nicholas from all the household were written and copied out,\r\nwhile under the supervision of the countess and the solicitude of the\r\ncount, money and all things necessary for the uniform and equipment\r\nof the newly commissioned officer were collected. Anna Mikhaylovna,\r\npractical woman that she was, had even managed by favor with army\r\nauthorities to secure advantageous means of communication for herself\r\nand her son. She had opportunities of sending her letters to the Grand\r\nDuke Constantine Pavlovich, who commanded the Guards. The Rostovs\r\nsupposed that The Russian Guards, Abroad, was quite a definite address,\r\nand that if a letter reached the Grand Duke in command of the Guards\r\nthere was no reason why it should not reach the Pavlograd regiment,\r\nwhich was presumably somewhere in the same neighborhood. And so it was\r\ndecided to send the letters and money by the Grand Duke's courier to\r\nBoris and Boris was to forward them to Nicholas. The letters were\r\nfrom the old count, the countess, Petya, Vera, Natasha, and Sonya, and\r\nfinally there were six thousand rubles for his outfit and various other\r\nthings the old count sent to his son.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII\r\n\r\n\r\nOn the twelfth of November, Kutuzov's active army, in camp before\r\nOlmutz, was preparing to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors--the\r\nRussian and the Austrian. The Guards, just arrived from Russia, spent\r\nthe night ten miles from Olmutz and next morning were to come straight\r\nto the review, reaching the field at Olmutz by ten o'clock.\r\n\r\nThat day Nicholas Rostov received a letter from Boris, telling him that\r\nthe Ismaylov regiment was quartered for the night ten miles from Olmutz\r\nand that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and money for him.\r\nRostov was particularly in need of money now that the troops, after\r\ntheir active service, were stationed near Olmutz and the camp swarmed\r\nwith well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering all sorts\r\nof tempting wares. The Pavlograds held feast after feast, celebrating\r\nawards they had received for the campaign, and made expeditions to\r\nOlmutz to visit a certain Caroline the Hungarian, who had recently\r\nopened a restaurant there with girls as waitresses. Rostov, who had\r\njust celebrated his promotion to a cornetcy and bought Denisov's horse,\r\nBedouin, was in debt all round, to his comrades and the sutlers. On\r\nreceiving Boris' letter he rode with a fellow officer to Olmutz, dined\r\nthere, drank a bottle of wine, and then set off alone to the Guards'\r\ncamp to find his old playmate. Rostov had not yet had time to get his\r\nuniform. He had on a shabby cadet jacket, decorated with a soldier's\r\ncross, equally shabby cadet's riding breeches lined with worn leather,\r\nand an officer's saber with a sword knot. The Don horse he was riding\r\nwas one he had bought from a Cossack during the campaign, and he wore a\r\ncrumpled hussar cap stuck jauntily back on one side of his head. As he\r\nrode up to the camp he thought how he would impress Boris and all his\r\ncomrades of the Guards by his appearance--that of a fighting hussar who\r\nhad been under fire.\r\n\r\nThe Guards had made their whole march as if on a pleasure trip, parading\r\ntheir cleanliness and discipline. They had come by easy stages, their\r\nknapsacks conveyed on carts, and the Austrian authorities had provided\r\nexcellent dinners for the officers at every halting place. The regiments\r\nhad entered and left the town with their bands playing, and by the Grand\r\nDuke's orders the men had marched all the way in step (a practice on\r\nwhich the Guards prided themselves), the officers on foot and at their\r\nproper posts. Boris had been quartered, and had marched all the way,\r\nwith Berg who was already in command of a company. Berg, who had\r\nobtained his captaincy during the campaign, had gained the confidence of\r\nhis superiors by his promptitude and accuracy and had arranged his money\r\nmatters very satisfactorily. Boris, during the campaign, had made the\r\nacquaintance of many persons who might prove useful to him, and by\r\na letter of recommendation he had brought from Pierre had become\r\nacquainted with Prince Andrew Bolkonski, through whom he hoped to obtain\r\na post on the commander in chief's staff. Berg and Boris, having rested\r\nafter yesterday's march, were sitting, clean and neatly dressed, at a\r\nround table in the clean quarters allotted to them, playing chess.\r\nBerg held a smoking pipe between his knees. Boris, in the accurate way\r\ncharacteristic of him, was building a little pyramid of chessmen with\r\nhis delicate white fingers while awaiting Berg's move, and watched his\r\nopponent's face, evidently thinking about the game as he always thought\r\nonly of whatever he was engaged on.\r\n\r\n\"Well, how are you going to get out of that?\" he remarked.\r\n\r\n\"We'll try to,\" replied Berg, touching a pawn and then removing his\r\nhand.\r\n\r\nAt that moment the door opened.\r\n\r\n\"Here he is at last!\" shouted Rostov. \"And Berg too! Oh, you\r\npetisenfans, allay cushay dormir!\" he exclaimed, imitating his Russian\r\nnurse's French, at which he and Boris used to laugh long ago.\r\n\r\n\"Dear me, how you have changed!\"\r\n\r\nBoris rose to meet Rostov, but in doing so did not omit to steady and\r\nreplace some chessmen that were falling. He was about to embrace his\r\nfriend, but Nicholas avoided him. With that peculiar feeling of youth,\r\nthat dread of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in a manner\r\ndifferent from that of its elders which is often insincere, Nicholas\r\nwished to do something special on meeting his friend. He wanted to pinch\r\nhim, push him, do anything but kiss him--a thing everybody did. But\r\nnotwithstanding this, Boris embraced him in a quiet, friendly way and\r\nkissed him three times.\r\n\r\nThey had not met for nearly half a year and, being at the age when young\r\nmen take their first steps on life's road, each saw immense changes in\r\nthe other, quite a new reflection of the society in which they had taken\r\nthose first steps. Both had changed greatly since they last met and both\r\nwere in a hurry to show the changes that had taken place in them.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh as if you'd been to a fete,\r\nnot like us sinners of the line,\" cried Rostov, with martial swagger\r\nand with baritone notes in his voice, new to Boris, pointing to his own\r\nmud-bespattered breeches. The German landlady, hearing Rostov's loud\r\nvoice, popped her head in at the door.\r\n\r\n\"Eh, is she pretty?\" he asked with a wink.\r\n\r\n\"Why do you shout so? You'll frighten them!\" said Boris. \"I did not\r\nexpect you today,\" he added. \"I only sent you the note yesterday by\r\nBolkonski--an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a friend of mine. I did not\r\nthink he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you? Been\r\nunder fire already?\" asked Boris.\r\n\r\nWithout answering, Rostov shook the soldier's Cross of St. George\r\nfastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm,\r\nglanced at Berg with a smile.\r\n\r\n\"As you see,\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Indeed? Yes, yes!\" said Boris, with a smile. \"And we too have had a\r\nsplendid march. You know, of course, that His Imperial Highness rode\r\nwith our regiment all the time, so that we had every comfort and every\r\nadvantage. What receptions we had in Poland! What dinners and balls!\r\nI can't tell you. And the Tsarevich was very gracious to all our\r\nofficers.\"\r\n\r\nAnd the two friends told each other of their doings, the one of his\r\nhussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of the pleasures\r\nand advantages of service under members of the Imperial family.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, you Guards!\" said Rostov. \"I say, send for some wine.\"\r\n\r\nBoris made a grimace.\r\n\r\n\"If you really want it,\" said he.\r\n\r\nHe went to his bed, drew a purse from under the clean pillow, and sent\r\nfor wine.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, and I have some money and a letter to give you,\" he added.\r\n\r\nRostov took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put both\r\narms on the table and began to read. After reading a few lines, he\r\nglanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behind the\r\nletter.\r\n\r\n\"Well, they've sent you a tidy sum,\" said Berg, eying the heavy purse\r\nthat sank into the sofa. \"As for us, Count, we get along on our pay. I\r\ncan tell you for myself...\"\r\n\r\n\"I say, Berg, my dear fellow,\" said Rostov, \"when you get a letter from\r\nhome and meet one of your own people whom you want to talk everything\r\nover with, and I happen to be there, I'll go at once, to be out of\r\nyour way! Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil!\" he exclaimed, and\r\nimmediately seizing him by the shoulder and looking amiably into his\r\nface, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of his words, he added,\r\n\"Don't be hurt, my dear fellow; you know I speak from my heart as to an\r\nold acquaintance.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, don't mention it, Count! I quite understand,\" said Berg, getting up\r\nand speaking in a muffled and guttural voice.\r\n\r\n\"Go across to our hosts: they invited you,\" added Boris.\r\n\r\nBerg put on the cleanest of coats, without a spot or speck of dust,\r\nstood before a looking glass and brushed the hair on his temples\r\nupwards, in the way affected by the Emperor Alexander, and, having\r\nassured himself from the way Rostov looked at it that his coat had been\r\nnoticed, left the room with a pleasant smile.\r\n\r\n\"Oh dear, what a beast I am!\" muttered Rostov, as he read the letter.\r\n\r\n\"Why?\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written and to have given them such\r\na fright! Oh, what a pig I am!\" he repeated, flushing suddenly. \"Well,\r\nhave you sent Gabriel for some wine? All right let's have some!\"\r\n\r\nIn the letter from his parents was enclosed a letter of recommendation\r\nto Bagration which the old countess at Anna Mikhaylovna's advice had\r\nobtained through an acquaintance and sent to her son, asking him to take\r\nit to its destination and make use of it.\r\n\r\n\"What nonsense! Much I need it!\" said Rostov, throwing the letter under\r\nthe table.\r\n\r\n\"Why have you thrown that away?\" asked Boris.\r\n\r\n\"It is some letter of recommendation... what the devil do I want it\r\nfor!\"\r\n\r\n\"Why 'What the devil'?\" said Boris, picking it up and reading the\r\naddress. \"This letter would be of great use to you.\"\r\n\r\n\"I want nothing, and I won't be anyone's adjutant.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why not?\" inquired Boris.\r\n\r\n\"It's a lackey's job!\"\r\n\r\n\"You are still the same dreamer, I see,\" remarked Boris, shaking his\r\nhead.\r\n\r\n\"And you're still the same diplomatist! But that's not the point...\r\nCome, how are you?\" asked Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Well, as you see. So far everything's all right, but I confess I should\r\nmuch like to be an adjutant and not remain at the front.\"\r\n\r\n\"Why?\"\r\n\r\n\"Because when once a man starts on military service, he should try to\r\nmake as successful a career of it as possible.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, that's it!\" said Rostov, evidently thinking of something else.\r\n\r\nHe looked intently and inquiringly into his friend's eyes, evidently\r\ntrying in vain to find the answer to some question.\r\n\r\nOld Gabriel brought in the wine.\r\n\r\n\"Shouldn't we now send for Berg?\" asked Boris. \"He would drink with you.\r\nI can't.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, send for him... and how do you get on with that German?\" asked\r\nRostov, with a contemptuous smile.\r\n\r\n\"He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow,\" answered Boris.\r\n\r\nAgain Rostov looked intently into Boris' eyes and sighed. Berg returned,\r\nand over the bottle of wine conversation between the three officers\r\nbecame animated. The Guardsmen told Rostov of their march and how they\r\nhad been made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. They spoke of the\r\nsayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke, and told stories\r\nof his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual, kept silent when the\r\nsubject did not relate to himself, but in connection with the stories\r\nof the Grand Duke's quick temper he related with gusto how in Galicia he\r\nhad managed to deal with the Grand Duke when the latter made a tour of\r\nthe regiments and was annoyed at the irregularity of a movement. With a\r\npleasant smile Berg related how the Grand Duke had ridden up to him in\r\na violent passion, shouting: \"Arnauts!\" (\"Arnauts\" was the Tsarevich's\r\nfavorite expression when he was in a rage) and called for the company\r\ncommander.\r\n\r\n\"Would you believe it, Count, I was not at all alarmed, because I knew\r\nI was right. Without boasting, you know, I may say that I know the Army\r\nOrders by heart and know the Regulations as well as I do the Lord's\r\nPrayer. So, Count, there never is any negligence in my company, and so\r\nmy conscience was at ease. I came forward....\" (Berg stood up and showed\r\nhow he presented himself, with his hand to his cap, and really it\r\nwould have been difficult for a face to express greater respect and\r\nself-complacency than his did.) \"Well, he stormed at me, as the saying\r\nis, stormed and stormed and stormed! It was not a matter of life but\r\nrather of death, as the saying is. 'Albanians!' and 'devils!' and 'To\r\nSiberia!'\" said Berg with a sagacious smile. \"I knew I was in the right\r\nso I kept silent; was not that best, Count?... 'Hey, are you dumb?' he\r\nshouted. Still I remained silent. And what do you think, Count? The\r\nnext day it was not even mentioned in the Orders of the Day. That's what\r\nkeeping one's head means. That's the way, Count,\" said Berg, lighting\r\nhis pipe and emitting rings of smoke.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, that was fine,\" said Rostov, smiling.\r\n\r\nBut Boris noticed that he was preparing to make fun of Berg, and\r\nskillfully changed the subject. He asked him to tell them how and where\r\nhe got his wound. This pleased Rostov and he began talking about it, and\r\nas he went on became more and more animated. He told them of his Schon\r\nGrabern affair, just as those who have taken part in a battle generally\r\ndo describe it, that is, as they would like it to have been, as they\r\nhave heard it described by others, and as sounds well, but not at all as\r\nit really was. Rostov was a truthful young man and would on no\r\naccount have told a deliberate lie. He began his story meaning to tell\r\neverything just as it happened, but imperceptibly, involuntarily, and\r\ninevitably he lapsed into falsehood. If he had told the truth to his\r\nhearers--who like himself had often heard stories of attacks and had\r\nformed a definite idea of what an attack was and were expecting to hear\r\njust such a story--they would either not have believed him or, still\r\nworse, would have thought that Rostov was himself to blame since what\r\ngenerally happens to the narrators of cavalry attacks had not happened\r\nto him. He could not tell them simply that everyone went at a trot and\r\nthat he fell off his horse and sprained his arm and then ran as hard as\r\nhe could from a Frenchman into the wood. Besides, to tell everything as\r\nit really happened, it would have been necessary to make an effort of\r\nwill to tell only what happened. It is very difficult to tell the truth,\r\nand young people are rarely capable of it. His hearers expected a story\r\nof how beside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like\r\na storm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how his\r\nsaber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on. And so he\r\ntold them all that.\r\n\r\nIn the middle of his story, just as he was saying: \"You cannot imagine\r\nwhat a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack,\" Prince Andrew,\r\nwhom Boris was expecting, entered the room. Prince Andrew, who liked\r\nto help young men, was flattered by being asked for his assistance and\r\nbeing well disposed toward Boris, who had managed to please him the day\r\nbefore, he wished to do what the young man wanted. Having been sent with\r\npapers from Kutuzov to the Tsarevich, he looked in on Boris, hoping to\r\nfind him alone. When he came in and saw an hussar of the line recounting\r\nhis military exploits (Prince Andrew could not endure that sort of man),\r\nhe gave Boris a pleasant smile, frowned as with half-closed eyes he\r\nlooked at Rostov, bowed slightly and wearily, and sat down languidly\r\non the sofa: he felt it unpleasant to have dropped in on bad company.\r\nRostov flushed up on noticing this, but he did not care, this was a mere\r\nstranger. Glancing, however, at Boris, he saw that he too seemed ashamed\r\nof the hussar of the line.\r\n\r\nIn spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite of\r\nthe contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point of view,\r\nregarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom the newcomer\r\nwas evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, and became silent.\r\nBoris inquired what news there might be on the staff, and what, without\r\nindiscretion, one might ask about our plans.\r\n\r\n\"We shall probably advance,\" replied Bolkonski, evidently reluctant to\r\nsay more in the presence of a stranger.\r\n\r\nBerg took the opportunity to ask, with great politeness, whether, as was\r\nrumored, the allowance of forage money to captains of companies would be\r\ndoubled. To this Prince Andrew answered with a smile that he could\r\ngive no opinion on such an important government order, and Berg laughed\r\ngaily.\r\n\r\n\"As to your business,\" Prince Andrew continued, addressing Boris, \"we\r\nwill talk of it later\" (and he looked round at Rostov). \"Come to me\r\nafter the review and we will do what is possible.\"\r\n\r\nAnd, having glanced round the room, Prince Andrew turned to Rostov,\r\nwhose state of unconquerable childish embarrassment now changing to\r\nanger he did not condescend to notice, and said: \"I think you were\r\ntalking of the Schon Grabern affair? Were you there?\"\r\n\r\n\"I was there,\" said Rostov angrily, as if intending to insult the\r\naide-de-camp.\r\n\r\nBolkonski noticed the hussar's state of mind, and it amused him. With a\r\nslightly contemptuous smile, he said: \"Yes, there are many stories now\r\ntold about that affair!\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, stories!\" repeated Rostov loudly, looking with eyes suddenly grown\r\nfurious, now at Boris, now at Bolkonski. \"Yes, many stories! But our\r\nstories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy's fire! Our\r\nstories have some weight, not like the stories of those fellows on the\r\nstaff who get rewards without doing anything!\"\r\n\r\n\"Of whom you imagine me to be one?\" said Prince Andrew, with a quiet and\r\nparticularly amiable smile.\r\n\r\nA strange feeling of exasperation and yet of respect for this man's\r\nself-possession mingled at that moment in Rostov's soul.\r\n\r\n\"I am not talking about you,\" he said, \"I don't know you and, frankly, I\r\ndon't want to. I am speaking of the staff in general.\"\r\n\r\n\"And I will tell you this,\" Prince Andrew interrupted in a tone of quiet\r\nauthority, \"you wish to insult me, and I am ready to agree with you that\r\nit would be very easy to do so if you haven't sufficient self-respect,\r\nbut admit that the time and place are very badly chosen. In a day or two\r\nwe shall all have to take part in a greater and more serious duel, and\r\nbesides, Drubetskoy, who says he is an old friend of yours, is not at\r\nall to blame that my face has the misfortune to displease you. However,\"\r\nhe added rising, \"you know my name and where to find me, but don't\r\nforget that I do not regard either myself or you as having been at all\r\ninsulted, and as a man older than you, my advice is to let the matter\r\ndrop. Well then, on Friday after the review I shall expect you,\r\nDrubetskoy. Au revoir!\" exclaimed Prince Andrew, and with a bow to them\r\nboth he went out.\r\n\r\nOnly when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostov think of what he ought to\r\nhave said. And he was still more angry at having omitted to say it. He\r\nordered his horse at once and, coldly taking leave of Boris, rode\r\nhome. Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge that affected\r\nadjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the question that worried\r\nhim all the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure he would have at\r\nseeing the fright of that small and frail but proud man when covered by\r\nhis pistol, and then he felt with surprise that of all the men he knew\r\nthere was none he would so much like to have for a friend as that very\r\nadjutant whom he so hated.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VIII\r\n\r\n\r\nThe day after Rostov had been to see Boris, a review was held of the\r\nAustrian and Russian troops, both those freshly arrived from Russia\r\nand those who had been campaigning under Kutuzov. The two Emperors, the\r\nRussian with his heir the Tsarevich, and the Austrian with the Archduke,\r\ninspected the allied army of eighty thousand men.\r\n\r\nFrom early morning the smart clean troops were on the move, forming up\r\non the field before the fortress. Now thousands of feet and bayonets\r\nmoved and halted at the officers' command, turned with banners flying,\r\nformed up at intervals, and wheeled round other similar masses of\r\ninfantry in different uniforms; now was heard the rhythmic beat of\r\nhoofs and the jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red, and green braided\r\nuniforms, with smartly dressed bandsmen in front mounted on black, roan,\r\nor gray horses; then again, spreading out with the brazen clatter of the\r\npolished shining cannon that quivered on the gun carriages and with\r\nthe smell of linstocks, came the artillery which crawled between the\r\ninfantry and cavalry and took up its appointed position. Not only the\r\ngenerals in full parade uniforms, with their thin or thick waists drawn\r\nin to the utmost, their red necks squeezed into their stiff collars, and\r\nwearing scarves and all their decorations, not only the elegant, pomaded\r\nofficers, but every soldier with his freshly washed and shaven face and\r\nhis weapons clean and polished to the utmost, and every horse groomed\r\ntill its coat shone like satin and every hair of its wetted mane lay\r\nsmooth--felt that no small matter was happening, but an important and\r\nsolemn affair. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his own\r\ninsignificance, aware of being but a drop in that ocean of men, and\r\nyet at the same time was conscious of his strength as a part of that\r\nenormous whole.\r\n\r\nFrom early morning strenuous activities and efforts had begun and by ten\r\no'clock all had been brought into due order. The ranks were drawn up on\r\nthe vast field. The whole army was extended in three lines: the cavalry\r\nin front, behind it the artillery, and behind that again the infantry.\r\n\r\nA space like a street was left between each two lines of troops. The\r\nthree parts of that army were sharply distinguished: Kutuzov's fighting\r\narmy (with the Pavlograds on the right flank of the front); those\r\nrecently arrived from Russia, both Guards and regiments of the line;\r\nand the Austrian troops. But they all stood in the same lines, under one\r\ncommand, and in a like order.\r\n\r\nLike wind over leaves ran an excited whisper: \"They're coming! They're\r\ncoming!\" Alarmed voices were heard, and a stir of final preparation\r\nswept over all the troops.\r\n\r\nFrom the direction of Olmutz in front of them, a group was seen\r\napproaching. And at that moment, though the day was still, a light gust\r\nof wind blowing over the army slightly stirred the streamers on the\r\nlances and the unfolded standards fluttered against their staffs. It\r\nlooked as if by that slight motion the army itself was expressing its\r\njoy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice was heard shouting: \"Eyes\r\nfront!\" Then, like the crowing of cocks at sunrise, this was repeated by\r\nothers from various sides and all became silent.\r\n\r\nIn the deathlike stillness only the tramp of horses was heard. This\r\nwas the Emperors' suites. The Emperors rode up to the flank, and the\r\ntrumpets of the first cavalry regiment played the general march. It\r\nseemed as though not the trumpeters were playing, but as if the army\r\nitself, rejoicing at the Emperors' approach, had naturally burst into\r\nmusic. Amid these sounds, only the youthful kindly voice of the Emperor\r\nAlexander was clearly heard. He gave the words of greeting, and the\r\nfirst regiment roared \"Hurrah!\" so deafeningly, continuously, and\r\njoyfully that the men themselves were awed by their multitude and the\r\nimmensity of the power they constituted.\r\n\r\nRostov, standing in the front lines of Kutuzov's army which the Tsar\r\napproached first, experienced the same feeling as every other man in\r\nthat army: a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a proud consciousness of\r\nmight, and a passionate attraction to him who was the cause of this\r\ntriumph.\r\n\r\nHe felt that at a single word from that man all this vast mass (and he\r\nhimself an insignificant atom in it) would go through fire and water,\r\ncommit crime, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, and so he could\r\nnot but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminence of that word.\r\n\r\n\"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!\" thundered from all sides, one regiment after\r\nanother greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, and then\r\n\"Hurrah!\"... Then the general march, and again \"Hurrah! Hurrah!\" growing\r\never stronger and fuller and merging into a deafening roar.\r\n\r\nTill the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its silence and immobility\r\nseemed like a lifeless body, but as soon as he came up it became alive,\r\nits thunder joining the roar of the whole line along which he had\r\nalready passed. Through the terrible and deafening roar of those voices,\r\namid the square masses of troops standing motionless as if turned to\r\nstone, hundreds of riders composing the suites moved carelessly but\r\nsymmetrically and above all freely, and in front of them two men--the\r\nEmperors. Upon them the undivided, tensely passionate attention of that\r\nwhole mass of men was concentrated.\r\n\r\nThe handsome young Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the Horse\r\nGuards, wearing a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, with his\r\npleasant face and resonant though not loud voice, attracted everyone's\r\nattention.\r\n\r\nRostov was not far from the trumpeters, and with his keen sight had\r\nrecognized the Tsar and watched his approach. When he was within twenty\r\npaces, and Nicholas could clearly distinguish every detail of his\r\nhandsome, happy young face, he experienced a feeling tenderness and\r\necstasy such as he had never before known. Every trait and every\r\nmovement of the Tsar's seemed to him enchanting.\r\n\r\nStopping in front of the Pavlograds, the Tsar said something in French\r\nto the Austrian Emperor and smiled.\r\n\r\nSeeing that smile, Rostov involuntarily smiled himself and felt a still\r\nstronger flow of love for his sovereign. He longed to show that love in\r\nsome way and knowing that this was impossible was ready to cry. The Tsar\r\ncalled the colonel of the regiment and said a few words to him.\r\n\r\n\"Oh God, what would happen to me if the Emperor spoke to me?\" thought\r\nRostov. \"I should die of happiness!\"\r\n\r\nThe Tsar addressed the officers also: \"I thank you all, gentlemen, I\r\nthank you with my whole heart.\" To Rostov every word sounded like a\r\nvoice from heaven. How gladly would he have died at once for his Tsar!\r\n\r\n\"You have earned the St. George's standards and will be worthy of them.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, to die, to die for him,\" thought Rostov.\r\n\r\nThe Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and the\r\nsoldiers, straining their lungs, shouted \"Hurrah!\"\r\n\r\nRostov too, bending over his saddle, shouted \"Hurrah!\" with all his\r\nmight, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout, if\r\nonly to express his rapture fully.\r\n\r\nThe Tsar stopped a few minutes in front of the hussars as if undecided.\r\n\r\n\"How can the Emperor be undecided?\" thought Rostov, but then even this\r\nindecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, like everything else\r\nthe Tsar did.\r\n\r\nThat hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in the narrow\r\npointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of the bobtailed bay\r\nmare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered up the reins, and he\r\nmoved off accompanied by an irregularly swaying sea of aides-de-camp.\r\nFarther and farther he rode away, stopping at other regiments, till at\r\nlast only his white plumes were visible to Rostov from amid the suites\r\nthat surrounded the Emperors.\r\n\r\nAmong the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonski, sitting\r\nhis horse indolently and carelessly. Rostov recalled their quarrel of\r\nyesterday and the question presented itself whether he ought or ought\r\nnot to challenge Bolkonski. \"Of course not!\" he now thought. \"Is it\r\nworth thinking or speaking of it at such a moment? At a time of such\r\nlove, such rapture, and such self-sacrifice, what do any of our quarrels\r\nand affronts matter? I love and forgive everybody now.\"\r\n\r\nWhen the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troops began\r\na ceremonial march past him, and Rostov on Bedouin, recently purchased\r\nfrom Denisov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron--that is, alone\r\nand in full view of the Emperor.\r\n\r\nBefore he reached him, Rostov, who was a splendid horseman, spurred\r\nBedouin twice and successfully put him to the showy trot in which the\r\nanimal went when excited. Bending his foaming muzzle to his chest, his\r\ntail extended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of the Emperor's eye\r\nupon him, passed splendidly, lifting his feet with a high and graceful\r\naction, as if flying through the air without touching the ground.\r\n\r\nRostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in and feeling\r\nhimself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with a frowning but\r\nblissful face \"like a vewy devil,\" as Denisov expressed it.\r\n\r\n\"Fine fellows, the Pavlograds!\" remarked the Emperor.\r\n\r\n\"My God, how happy I should be if he ordered me to leap into the fire\r\nthis instant!\" thought Rostov.\r\n\r\nWhen the review was over, the newly arrived officers, and also\r\nKutuzov's, collected in groups and began to talk about the awards, about\r\nthe Austrians and their uniforms, about their lines, about Bonaparte,\r\nand how badly the latter would fare now, especially if the Essen corps\r\narrived and Prussia took our side.\r\n\r\nBut the talk in every group was chiefly about the Emperor Alexander. His\r\nevery word and movement was described with ecstasy.\r\n\r\nThey all had but one wish: to advance as soon as possible against the\r\nenemy under the Emperor's command. Commanded by the Emperor himself\r\nthey could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might: so thought\r\nRostov and most of the officers after the review.\r\n\r\nAll were then more confident of victory than the winning of two battles\r\nwould have made them.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IX\r\n\r\n\r\nThe day after the review, Boris, in his best uniform and with his\r\ncomrade Berg's best wishes for success, rode to Olmutz to see Bolkonski,\r\nwishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain for himself the best\r\npost he could--preferably that of adjutant to some important personage,\r\na position in the army which seemed to him most attractive. \"It is all\r\nvery well for Rostov, whose father sends him ten thousand rubles at a\r\ntime, to talk about not wishing to cringe to anybody and not be anyone's\r\nlackey, but I who have nothing but my brains have to make a career\r\nand must not miss opportunities, but must avail myself of them!\" he\r\nreflected.\r\n\r\nHe did not find Prince Andrew in Olmutz that day, but the appearance of\r\nthe town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps were stationed\r\nand the two Emperors were living with their suites, households, and\r\ncourts only strengthened his desire to belong to that higher world.\r\n\r\nHe knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsman's uniform, all these\r\nexalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriages\r\nwith their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and military\r\nmen, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of the\r\nGuards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, be\r\naware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief,\r\nKutuzov, where he inquired for Bolkonski, all the adjutants and even the\r\norderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that a great\r\nmany officers like him were always coming there and that everybody was\r\nheartily sick of them. In spite of this, or rather because of it, next\r\nday, November 15, after dinner he again went to Olmutz and, entering the\r\nhouse occupied by Kutuzov, asked for Bolkonski. Prince Andrew was in and\r\nBoris was shown into a large hall probably formerly used for dancing,\r\nbut in which five beds now stood, and furniture of various kinds: a\r\ntable, chairs, and a clavichord. One adjutant, nearest the door, was\r\nsitting at the table in a Persian dressing gown, writing. Another,\r\nthe red, stout Nesvitski, lay on a bed with his arms under his head,\r\nlaughing with an officer who had sat down beside him. A third was\r\nplaying a Viennese waltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on\r\nthe clavichord, sang the tune. Bolkonski was not there. None of these\r\ngentlemen changed his position on seeing Boris. The one who was writing\r\nand whom Boris addressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkonski\r\nwas on duty and that he should go through the door on the left into the\r\nreception room if he wished to see him. Boris thanked him and went to\r\nthe reception room, where he found some ten officers and generals.\r\n\r\nWhen he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously (with\r\nthat peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says, \"If it\r\nwere not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment\"), was listening\r\nto an old Russian general with decorations, who stood very erect, almost\r\non tiptoe, with a soldier's obsequious expression on his purple face,\r\nreporting something.\r\n\r\n\"Very well, then, be so good as to wait,\" said Prince Andrew to the\r\ngeneral, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation he affected\r\nwhen he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Boris, Prince\r\nAndrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after him imploring\r\nhim to hear something more, nodded and turned to him with a cheerful\r\nsmile.\r\n\r\nAt that moment Boris clearly realized what he had before surmised, that\r\nin the army, besides the subordination and discipline prescribed in the\r\nmilitary code, which he and the others knew in the regiment, there was\r\nanother, more important, subordination, which made this tight-laced,\r\npurple-faced general wait respectfully while Captain Prince Andrew, for\r\nhis own pleasure, chose to chat with Lieutenant Drubetskoy. More than\r\never was Boris resolved to serve in future not according to the written\r\ncode, but under this unwritten law. He felt now that merely by having\r\nbeen recommended to Prince Andrew he had already risen above the general\r\nwho at the front had the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of the\r\nGuards. Prince Andrew came up to him and took his hand.\r\n\r\n\"I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussing about\r\nwith Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey the dispositions.\r\nWhen Germans start being accurate, there's no end to it!\"\r\n\r\nBoris smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding to\r\nas something generally known. But it was the first time he had heard\r\nWeyrother's name, or even the term \"dispositions.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I have been\r\nthinking about you.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I was thinking\"--for some reason Boris could not help\r\nblushing--\"of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letter from\r\nPrince Kuragin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fear the Guards\r\nwon't be in action,\" he added as if in apology.\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right. We'll talk it over,\" replied Prince Andrew.\r\n\"Only let me report this gentleman's business, and I shall be at your\r\ndisposal.\"\r\n\r\nWhile Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general, that\r\ngentleman--evidently not sharing Boris' conception of the advantages\r\nof the unwritten code of subordination--looked so fixedly at the\r\npresumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what he had to\r\nsay to the adjutant that Boris felt uncomfortable. He turned away and\r\nwaited impatiently for Prince Andrew's return from the commander in\r\nchief's room.\r\n\r\n\"You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,\" said Prince\r\nAndrew when they had gone into the large room where the clavichord was.\r\n\"It's no use your going to the commander in chief. He would say a lot of\r\npleasant things, ask you to dinner\" (\"That would not be bad as regards\r\nthe unwritten code,\" thought Boris), \"but nothing more would come of it.\r\nThere will soon be a battalion of us aides-de-camp and adjutants! But\r\nthis is what we'll do: I have a good friend, an adjutant general and an\r\nexcellent fellow, Prince Dolgorukov; and though you may not know it, the\r\nfact is that now Kutuzov with his staff and all of us count for\r\nnothing. Everything is now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to\r\nDolgorukov; I have to go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him\r\nabout you. We shall see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find\r\na place for you somewhere nearer the sun.\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide a young\r\nman and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaining help\r\nof this kind for another, which from pride he would never accept for\r\nhimself, he kept in touch with the circle which confers success and\r\nwhich attracted him. He very readily took up Boris' cause and went with\r\nhim to Dolgorukov.\r\n\r\nIt was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmutz\r\noccupied by the Emperors and their retinues.\r\n\r\nThat same day a council of war had been held in which all the members of\r\nthe Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At that council, contrary\r\nto the views of the old generals Kutuzov and Prince Schwartzenberg, it\r\nhad been decided to advance immediately and give battle to Bonaparte.\r\nThe council of war was just over when Prince Andrew accompanied by Boris\r\narrived at the palace to find Dolgorukov. Everyone at headquarters was\r\nstill under the spell of the day's council, at which the party of the\r\nyoung had triumphed. The voices of those who counseled delay and advised\r\nwaiting for something else before advancing had been so completely\r\nsilenced and their arguments confuted by such conclusive evidence of the\r\nadvantages of attacking that what had been discussed at the council--the\r\ncoming battle and the victory that would certainly result from it--no\r\nlonger seemed to be in the future but in the past. All the advantages\r\nwere on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly superior to\r\nNapoleon's, were concentrated in one place, the troops inspired by the\r\nEmperors' presence were eager for action. The strategic position where\r\nthe operations would take place was familiar in all its details to\r\nthe Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident had ordained that the\r\nAustrian army should maneuver the previous year on the very fields where\r\nthe French had now to be fought; the adjacent locality was known and\r\nshown in every detail on the maps, and Bonaparte, evidently weakened,\r\nwas undertaking nothing.\r\n\r\nDolgorukov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had just returned\r\nfrom the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proud of the victory\r\nthat had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced his protege, but Prince\r\nDolgorukov politely and firmly pressing his hand said nothing to Boris\r\nand, evidently unable to suppress the thoughts which were uppermost in\r\nhis mind at that moment, addressed Prince Andrew in French.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant that\r\nthe one that will result from it will be as victorious! However, dear\r\nfellow,\" he said abruptly and eagerly, \"I must confess to having been\r\nunjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother. What exactitude,\r\nwhat minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, what foresight for\r\nevery eventuality, every possibility even to the smallest detail! No, my\r\ndear fellow, no conditions better than our present ones could have been\r\ndevised. This combination of Austrian precision with Russian valor--what\r\nmore could be wished for?\"\r\n\r\n\"So the attack is definitely resolved on?\" asked Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonaparte has\r\ndecidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was received from him\r\ntoday for the Emperor.\" Dolgorukov smiled significantly.\r\n\r\n\"Is that so? And what did he say?\" inquired Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gain time. I\r\ntell you he is in our hands, that's certain! But what was most amusing,\"\r\nhe continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, \"was that we could not\r\nthink how to address the reply! If not as 'Consul' and of course not as\r\n'Emperor,' it seemed to me it should be to 'General Bonaparte.'\"\r\n\r\n\"But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling him General\r\nBonaparte, there is a difference,\" remarked Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"That's just it,\" interrupted Dolgorukov quickly, laughing. \"You know\r\nBilibin--he's a very clever fellow. He suggested addressing him as\r\n'Usurper and Enemy of Mankind.'\"\r\n\r\nDolgorukov laughed merrily.\r\n\r\n\"Only that?\" said Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"All the same, it was Bilibin who found a suitable form for the address.\r\nHe is a wise and clever fellow.\"\r\n\r\n\"What was it?\"\r\n\r\n\"To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernement\r\nfrancais,\" said Dolgorukov, with grave satisfaction. \"Good, wasn't it?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, but he will dislike it extremely,\" said Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, he's dined with him--the\r\npresent Emperor--more than once in Paris, and tells me he never met a\r\nmore cunning or subtle diplomatist--you know, a combination of French\r\nadroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the tale about him and\r\nCount Markov? Count Markov was the only man who knew how to handle him.\r\nYou know the story of the handkerchief? It is delightful!\"\r\n\r\nAnd the talkative Dolgorukov, turning now to Boris, now to Prince\r\nAndrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markov, our ambassador,\r\npurposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood looking at\r\nMarkov, probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him, and how Markov\r\nimmediately dropped his own beside it and picked it up without touching\r\nBonaparte's.\r\n\r\n\"Delightful!\" said Bolkonski. \"But I have come to you, Prince, as a\r\npetitioner on behalf of this young man. You see...\" but before Prince\r\nAndrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summon Dolgorukov to the\r\nEmperor.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, what a nuisance,\" said Dolgorukov, getting up hurriedly and\r\npressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Boris. \"You know I should be\r\nvery glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear young\r\nman.\" Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression of\r\ngood-natured, sincere, and animated levity. \"But you see... another\r\ntime!\"\r\n\r\nBoris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers\r\nas he felt himself to be at that moment. He was conscious that here\r\nhe was in contact with the springs that set in motion the enormous\r\nmovements of the mass of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny,\r\nobedient, and insignificant atom. They followed Prince Dolgorukov out\r\ninto the corridor and met--coming out of the door of the Emperor's room\r\nby which Dolgorukov had entered--a short man in civilian clothes with a\r\nclever face and sharply projecting jaw which, without spoiling his face,\r\ngave him a peculiar vivacity and shiftiness of expression. This short\r\nman nodded to Dolgorukov as to an intimate friend and stared at Prince\r\nAndrew with cool intensity, walking straight toward him and evidently\r\nexpecting him to bow or to step out of his way. Prince Andrew did\r\nneither: a look of animosity appeared on his face and the other turned\r\naway and went down the side of the corridor.\r\n\r\n\"Who was that?\" asked Boris.\r\n\r\n\"He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of men--the\r\nMinister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartoryski.... It is such men\r\nas he who decide the fate of nations,\" added Bolkonski with a sigh he\r\ncould not suppress, as they passed out of the palace.\r\n\r\nNext day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battle of\r\nAusterlitz, Boris was unable to see either Prince Andrew or Dolgorukov\r\nagain and remained for a while with the Ismaylov regiment.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER X\r\n\r\n\r\nAt dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in which\r\nNicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment,\r\nmoved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing into action\r\nas arranged, and after going behind other columns for about two thirds\r\nof a mile was stopped on the highroad. Rostov saw the Cossacks and then\r\nthe first and second squadrons of hussars and infantry battalions\r\nand artillery pass by and go forward and then Generals Bagration and\r\nDolgorukov ride past with their adjutants. All the fear before action\r\nwhich he had experienced as previously, all the inner struggle to\r\nconquer that fear, all his dreams of distinguishing himself as a true\r\nhussar in this battle, had been wasted. Their squadron remained in\r\nreserve and Nicholas Rostov spent that day in a dull and wretched mood.\r\nAt nine in the morning, he heard firing in front and shouts of hurrah,\r\nand saw wounded being brought back (there were not many of them), and\r\nat last he saw how a whole detachment of French cavalry was brought in,\r\nconvoyed by a sotnya of Cossacks. Evidently the affair was over and,\r\nthough not big, had been a successful engagement. The men and officers\r\nreturning spoke of a brilliant victory, of the occupation of the town of\r\nWischau and the capture of a whole French squadron. The day was bright\r\nand sunny after a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that\r\nautumn day was in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed,\r\nnot only by the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by\r\nthe joyful expression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, and\r\nadjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming. And Nicholas, who had\r\nvainly suffered all the dread that precedes a battle and had spent that\r\nhappy day in inactivity, was all the more depressed.\r\n\r\n\"Come here, Wostov. Let's dwink to dwown our gwief!\" shouted Denisov,\r\nwho had settled down by the roadside with a flask and some food.\r\n\r\nThe officers gathered round Denisov's canteen, eating and talking.\r\n\r\n\"There! They are bringing another!\" cried one of the officers,\r\nindicating a captive French dragoon who was being brought in on foot by\r\ntwo Cossacks.\r\n\r\nOne of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse he had\r\ntaken from the prisoner.\r\n\r\n\"Sell us that horse!\" Denisov called out to the Cossacks.\r\n\r\n\"If you like, your honor!\"\r\n\r\nThe officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and their prisoner.\r\nThe French dragoon was a young Alsatian who spoke French with a German\r\naccent. He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and when\r\nhe heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers,\r\naddressing first one, then another. He said he would not have been\r\ntaken, it was not his fault but the corporal's who had sent him to seize\r\nsome horsecloths, though he had told him the Russians were there. And at\r\nevery word he added: \"But don't hurt my little horse!\" and stroked the\r\nanimal. It was plain that he did not quite grasp where he was. Now\r\nhe excused himself for having been taken prisoner and now, imagining\r\nhimself before his own officers, insisted on his soldierly discipline\r\nand zeal in the service. He brought with him into our rearguard all the\r\nfreshness of atmosphere of the French army, which was so alien to us.\r\n\r\nThe Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, being the\r\nrichest of the officers now that he had received his money, bought it.\r\n\r\n\"But don't hurt my little horse!\" said the Alsatian good-naturedly to\r\nRostov when the animal was handed over to the hussar.\r\n\r\nRostov smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.\r\n\r\n\"Alley! Alley!\" said the Cossack, touching the prisoner's arm to make\r\nhim go on.\r\n\r\n\"The Emperor! The Emperor!\" was suddenly heard among the hussars.\r\n\r\nAll began to run and bustle, and Rostov saw coming up the road behind\r\nhim several riders with white plumes in their hats. In a moment everyone\r\nwas in his place, waiting.\r\n\r\nRostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.\r\nInstantly his regret at not having been in action and his dejected mood\r\namid people of whom he was weary had gone, instantly every thought of\r\nhimself had vanished. He was filled with happiness at his nearness to\r\nthe Emperor. He felt that this nearness by itself made up to him for the\r\nday he had lost. He was happy as a lover when the longed-for moment of\r\nmeeting arrives. Not daring to look round and without looking round, he\r\nwas ecstatically conscious of his approach. He felt it not only from the\r\nsound of the hoofs of the approaching cavalcade, but because as he drew\r\nnear everything grew brighter, more joyful, more significant, and more\r\nfestive around him. Nearer and nearer to Rostov came that sun shedding\r\nbeams of mild and majestic light around, and already he felt himself\r\nenveloped in those beams, he heard his voice, that kindly, calm, and\r\nmajestic voice that was yet so simple! And as if in accord with\r\nRostov's feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heard the\r\nEmperor's voice.\r\n\r\n\"The Pavlograd hussars?\" he inquired.\r\n\r\n\"The reserves, sire!\" replied a voice, a very human one compared to that\r\nwhich had said: \"The Pavlograd hussars?\"\r\n\r\nThe Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted. Alexander's face was\r\neven more beautiful than it had been three days before at the review. It\r\nshone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth, that it suggested\r\nthe liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it was the face\r\nof the majestic Emperor. Casually, while surveying the squadron, the\r\nEmperor's eyes met Rostov's and rested on them for not more than two\r\nseconds. Whether or no the Emperor understood what was going on in\r\nRostov's soul (it seemed to Rostov that he understood everything), at\r\nany rate his light-blue eyes gazed for about two seconds into Rostov's\r\nface. A gentle, mild light poured from them. Then all at once he\r\nraised his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horse with his left foot, and\r\ngalloped on.\r\n\r\nThe younger Emperor could not restrain his wish to be present at the\r\nbattle and, in spite of the remonstrances of his courtiers, at twelve\r\no'clock left the third column with which he had been and galloped toward\r\nthe vanguard. Before he came up with the hussars, several adjutants met\r\nhim with news of the successful result of the action.\r\n\r\nThis battle, which consisted in the capture of a French squadron, was\r\nrepresented as a brilliant victory over the French, and so the\r\nEmperor and the whole army, especially while the smoke hung over\r\nthe battlefield, believed that the French had been defeated and were\r\nretreating against their will. A few minutes after the Emperor had\r\npassed, the Pavlograd division was ordered to advance. In Wischau\r\nitself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the Emperor again. In the\r\nmarket place, where there had been some rather heavy firing before the\r\nEmperor's arrival, lay several killed and wounded soldiers whom there\r\nhad not been time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by his suite\r\nof officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare, a\r\ndifferent one from that which he had ridden at the review, and bending\r\nto one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyes and looked\r\nat a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncovered head. The\r\nwounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that his proximity\r\nto the Emperor shocked Rostov. Rostov saw how the Emperor's rather round\r\nshoulders shuddered as if a cold shiver had run down them, how his left\r\nfoot began convulsively tapping the horse's side with the spur, and how\r\nthe well-trained horse looked round unconcerned and did not stir. An\r\nadjutant, dismounting, lifted the soldier under the arms to place him on\r\na stretcher that had been brought. The soldier groaned.\r\n\r\n\"Gently, gently! Can't you do it more gently?\" said the Emperor\r\napparently suffering more than the dying soldier, and he rode away.\r\n\r\nRostov saw tears filling the Emperor's eyes and heard him, as he was\r\nriding away, say to Czartoryski: \"What a terrible thing war is: what a\r\nterrible thing! Quelle terrible chose que la guerre!\"\r\n\r\nThe troops of the vanguard were stationed before Wischau, within sight\r\nof the enemy's lines, which all day long had yielded ground to us at\r\nthe least firing. The Emperor's gratitude was announced to the vanguard,\r\nrewards were promised, and the men received a double ration of vodka.\r\nThe campfires crackled and the soldiers' songs resounded even more\r\nmerrily than on the previous night. Denisov celebrated his promotion to\r\nthe rank of major, and Rostov, who had already drunk enough, at the end\r\nof the feast proposed the Emperor's health. \"Not 'our Sovereign, the\r\nEmperor,' as they say at official dinners,\" said he, \"but the health of\r\nour Sovereign, that good, enchanting, and great man! Let us drink to his\r\nhealth and to the certain defeat of the French!\"\r\n\r\n\"If we fought before,\" he said, \"not letting the French pass, as at\r\nSchon Grabern, what shall we not do now when he is at the front? We will\r\nall die for him gladly! Is it not so, gentlemen? Perhaps I am not saying\r\nit right, I have drunk a good deal--but that is how I feel, and so do\r\nyou too! To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!\"\r\n\r\n\"Hurrah!\" rang the enthusiastic voices of the officers.\r\n\r\nAnd the old cavalry captain, Kirsten, shouted enthusiastically and no\r\nless sincerely than the twenty-year-old Rostov.\r\n\r\nWhen the officers had emptied and smashed their glasses, Kirsten filled\r\nothers and, in shirt sleeves and breeches, went glass in hand to the\r\nsoldiers' bonfires and with his long gray mustache, his white chest\r\nshowing under his open shirt, he stood in a majestic pose in the light\r\nof the campfire, waving his uplifted arm.\r\n\r\n\"Lads! here's to our Sovereign, the Emperor, and victory over our\r\nenemies! Hurrah!\" he exclaimed in his dashing, old, hussar's baritone.\r\n\r\nThe hussars crowded round and responded heartily with loud shouts.\r\n\r\nLate that night, when all had separated, Denisov with his short hand\r\npatted his favorite, Rostov, on the shoulder.\r\n\r\n\"As there's no one to fall in love with on campaign, he's fallen in love\r\nwith the Tsar,\" he said.\r\n\r\n\"Denisov, don't make fun of it!\" cried Rostov. \"It is such a lofty,\r\nbeautiful feeling, such a...\"\r\n\r\n\"I believe it, I believe it, fwiend, and I share and appwove...\"\r\n\r\n\"No, you don't understand!\"\r\n\r\nAnd Rostov got up and went wandering among the campfires, dreaming of\r\nwhat happiness it would be to die--not in saving the Emperor's life (he\r\ndid not even dare to dream of that), but simply to die before his eyes.\r\nHe really was in love with the Tsar and the glory of the Russian\r\narms and the hope of future triumph. And he was not the only man to\r\nexperience that feeling during those memorable days preceding the battle\r\nof Austerlitz: nine tenths of the men in the Russian army were then in\r\nlove, though less ecstatically, with their Tsar and the glory of the\r\nRussian arms.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XI\r\n\r\n\r\nThe next day the Emperor stopped at Wischau, and Villier, his physician,\r\nwas repeatedly summoned to see him. At headquarters and among the troops\r\nnear by the news spread that the Emperor was unwell. He ate nothing and\r\nhad slept badly that night, those around him reported. The cause of this\r\nindisposition was the strong impression made on his sensitive mind by\r\nthe sight of the killed and wounded.\r\n\r\nAt daybreak on the seventeenth, a French officer who had come with\r\na flag of truce, demanding an audience with the Russian Emperor, was\r\nbrought into Wischau from our outposts. This officer was Savary. The\r\nEmperor had only just fallen asleep and so Savary had to wait. At midday\r\nhe was admitted to the Emperor, and an hour later he rode off with\r\nPrince Dolgorukov to the advanced post of the French army.\r\n\r\nIt was rumored that Savary had been sent to propose to Alexander\r\na meeting with Napoleon. To the joy and pride of the whole army, a\r\npersonal interview was refused, and instead of the Sovereign, Prince\r\nDolgorukov, the victor at Wischau, was sent with Savary to negotiate\r\nwith Napoleon if, contrary to expectations, these negotiations were\r\nactuated by a real desire for peace.\r\n\r\nToward evening Dolgorukov came back, went straight to the Tsar, and\r\nremained alone with him for a long time.\r\n\r\nOn the eighteenth and nineteenth of November, the army advanced two\r\ndays' march and the enemy's outposts after a brief interchange of shots\r\nretreated. In the highest army circles from midday on the nineteenth, a\r\ngreat, excitedly bustling activity began which lasted till the morning\r\nof the twentieth, when the memorable battle of Austerlitz was fought.\r\n\r\nTill midday on the nineteenth, the activity--the eager talk, running\r\nto and fro, and dispatching of adjutants--was confined to the Emperor's\r\nheadquarters. But on the afternoon of that day, this activity reached\r\nKutuzov's headquarters and the staffs of the commanders of columns. By\r\nevening, the adjutants had spread it to all ends and parts of the army,\r\nand in the night from the nineteenth to the twentieth, the whole eighty\r\nthousand allied troops rose from their bivouacs to the hum of voices,\r\nand the army swayed and started in one enormous mass six miles long.\r\n\r\nThe concentrated activity which had begun at the Emperor's headquarters\r\nin the morning and had started the whole movement that followed was like\r\nthe first movement of the main wheel of a large tower clock. One wheel\r\nslowly moved, another was set in motion, and a third, and wheels began\r\nto revolve faster and faster, levers and cogwheels to work, chimes to\r\nplay, figures to pop out, and the hands to advance with regular motion\r\nas a result of all that activity.\r\n\r\nJust as in the mechanism of a clock, so in the mechanism of the military\r\nmachine, an impulse once given leads to the final result; and just as\r\nindifferently quiescent till the moment when motion is transmitted\r\nto them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulse has not yet\r\nreached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one another and\r\nthe revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their movement, but a\r\nneighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as though it were prepared\r\nto remain so for a hundred years; but the moment comes when the lever\r\ncatches it and obeying the impulse that wheel begins to creak and joins\r\nin the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.\r\n\r\nJust as in a clock, the result of the complicated motion of innumerable\r\nwheels and pulleys is merely a slow and regular movement of the\r\nhands which show the time, so the result of all the complicated human\r\nactivities of 160,000 Russians and French--all their passions, desires,\r\nremorse, humiliations, sufferings, outbursts of pride, fear, and\r\nenthusiasm--was only the loss of the battle of Austerlitz, the so-called\r\nbattle of the three Emperors--that is to say, a slow movement of the\r\nhand on the dial of human history.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew was on duty that day and in constant attendance on the\r\ncommander in chief.\r\n\r\nAt six in the evening, Kutuzov went to the Emperor's headquarters and\r\nafter staying but a short time with the Tsar went to see the grand\r\nmarshal of the court, Count Tolstoy.\r\n\r\nBolkonski took the opportunity to go in to get some details of the\r\ncoming action from Dolgorukov. He felt that Kutuzov was upset and\r\ndissatisfied about something and that at headquarters they were\r\ndissatisfied with him, and also that at the Emperor's headquarters\r\neveryone adopted toward him the tone of men who know something others do\r\nnot know: he therefore wished to speak to Dolgorukov.\r\n\r\n\"Well, how d'you do, my dear fellow?\" said Dolgorukov, who was sitting\r\nat tea with Bilibin. \"The fete is for tomorrow. How is your old fellow?\r\nOut of sorts?\"\r\n\r\n\"I won't say he is out of sorts, but I fancy he would like to be heard.\"\r\n\r\n\"But they heard him at the council of war and will hear him when he\r\ntalks sense, but to temporize and wait for something now when Bonaparte\r\nfears nothing so much as a general battle is impossible.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, you have seen him?\" said Prince Andrew. \"Well, what is Bonaparte\r\nlike? How did he impress you?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I saw him, and am convinced that he fears nothing so much as a\r\ngeneral engagement,\" repeated Dolgorukov, evidently prizing this general\r\nconclusion which he had arrived at from his interview with Napoleon.\r\n\"If he weren't afraid of a battle why did he ask for that interview? Why\r\nnegotiate, and above all why retreat, when to retreat is so contrary\r\nto his method of conducting war? Believe me, he is afraid, afraid of a\r\ngeneral battle. His hour has come! Mark my words!\"\r\n\r\n\"But tell me, what is he like, eh?\" said Prince Andrew again.\r\n\r\n\"He is a man in a gray overcoat, very anxious that I should call him\r\n'Your Majesty,' but who, to his chagrin, got no title from me! That's\r\nthe sort of man he is, and nothing more,\" replied Dolgorukov, looking\r\nround at Bilibin with a smile.\r\n\r\n\"Despite my great respect for old Kutuzov,\" he continued, \"we should be\r\na nice set of fellows if we were to wait about and so give him a chance\r\nto escape, or to trick us, now that we certainly have him in our hands!\r\nNo, we mustn't forget Suvorov and his rule--not to put yourself in a\r\nposition to be attacked, but yourself to attack. Believe me in war the\r\nenergy of young men often shows the way better than all the experience\r\nof old Cunctators.\"\r\n\r\n\"But in what position are we going to attack him? I have been at the\r\noutposts today and it is impossible to say where his chief forces are\r\nsituated,\" said Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\nHe wished to explain to Dolgorukov a plan of attack he had himself\r\nformed.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, that is all the same,\" Dolgorukov said quickly, and getting up he\r\nspread a map on the table. \"All eventualities have been foreseen. If he\r\nis standing before Brunn...\"\r\n\r\nAnd Prince Dolgorukov rapidly but indistinctly explained Weyrother's\r\nplan of a flanking movement.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew began to reply and to state his own plan, which might have\r\nbeen as good as Weyrother's, but for the disadvantage that Weyrother's\r\nhad already been approved. As soon as Prince Andrew began to demonstrate\r\nthe defects of the latter and the merits of his own plan, Prince\r\nDolgorukov ceased to listen to him and gazed absent-mindedly not at the\r\nmap, but at Prince Andrew's face.\r\n\r\n\"There will be a council of war at Kutuzov's tonight, though; you can\r\nsay all this there,\" remarked Dolgorukov.\r\n\r\n\"I will do so,\" said Prince Andrew, moving away from the map.\r\n\r\n\"Whatever are you bothering about, gentlemen?\" said Bilibin, who, till\r\nthen, had listened with an amused smile to their conversation and now\r\nwas evidently ready with a joke. \"Whether tomorrow brings victory or\r\ndefeat, the glory of our Russian arms is secure. Except your Kutuzov,\r\nthere is not a single Russian in command of a column! The commanders\r\nare: Herr General Wimpfen, le Comte de Langeron, le Prince de\r\nLichtenstein, le Prince, de Hohenlohe, and finally Prishprish, and so on\r\nlike all those Polish names.\"\r\n\r\n\"Be quiet, backbiter!\" said Dolgorukov. \"It is not true; there are now\r\ntwo Russians, Miloradovich, and Dokhturov, and there would be a third,\r\nCount Arakcheev, if his nerves were not too weak.\"\r\n\r\n\"However, I think General Kutuzov has come out,\" said Prince Andrew. \"I\r\nwish you good luck and success, gentlemen!\" he added and went out after\r\nshaking hands with Dolgorukov and Bilibin.\r\n\r\nOn the way home, Prince Andrew could not refrain from asking Kutuzov,\r\nwho was sitting silently beside him, what he thought of tomorrow's\r\nbattle.\r\n\r\nKutuzov looked sternly at his adjutant and, after a pause, replied: \"I\r\nthink the battle will be lost, and so I told Count Tolstoy and asked\r\nhim to tell the Emperor. What do you think he replied? 'But, my dear\r\ngeneral, I am engaged with rice and cutlets, look after military matters\r\nyourself!' Yes... That was the answer I got!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XII\r\n\r\n\r\nShortly after nine o'clock that evening, Weyrother drove with his plans\r\nto Kutuzov's quarters where the council of war was to be held. All the\r\ncommanders of columns were summoned to the commander in chief's and with\r\nthe exception of Prince Bagration, who declined to come, were all there\r\nat the appointed time.\r\n\r\nWeyrother, who was in full control of the proposed battle, by his\r\neagerness and briskness presented a marked contrast to the dissatisfied\r\nand drowsy Kutuzov, who reluctantly played the part of chairman and\r\npresident of the council of war. Weyrother evidently felt himself to be\r\nat the head of a movement that had already become unrestrainable. He was\r\nlike a horse running downhill harnessed to a heavy cart. Whether he was\r\npulling it or being pushed by it he did not know, but rushed along at\r\nheadlong speed with no time to consider what this movement might lead\r\nto. Weyrother had been twice that evening to the enemy's picket line to\r\nreconnoiter personally, and twice to the Emperors, Russian and Austrian,\r\nto report and explain, and to his headquarters where he had dictated\r\nthe dispositions in German, and now, much exhausted, he arrived at\r\nKutuzov's.\r\n\r\nHe was evidently so busy that he even forgot to be polite to the\r\ncommander in chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinctly,\r\nwithout looking at the man he was addressing, and did not reply to\r\nquestions put to him. He was bespattered with mud and had a pitiful,\r\nweary, and distracted air, though at the same time he was haughty and\r\nself-confident.\r\n\r\nKutuzov was occupying a nobleman's castle of modest dimensions near\r\nOstralitz. In the large drawing room which had become the commander in\r\nchief's office were gathered Kutuzov himself, Weyrother, and the members\r\nof the council of war. They were drinking tea, and only awaited Prince\r\nBagration to begin the council. At last Bagration's orderly came with\r\nthe news that the prince could not attend. Prince Andrew came in\r\nto inform the commander in chief of this and, availing himself of\r\npermission previously given him by Kutuzov to be present at the council,\r\nhe remained in the room.\r\n\r\n\"Since Prince Bagration is not coming, we may begin,\" said Weyrother,\r\nhurriedly rising from his seat and going up to the table on which an\r\nenormous map of the environs of Brunn was spread out.\r\n\r\nKutuzov, with his uniform unbuttoned so that his fat neck bulged over\r\nhis collar as if escaping, was sitting almost asleep in a low chair,\r\nwith his podgy old hands resting symmetrically on its arms. At the sound\r\nof Weyrother's voice, he opened his one eye with an effort.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, yes, if you please! It is already late,\" said he, and nodding his\r\nhead he let it droop and again closed his eye.\r\n\r\nIf at first the members of the council thought that Kutuzov was\r\npretending to sleep, the sounds his nose emitted during the reading that\r\nfollowed proved that the commander in chief at that moment was absorbed\r\nby a far more serious matter than a desire to show his contempt for\r\nthe dispositions or anything else--he was engaged in satisfying the\r\nirresistible human need for sleep. He really was asleep. Weyrother, with\r\nthe gesture of a man too busy to lose a moment, glanced at Kutuzov and,\r\nhaving convinced himself that he was asleep, took up a paper and in\r\na loud, monotonous voice began to read out the dispositions for the\r\nimpending battle, under a heading which he also read out:\r\n\r\n\"Dispositions for an attack on the enemy position behind Kobelnitz and\r\nSokolnitz, November 30, 1805.\"\r\n\r\nThe dispositions were very complicated and difficult. They began as\r\nfollows:\r\n\r\n\"As the enemy's left wing rests on wooded hills and his right extends\r\nalong Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the ponds that are there, while we,\r\non the other hand, with our left wing by far outflank his right, it is\r\nadvantageous to attack the enemy's latter wing especially if we occupy\r\nthe villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, whereby we can both fall on\r\nhis flank and pursue him over the plain between Schlappanitz and the\r\nThuerassa forest, avoiding the defiles of Schlappanitz and Bellowitz\r\nwhich cover the enemy's front. For this object it is necessary that...\r\nThe first column marches... The second column marches... The third\r\ncolumn marches...\" and so on, read Weyrother.\r\n\r\nThe generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the difficult dispositions.\r\nThe tall, fair-haired General Buxhowden stood, leaning his back against\r\nthe wall, his eyes fixed on a burning candle, and seemed not to listen\r\nor even to wish to be thought to listen. Exactly opposite Weyrother,\r\nwith his glistening wide-open eyes fixed upon him and his mustache\r\ntwisted upwards, sat the ruddy Miloradovich in a military pose, his\r\nelbows turned outwards, his hands on his knees, and his shoulders\r\nraised. He remained stubbornly silent, gazing at Weyrother's face, and\r\nonly turned away his eyes when the Austrian chief of staff finished\r\nreading. Then Miloradovich looked round significantly at the other\r\ngenerals. But one could not tell from that significant look whether he\r\nagreed or disagreed and was satisfied or not with the arrangements. Next\r\nto Weyrother sat Count Langeron who, with a subtle smile that never left\r\nhis typically southern French face during the whole time of the reading,\r\ngazed at his delicate fingers which rapidly twirled by its corners\r\na gold snuffbox on which was a portrait. In the middle of one of the\r\nlongest sentences, he stopped the rotary motion of the snuffbox, raised\r\nhis head, and with inimical politeness lurking in the corners of his\r\nthin lips interrupted Weyrother, wishing to say something. But the\r\nAustrian general, continuing to read, frowned angrily and jerked his\r\nelbows, as if to say: \"You can tell me your views later, but now be so\r\ngood as to look at the map and listen.\" Langeron lifted his eyes with an\r\nexpression of perplexity, turned round to Miloradovich as if seeking an\r\nexplanation, but meeting the latter's impressive but meaningless gaze\r\ndrooped his eyes sadly and again took to twirling his snuffbox.\r\n\r\n\"A geography lesson!\" he muttered as if to himself, but loud enough to\r\nbe heard.\r\n\r\nPrzebyszewski, with respectful but dignified politeness, held his\r\nhand to his ear toward Weyrother, with the air of a man absorbed in\r\nattention. Dohkturov, a little man, sat opposite Weyrother, with\r\nan assiduous and modest mien, and stooping over the outspread map\r\nconscientiously studied the dispositions and the unfamiliar locality. He\r\nasked Weyrother several times to repeat words he had not clearly heard\r\nand the difficult names of villages. Weyrother complied and Dohkturov\r\nnoted them down.\r\n\r\nWhen the reading which lasted more than an hour was over, Langeron again\r\nbrought his snuffbox to rest and, without looking at Weyrother or at\r\nanyone in particular, began to say how difficult it was to carry out\r\nsuch a plan in which the enemy's position was assumed to be known,\r\nwhereas it was perhaps not known, since the enemy was in movement.\r\nLangeron's objections were valid but it was obvious that their chief\r\naim was to show General Weyrother--who had read his dispositions with as\r\nmuch self-confidence as if he were addressing school children--that he\r\nhad to do, not with fools, but with men who could teach him something in\r\nmilitary matters.\r\n\r\nWhen the monotonous sound of Weyrother's voice ceased, Kutuzov opened\r\nhis eye as a miller wakes up when the soporific drone of the mill wheel\r\nis interrupted. He listened to what Langeron said, as if remarking, \"So\r\nyou are still at that silly business!\" quickly closed his eye again, and\r\nlet his head sink still lower.\r\n\r\nLangeron, trying as virulently as possible to sting Weyrother's vanity\r\nas author of the military plan, argued that Bonaparte might easily\r\nattack instead of being attacked, and so render the whole of this\r\nplan perfectly worthless. Weyrother met all objections with a firm and\r\ncontemptuous smile, evidently prepared beforehand to meet all objections\r\nbe they what they might.\r\n\r\n\"If he could attack us, he would have done so today,\" said he.\r\n\r\n\"So you think he is powerless?\" said Langeron.\r\n\r\n\"He has forty thousand men at most,\" replied Weyrother, with the smile\r\nof a doctor to whom an old wife wishes to explain the treatment of a\r\ncase.\r\n\r\n\"In that case he is inviting his doom by awaiting our attack,\" said\r\nLangeron, with a subtly ironical smile, again glancing round for support\r\nto Miloradovich who was near him.\r\n\r\nBut Miloradovich was at that moment evidently thinking of anything\r\nrather than of what the generals were disputing about.\r\n\r\n\"Ma foi!\" said he, \"tomorrow we shall see all that on the battlefield.\"\r\n\r\nWeyrother again gave that smile which seemed to say that to him it was\r\nstrange and ridiculous to meet objections from Russian generals and to\r\nhave to prove to them what he had not merely convinced himself of, but\r\nhad also convinced the sovereign Emperors of.\r\n\r\n\"The enemy has quenched his fires and a continual noise is heard from\r\nhis camp,\" said he. \"What does that mean? Either he is retreating, which\r\nis the only thing we need fear, or he is changing his position.\" (He\r\nsmiled ironically.) \"But even if he also took up a position in the\r\nThuerassa, he merely saves us a great deal of trouble and all our\r\narrangements to the minutest detail remain the same.\"\r\n\r\n\"How is that?...\" began Prince Andrew, who had for long been waiting an\r\nopportunity to express his doubts.\r\n\r\nKutuzov here woke up, coughed heavily, and looked round at the generals.\r\n\r\n\"Gentlemen, the dispositions for tomorrow--or rather for today, for it\r\nis past midnight--cannot now be altered,\" said he. \"You have heard them,\r\nand we shall all do our duty. But before a battle, there is nothing more\r\nimportant...\" he paused, \"than to have a good sleep.\"\r\n\r\nHe moved as if to rise. The generals bowed and retired. It was past\r\nmidnight. Prince Andrew went out.\r\n\r\n\r\nThe council of war, at which Prince Andrew had not been able to\r\nexpress his opinion as he had hoped to, left on him a vague and uneasy\r\nimpression. Whether Dolgorukov and Weyrother, or Kutuzov, Langeron, and\r\nthe others who did not approve of the plan of attack, were right--he did\r\nnot know. \"But was it really not possible for Kutuzov to state his views\r\nplainly to the Emperor? Is it possible that on account of court and\r\npersonal considerations tens of thousands of lives, and my life, my\r\nlife,\" he thought, \"must be risked?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it is very likely that I shall be killed tomorrow,\" he thought.\r\nAnd suddenly, at this thought of death, a whole series of most distant,\r\nmost intimate, memories rose in his imagination: he remembered his last\r\nparting from his father and his wife; he remembered the days when he\r\nfirst loved her. He thought of her pregnancy and felt sorry for her and\r\nfor himself, and in a nervously emotional and softened mood he went out\r\nof the hut in which he was billeted with Nesvitski and began to walk up\r\nand down before it.\r\n\r\nThe night was foggy and through the fog the moonlight gleamed\r\nmysteriously. \"Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow!\" he thought. \"Tomorrow\r\neverything may be over for me! All these memories will be no more, none\r\nof them will have any meaning for me. Tomorrow perhaps, even certainly,\r\nI have a presentiment that for the first time I shall have to show all I\r\ncan do.\" And his fancy pictured the battle, its loss, the concentration\r\nof fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the commanders. And\r\nthen that happy moment, that Toulon for which he had so long waited,\r\npresents itself to him at last. He firmly and clearly expresses his\r\nopinion to Kutuzov, to Weyrother, and to the Emperors. All are struck by\r\nthe justness of his views, but no one undertakes to carry them out, so\r\nhe takes a regiment, a division-stipulates that no one is to interfere\r\nwith his arrangements--leads his division to the decisive point, and\r\ngains the victory alone. \"But death and suffering?\" suggested another\r\nvoice. Prince Andrew, however, did not answer that voice and went on\r\ndreaming of his triumphs. The dispositions for the next battle are\r\nplanned by him alone. Nominally he is only an adjutant on Kutuzov's\r\nstaff, but he does everything alone. The next battle is won by him\r\nalone. Kutuzov is removed and he is appointed... \"Well and then?\" asked\r\nthe other voice. \"If before that you are not ten times wounded, killed,\r\nor betrayed, well... what then?...\" \"Well then,\" Prince Andrew answered\r\nhimself, \"I don't know what will happen and don't want to know, and\r\ncan't, but if I want this--want glory, want to be known to men, want to\r\nbe loved by them, it is not my fault that I want it and want nothing\r\nbut that and live only for that. Yes, for that alone! I shall never\r\ntell anyone, but, oh God! what am I to do if I love nothing but fame\r\nand men's esteem? Death, wounds, the loss of family--I fear nothing. And\r\nprecious and dear as many persons are to me--father, sister, wife--those\r\ndearest to me--yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them\r\nall at once for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men\r\nI don't know and never shall know, for the love of these men here,\" he\r\nthought, as he listened to voices in Kutuzov's courtyard. The voices\r\nwere those of the orderlies who were packing up; one voice, probably a\r\ncoachman's, was teasing Kutuzov's old cook whom Prince Andrew knew, and\r\nwho was called Tit. He was saying, \"Tit, I say, Tit!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well?\" returned the old man.\r\n\r\n\"Go, Tit, thresh a bit!\" said the wag.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, go to the devil!\" called out a voice, drowned by the laughter of\r\nthe orderlies and servants.\r\n\r\n\"All the same, I love and value nothing but triumph over them all, I\r\nvalue this mystic power and glory that is floating here above me in this\r\nmist!\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIII\r\n\r\n\r\nThat same night, Rostov was with a platoon on skirmishing duty in front\r\nof Bagration's detachment. His hussars were placed along the line\r\nin couples and he himself rode along the line trying to master the\r\nsleepiness that kept coming over him. An enormous space, with our army's\r\ncampfires dimly glowing in the fog, could be seen behind him; in front\r\nof him was misty darkness. Rostov could see nothing, peer as he would\r\ninto that foggy distance: now something gleamed gray, now there was\r\nsomething black, now little lights seemed to glimmer where the enemy\r\nought to be, now he fancied it was only something in his own eyes.\r\nHis eyes kept closing, and in his fancy appeared--now the Emperor, now\r\nDenisov, and now Moscow memories--and he again hurriedly opened his eyes\r\nand saw close before him the head and ears of the horse he was riding,\r\nand sometimes, when he came within six paces of them, the black figures\r\nof hussars, but in the distance was still the same misty darkness. \"Why\r\nnot?... It might easily happen,\" thought Rostov, \"that the Emperor will\r\nmeet me and give me an order as he would to any other officer; he'll\r\nsay: 'Go and find out what's there.' There are many stories of his\r\ngetting to know an officer in just such a chance way and attaching him\r\nto himself! What if he gave me a place near him? Oh, how I would guard\r\nhim, how I would tell him the truth, how I would unmask his deceivers!\"\r\nAnd in order to realize vividly his love devotion to the sovereign,\r\nRostov pictured to himself an enemy or a deceitful German, whom he would\r\nnot only kill with pleasure but whom he would slap in the face before\r\nthe Emperor. Suddenly a distant shout aroused him. He started and opened\r\nhis eyes.\r\n\r\n\"Where am I? Oh yes, in the skirmishing line... pass and\r\nwatchword--shaft, Olmutz. What a nuisance that our squadron will be in\r\nreserve tomorrow,\" he thought. \"I'll ask leave to go to the front, this\r\nmay be my only chance of seeing the Emperor. It won't be long now before\r\nI am off duty. I'll take another turn and when I get back I'll go to the\r\ngeneral and ask him.\" He readjusted himself in the saddle and touched up\r\nhis horse to ride once more round his hussars. It seemed to him that it\r\nwas getting lighter. To the left he saw a sloping descent lit up, and\r\nfacing it a black knoll that seemed as steep as a wall. On this knoll\r\nthere was a white patch that Rostov could not at all make out: was it\r\na glade in the wood lit up by the moon, or some unmelted snow, or some\r\nwhite houses? He even thought something moved on that white spot. \"I\r\nexpect it's snow... that spot... a spot--une tache,\" he thought. \"There\r\nnow... it's not a tache... Natasha... sister, black eyes... Na...\r\ntasha... (Won't she be surprised when I tell her how I've seen the\r\nEmperor?) Natasha... take my sabretache...\"--\"Keep to the right, your\r\nhonor, there are bushes here,\" came the voice of an hussar, past whom\r\nRostov was riding in the act of falling asleep. Rostov lifted his\r\nhead that had sunk almost to his horse's mane and pulled up beside\r\nthe hussar. He was succumbing to irresistible, youthful, childish\r\ndrowsiness. \"But what was I thinking? I mustn't forget. How shall\r\nI speak to the Emperor? No, that's not it--that's tomorrow. Oh yes!\r\nNatasha... sabretache... saber them... Whom? The hussars... Ah, the\r\nhussars with mustaches. Along the Tverskaya Street rode the hussar with\r\nmustaches... I thought about him too, just opposite Guryev's house...\r\nOld Guryev.... Oh, but Denisov's a fine fellow. But that's all nonsense.\r\nThe chief thing is that the Emperor is here. How he looked at me and\r\nwished to say something, but dared not.... No, it was I who dared not.\r\nBut that's nonsense, the chief thing is not to forget the important\r\nthing I was thinking of. Yes, Na-tasha, sabretache, oh, yes, yes! That's\r\nright!\" And his head once more sank to his horse's neck. All at once it\r\nseemed to him that he was being fired at. \"What? What? What?... Cut them\r\ndown! What?...\" said Rostov, waking up. At the moment he opened his eyes\r\nhe heard in front of him, where the enemy was, the long-drawn shouts\r\nof thousands of voices. His horse and the horse of the hussar near him\r\npricked their ears at these shouts. Over there, where the shouting came\r\nfrom, a fire flared up and went out again, then another, and all along\r\nthe French line on the hill fires flared up and the shouting grew louder\r\nand louder. Rostov could hear the sound of French words but could not\r\ndistinguish them. The din of many voices was too great; all he could\r\nhear was: \"ahahah!\" and \"rrrr!\"\r\n\r\n\"What's that? What do you make of it?\" said Rostov to the hussar beside\r\nhim. \"That must be the enemy's camp!\"\r\n\r\nThe hussar did not reply.\r\n\r\n\"Why, don't you hear it?\" Rostov asked again, after waiting for a reply.\r\n\r\n\"Who can tell, your honor?\" replied the hussar reluctantly.\r\n\r\n\"From the direction, it must be the enemy,\" repeated Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"It may be he or it may be nothing,\" muttered the hussar. \"It's dark...\r\nSteady!\" he cried to his fidgeting horse.\r\n\r\nRostov's horse was also getting restive: it pawed the frozen ground,\r\npricking its ears at the noise and looking at the lights. The shouting\r\ngrew still louder and merged into a general roar that only an army\r\nof several thousand men could produce. The lights spread farther and\r\nfarther, probably along the line of the French camp. Rostov no longer\r\nwanted to sleep. The gay triumphant shouting of the enemy army had a\r\nstimulating effect on him. \"Vive l'Empereur! L'Empereur!\" he now heard\r\ndistinctly.\r\n\r\n\"They can't be far off, probably just beyond the stream,\" he said to the\r\nhussar beside him.\r\n\r\nThe hussar only sighed without replying and coughed angrily. The sound\r\nof horse's hoofs approaching at a trot along the line of hussars was\r\nheard, and out of the foggy darkness the figure of a sergeant of hussars\r\nsuddenly appeared, looming huge as an elephant.\r\n\r\n\"Your honor, the generals!\" said the sergeant, riding up to Rostov.\r\n\r\nRostov, still looking round toward the fires and the shouts, rode with\r\nthe sergeant to meet some mounted men who were riding along the line.\r\nOne was on a white horse. Prince Bagration and Prince Dolgorukov with\r\ntheir adjutants had come to witness the curious phenomenon of the lights\r\nand shouts in the enemy's camp. Rostov rode up to Bagration, reported to\r\nhim, and then joined the adjutants listening to what the generals were\r\nsaying.\r\n\r\n\"Believe me,\" said Prince Dolgorukov, addressing Bagration, \"it is\r\nnothing but a trick! He has retreated and ordered the rearguard to\r\nkindle fires and make a noise to deceive us.\"\r\n\r\n\"Hardly,\" said Bagration. \"I saw them this evening on that knoll; if\r\nthey had retreated they would have withdrawn from that too.... Officer!\"\r\nsaid Bagration to Rostov, \"are the enemy's skirmishers still there?\"\r\n\r\n\"They were there this evening, but now I don't know, your excellency.\r\nShall I go with some of my hussars to see?\" replied Rostov.\r\n\r\nBagration stopped and, before replying, tried to see Rostov's face in\r\nthe mist.\r\n\r\n\"Well, go and see,\" he said, after a pause.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, sir.\"\r\n\r\nRostov spurred his horse, called to Sergeant Fedchenko and two other\r\nhussars, told them to follow him, and trotted downhill in the direction\r\nfrom which the shouting came. He felt both frightened and pleased to be\r\nriding alone with three hussars into that mysterious and dangerous misty\r\ndistance where no one had been before him. Bagration called to him from\r\nthe hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov pretended not to hear\r\nhim and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes\r\nfor trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes.\r\nHaving descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or\r\nthe enemy's fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly and\r\ndistinctly. In the valley he saw before him something like a river, but\r\nwhen he reached it he found it was a road. Having come out onto the road\r\nhe reined in his horse, hesitating whether to ride along it or cross it\r\nand ride over the black field up the hillside. To keep to the road which\r\ngleamed white in the mist would have been safer because it would be\r\neasier to see people coming along it. \"Follow me!\" said he, crossed the\r\nroad, and began riding up the hill at a gallop toward the point where\r\nthe French pickets had been standing that evening.\r\n\r\n\"Your honor, there he is!\" cried one of the hussars behind him. And\r\nbefore Rostov had time to make out what the black thing was that had\r\nsuddenly appeared in the fog, there was a flash, followed by a report,\r\nand a bullet whizzing high up in the mist with a plaintive sound passed\r\nout of hearing. Another musket missed fire but flashed in the pan.\r\nRostov turned his horse and galloped back. Four more reports followed\r\nat intervals, and the bullets passed somewhere in the fog singing in\r\ndifferent tones. Rostov reined in his horse, whose spirits had risen,\r\nlike his own, at the firing, and went back at a footpace. \"Well, some\r\nmore! Some more!\" a merry voice was saying in his soul. But no more\r\nshots came.\r\n\r\nOnly when approaching Bagration did Rostov let his horse gallop again,\r\nand with his hand at the salute rode up to the general.\r\n\r\nDolgorukov was still insisting that the French had retreated and had\r\nonly lit fires to deceive us.\r\n\r\n\"What does that prove?\" he was saying as Rostov rode up. \"They might\r\nretreat and leave the pickets.\"\r\n\r\n\"It's plain that they have not all gone yet, Prince,\" said Bagration.\r\n\"Wait till tomorrow morning, we'll find out everything tomorrow.\"\r\n\r\n\"The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just where it was\r\nin the evening,\" reported Rostov, stooping forward with his hand at the\r\nsalute and unable to repress the smile of delight induced by his ride\r\nand especially by the sound of the bullets.\r\n\r\n\"Very good, very good,\" said Bagration. \"Thank you, officer.\"\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency,\" said Rostov, \"may I ask a favor?\"\r\n\r\n\"What is it?\"\r\n\r\n\"Tomorrow our squadron is to be in reserve. May I ask to be attached to\r\nthe first squadron?\"\r\n\r\n\"What's your name?\"\r\n\r\n\"Count Rostov.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, very well, you may stay in attendance on me.\"\r\n\r\n\"Count Ilya Rostov's son?\" asked Dolgorukov.\r\n\r\nBut Rostov did not reply.\r\n\r\n\"Then I may reckon on it, your excellency?\"\r\n\r\n\"I will give the order.\"\r\n\r\n\"Tomorrow very likely I may be sent with some message to the Emperor,\"\r\nthought Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Thank God!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nThe fires and shouting in the enemy's army were occasioned by the fact\r\nthat while Napoleon's proclamation was being read to the troops the\r\nEmperor himself rode round his bivouacs. The soldiers, on seeing him,\r\nlit wisps of straw and ran after him, shouting, \"Vive l'Empereur!\"\r\nNapoleon's proclamation was as follows:\r\n\r\n\r\nSoldiers! The Russian army is advancing against you to avenge the\r\nAustrian army of Ulm. They are the same battalions you broke at\r\nHollabrunn and have pursued ever since to this place. The position we\r\noccupy is a strong one, and while they are marching to go round me on\r\nthe right they will expose a flank to me. Soldiers! I will myself direct\r\nyour battalions. I will keep out of fire if you with your habitual valor\r\ncarry disorder and confusion into the enemy's ranks, but should victory\r\nbe in doubt, even for a moment, you will see your Emperor exposing\r\nhimself to the first blows of the enemy, for there must be no doubt of\r\nvictory, especially on this day when what is at stake is the honor of\r\nthe French infantry, so necessary to the honor of our nation.\r\n\r\nDo not break your ranks on the plea of removing the wounded! Let every\r\nman be fully imbued with the thought that we must defeat these hirelings\r\nof England, inspired by such hatred of our nation! This victory will\r\nconclude our campaign and we can return to winter quarters, where fresh\r\nFrench troops who are being raised in France will join us, and the peace\r\nI shall conclude will be worthy of my people, of you, and of myself.\r\n\r\nNAPOLEON\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIV\r\n\r\n\r\nAt five in the morning it was still quite dark. The troops of the\r\ncenter, the reserves, and Bagration's right flank had not yet moved, but\r\non the left flank the columns of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, which\r\nwere to be the first to descend the heights to attack the French right\r\nflank and drive it into the Bohemian mountains according to plan, were\r\nalready up and astir. The smoke of the campfires, into which they were\r\nthrowing everything superfluous, made the eyes smart. It was cold and\r\ndark. The officers were hurriedly drinking tea and breakfasting, the\r\nsoldiers, munching biscuit and beating a tattoo with their feet to\r\nwarm themselves, gathering round the fires throwing into the flames the\r\nremains of sheds, chairs, tables, wheels, tubs, and everything that they\r\ndid not want or could not carry away with them. Austrian column guides\r\nwere moving in and out among the Russian troops and served as heralds\r\nof the advance. As soon as an Austrian officer showed himself near a\r\ncommanding officer's quarters, the regiment began to move: the soldiers\r\nran from the fires, thrust their pipes into their boots, their bags\r\ninto the carts, got their muskets ready, and formed rank. The officers\r\nbuttoned up their coats, buckled on their swords and pouches, and moved\r\nalong the ranks shouting. The train drivers and orderlies harnessed and\r\npacked the wagons and tied on the loads. The adjutants and battalion\r\nand regimental commanders mounted, crossed themselves, gave final\r\ninstructions, orders, and commissions to the baggage men who remained\r\nbehind, and the monotonous tramp of thousands of feet resounded. The\r\ncolumn moved forward without knowing where and unable, from the masses\r\naround them, the smoke and the increasing fog, to see either the place\r\nthey were leaving or that to which they were going.\r\n\r\nA soldier on the march is hemmed in and borne along by his regiment as\r\nmuch as a sailor is by his ship. However far he has walked, whatever\r\nstrange, unknown, and dangerous places he reaches, just as a sailor is\r\nalways surrounded by the same decks, masts, and rigging of his ship, so\r\nthe soldier always has around him the same comrades, the same ranks,\r\nthe same sergeant major Ivan Mitrich, the same company dog Jack, and the\r\nsame commanders. The sailor rarely cares to know the latitude in which\r\nhis ship is sailing, but on the day of battle--heaven knows how and\r\nwhence--a stern note of which all are conscious sounds in the moral\r\natmosphere of an army, announcing the approach of something decisive\r\nand solemn, and awakening in the men an unusual curiosity. On the day of\r\nbattle the soldiers excitedly try to get beyond the interests of their\r\nregiment, they listen intently, look about, and eagerly ask concerning\r\nwhat is going on around them.\r\n\r\nThe fog had grown so dense that though it was growing light they could\r\nnot see ten paces ahead. Bushes looked like gigantic trees and level\r\nground like cliffs and slopes. Anywhere, on any side, one might\r\nencounter an enemy invisible ten paces off. But the columns advanced\r\nfor a long time, always in the same fog, descending and ascending hills,\r\navoiding gardens and enclosures, going over new and unknown ground, and\r\nnowhere encountering the enemy. On the contrary, the soldiers became\r\naware that in front, behind, and on all sides, other Russian columns\r\nwere moving in the same direction. Every soldier felt glad to know that\r\nto the unknown place where he was going, many more of our men were going\r\ntoo.\r\n\r\n\"There now, the Kurskies have also gone past,\" was being said in the\r\nranks.\r\n\r\n\"It's wonderful what a lot of our troops have gathered, lads! Last\r\nnight I looked at the campfires and there was no end of them. A regular\r\nMoscow!\"\r\n\r\nThough none of the column commanders rode up to the ranks or talked to\r\nthe men (the commanders, as we saw at the council of war, were out of\r\nhumor and dissatisfied with the affair, and so did not exert themselves\r\nto cheer the men but merely carried out the orders), yet the troops\r\nmarched gaily, as they always do when going into action, especially to\r\nan attack. But when they had marched for about an hour in the dense fog,\r\nthe greater part of the men had to halt and an unpleasant consciousness\r\nof some dislocation and blunder spread through the ranks. How such\r\na consciousness is communicated is very difficult to define, but it\r\ncertainly is communicated very surely, and flows rapidly, imperceptibly,\r\nand irrepressibly, as water does in a creek. Had the Russian army been\r\nalone without any allies, it might perhaps have been a long time before\r\nthis consciousness of mismanagement became a general conviction, but as\r\nit was, the disorder was readily and naturally attributed to the stupid\r\nGermans, and everyone was convinced that a dangerous muddle had been\r\noccasioned by the sausage eaters.\r\n\r\n\"Why have we stopped? Is the way blocked? Or have we already come up\r\nagainst the French?\"\r\n\r\n\"No, one can't hear them. They'd be firing if we had.\"\r\n\r\n\"They were in a hurry enough to start us, and now here we stand in\r\nthe middle of a field without rhyme or reason. It's all those damned\r\nGermans' muddling! What stupid devils!\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I'd send them on in front, but no fear, they're crowding up\r\nbehind. And now here we stand hungry.\"\r\n\r\n\"I say, shall we soon be clear? They say the cavalry are blocking the\r\nway,\" said an officer.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, those damned Germans! They don't know their own country!\" said\r\nanother.\r\n\r\n\"What division are you?\" shouted an adjutant, riding up.\r\n\r\n\"The Eighteenth.\"\r\n\r\n\"Then why are you here? You should have gone on long ago, now you won't\r\nget there till evening.\"\r\n\r\n\"What stupid orders! They don't themselves know what they are doing!\"\r\nsaid the officer and rode off.\r\n\r\nThen a general rode past shouting something angrily, not in Russian.\r\n\r\n\"Tafa-lafa! But what he's jabbering no one can make out,\" said a\r\nsoldier, mimicking the general who had ridden away. \"I'd shoot them, the\r\nscoundrels!\"\r\n\r\n\"We were ordered to be at the place before nine, but we haven't got\r\nhalfway. Fine orders!\" was being repeated on different sides.\r\n\r\nAnd the feeling of energy with which the troops had started began to\r\nturn into vexation and anger at the stupid arrangements and at the\r\nGermans.\r\n\r\nThe cause of the confusion was that while the Austrian cavalry was\r\nmoving toward our left flank, the higher command found that our center\r\nwas too far separated from our right flank and the cavalry were all\r\nordered to turn back to the right. Several thousand cavalry crossed in\r\nfront of the infantry, who had to wait.\r\n\r\nAt the front an altercation occurred between an Austrian guide and a\r\nRussian general. The general shouted a demand that the cavalry should be\r\nhalted, the Austrian argued that not he, but the higher command, was to\r\nblame. The troops meanwhile stood growing listless and dispirited. After\r\nan hour's delay they at last moved on, descending the hill. The fog that\r\nwas dispersing on the hill lay still more densely below, where they were\r\ndescending. In front in the fog a shot was heard and then another, at\r\nfirst irregularly at varying intervals--trata... tat--and then more and\r\nmore regularly and rapidly, and the action at the Goldbach Stream began.\r\n\r\nNot expecting to come on the enemy down by the stream, and having\r\nstumbled on him in the fog, hearing no encouraging word from their\r\ncommanders, and with a consciousness of being too late spreading through\r\nthe ranks, and above all being unable to see anything in front or around\r\nthem in the thick fog, the Russians exchanged shots with the enemy\r\nlazily and advanced and again halted, receiving no timely orders from\r\nthe officers or adjutants who wandered about in the fog in those unknown\r\nsurroundings unable to find their own regiments. In this way the action\r\nbegan for the first, second, and third columns, which had gone down\r\ninto the valley. The fourth column, with which Kutuzov was, stood on the\r\nPratzen Heights.\r\n\r\nBelow, where the fight was beginning, there was still thick fog; on the\r\nhigher ground it was clearing, but nothing could be seen of what was\r\ngoing on in front. Whether all the enemy forces were, as we supposed,\r\nsix miles away, or whether they were near by in that sea of mist, no one\r\nknew till after eight o'clock.\r\n\r\nIt was nine o'clock in the morning. The fog lay unbroken like a sea down\r\nbelow, but higher up at the village of Schlappanitz where Napoleon stood\r\nwith his marshals around him, it was quite light. Above him was a clear\r\nblue sky, and the sun's vast orb quivered like a huge hollow, crimson\r\nfloat on the surface of that milky sea of mist. The whole French army,\r\nand even Napoleon himself with his staff, were not on the far side of\r\nthe streams and hollows of Sokolnitz and Schlappanitz beyond which we\r\nintended to take up our position and begin the action, but were on this\r\nside, so close to our own forces that Napoleon with the naked eye could\r\ndistinguish a mounted man from one on foot. Napoleon, in the blue cloak\r\nwhich he had worn on his Italian campaign, sat on his small gray Arab\r\nhorse a little in front of his marshals. He gazed silently at the hills\r\nwhich seemed to rise out of the sea of mist and on which the Russian\r\ntroops were moving in the distance, and he listened to the sounds of\r\nfiring in the valley. Not a single muscle of his face--which in those\r\ndays was still thin--moved. His gleaming eyes were fixed intently on one\r\nspot. His predictions were being justified. Part of the Russian force\r\nhad already descended into the valley toward the ponds and lakes and\r\npart were leaving these Pratzen Heights which he intended to attack\r\nand regarded as the key to the position. He saw over the mist that in\r\na hollow between two hills near the village of Pratzen, the Russian\r\ncolumns, their bayonets glittering, were moving continuously in one\r\ndirection toward the valley and disappearing one after another into\r\nthe mist. From information he had received the evening before, from the\r\nsound of wheels and footsteps heard by the outposts during the night,\r\nby the disorderly movement of the Russian columns, and from all\r\nindications, he saw clearly that the allies believed him to be far away\r\nin front of them, and that the columns moving near Pratzen constituted\r\nthe center of the Russian army, and that that center was already\r\nsufficiently weakened to be successfully attacked. But still he did not\r\nbegin the engagement.\r\n\r\nToday was a great day for him--the anniversary of his coronation. Before\r\ndawn he had slept for a few hours, and refreshed, vigorous, and in good\r\nspirits, he mounted his horse and rode out into the field in that happy\r\nmood in which everything seems possible and everything succeeds. He sat\r\nmotionless, looking at the heights visible above the mist, and his cold\r\nface wore that special look of confident, self-complacent happiness that\r\none sees on the face of a boy happily in love. The marshals stood\r\nbehind him not venturing to distract his attention. He looked now at the\r\nPratzen Heights, now at the sun floating up out of the mist.\r\n\r\nWhen the sun had entirely emerged from the fog, and fields and mist were\r\naglow with dazzling light--as if he had only awaited this to begin the\r\naction--he drew the glove from his shapely white hand, made a sign\r\nwith it to the marshals, and ordered the action to begin. The marshals,\r\naccompanied by adjutants, galloped off in different directions, and\r\na few minutes later the chief forces of the French army moved rapidly\r\ntoward those Pratzen Heights which were being more and more denuded by\r\nRussian troops moving down the valley to their left.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XV\r\n\r\n\r\nAt eight o'clock Kutuzov rode to Pratzen at the head of the fourth\r\ncolumn, Miloradovich's, the one that was to take the place of\r\nPrzebyszewski's and Langeron's columns which had already gone down into\r\nthe valley. He greeted the men of the foremost regiment and gave them\r\nthe order to march, thereby indicating that he intended to lead that\r\ncolumn himself. When he had reached the village of Pratzen he halted.\r\nPrince Andrew was behind, among the immense number forming the commander\r\nin chief's suite. He was in a state of suppressed excitement and\r\nirritation, though controlledly calm as a man is at the approach of a\r\nlong-awaited moment. He was firmly convinced that this was the day of\r\nhis Toulon, or his bridge of Arcola. How it would come about he did not\r\nknow, but he felt sure it would do so. The locality and the position of\r\nour troops were known to him as far as they could be known to anyone\r\nin our army. His own strategic plan, which obviously could not now be\r\ncarried out, was forgotten. Now, entering into Weyrother's plan, Prince\r\nAndrew considered possible contingencies and formed new projects such as\r\nmight call for his rapidity of perception and decision.\r\n\r\nTo the left down below in the mist, the musketry fire of unseen forces\r\ncould be heard. It was there Prince Andrew thought the fight would\r\nconcentrate. \"There we shall encounter difficulties, and there,\" thought\r\nhe, \"I shall be sent with a brigade or division, and there, standard in\r\nhand, I shall go forward and break whatever is in front of me.\"\r\n\r\nHe could not look calmly at the standards of the passing battalions.\r\nSeeing them he kept thinking, \"That may be the very standard with which\r\nI shall lead the army.\"\r\n\r\nIn the morning all that was left of the night mist on the heights was\r\na hoar frost now turning to dew, but in the valleys it still lay like a\r\nmilk-white sea. Nothing was visible in the valley to the left into which\r\nour troops had descended and from whence came the sounds of firing.\r\nAbove the heights was the dark clear sky, and to the right the vast orb\r\nof the sun. In front, far off on the farther shore of that sea of mist,\r\nsome wooded hills were discernible, and it was there the enemy probably\r\nwas, for something could be descried. On the right the Guards were\r\nentering the misty region with a sound of hoofs and wheels and now and\r\nthen a gleam of bayonets; to the left beyond the village similar masses\r\nof cavalry came up and disappeared in the sea of mist. In front and\r\nbehind moved infantry. The commander in chief was standing at the end of\r\nthe village letting the troops pass by him. That morning Kutuzov seemed\r\nworn and irritable. The infantry passing before him came to a halt\r\nwithout any command being given, apparently obstructed by something in\r\nfront.\r\n\r\n\"Do order them to form into battalion columns and go round the village!\"\r\nhe said angrily to a general who had ridden up. \"Don't you understand,\r\nyour excellency, my dear sir, that you must not defile through narrow\r\nvillage streets when we are marching against the enemy?\"\r\n\r\n\"I intended to re-form them beyond the village, your excellency,\"\r\nanswered the general.\r\n\r\nKutuzov laughed bitterly.\r\n\r\n\"You'll make a fine thing of it, deploying in sight of the enemy! Very\r\nfine!\"\r\n\r\n\"The enemy is still far away, your excellency. According to the\r\ndispositions...\"\r\n\r\n\"The dispositions!\" exclaimed Kutuzov bitterly. \"Who told you that?...\r\nKindly do as you are ordered.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, sir.\"\r\n\r\n\"My dear fellow,\" Nesvitski whispered to Prince Andrew, \"the old man is\r\nas surly as a dog.\"\r\n\r\nAn Austrian officer in a white uniform with green plumes in his hat\r\ngalloped up to Kutuzov and asked in the Emperor's name had the fourth\r\ncolumn advanced into action.\r\n\r\nKutuzov turned round without answering and his eye happened to fall upon\r\nPrince Andrew, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutuzov's malevolent and\r\ncaustic expression softened, as if admitting that what was being done\r\nwas not his adjutant's fault, and still not answering the Austrian\r\nadjutant, he addressed Bolkonski.\r\n\r\n\"Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the third division has passed the\r\nvillage. Tell it to stop and await my orders.\"\r\n\r\nHardly had Prince Andrew started than he stopped him.\r\n\r\n\"And ask whether sharpshooters have been posted,\" he added. \"What are\r\nthey doing? What are they doing?\" he murmured to himself, still not\r\nreplying to the Austrian.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew galloped off to execute the order.\r\n\r\nOvertaking the battalions that continued to advance, he stopped\r\nthe third division and convinced himself that there really were no\r\nsharpshooters in front of our columns. The colonel at the head of the\r\nregiment was much surprised at the commander in chief's order to throw\r\nout skirmishers. He had felt perfectly sure that there were other troops\r\nin front of him and that the enemy must be at least six miles away.\r\nThere was really nothing to be seen in front except a barren descent\r\nhidden by dense mist. Having given orders in the commander in chief's\r\nname to rectify this omission, Prince Andrew galloped back. Kutuzov\r\nstill in the same place, his stout body resting heavily in the saddle\r\nwith the lassitude of age, sat yawning wearily with closed eyes. The\r\ntroops were no longer moving, but stood with the butts of their muskets\r\non the ground.\r\n\r\n\"All right, all right!\" he said to Prince Andrew, and turned to a\r\ngeneral who, watch in hand, was saying it was time they started as all\r\nthe left-flank columns had already descended.\r\n\r\n\"Plenty of time, your excellency,\" muttered Kutuzov in the midst of a\r\nyawn. \"Plenty of time,\" he repeated.\r\n\r\nJust then at a distance behind Kutuzov was heard the sound of regiments\r\nsaluting, and this sound rapidly came nearer along the whole extended\r\nline of the advancing Russian columns. Evidently the person they were\r\ngreeting was riding quickly. When the soldiers of the regiment in front\r\nof which Kutuzov was standing began to shout, he rode a little to one\r\nside and looked round with a frown. Along the road from Pratzen galloped\r\nwhat looked like a squadron of horsemen in various uniforms. Two of them\r\nrode side by side in front, at full gallop. One in a black uniform with\r\nwhite plumes in his hat rode a bobtailed chestnut horse, the other who\r\nwas in a white uniform rode a black one. These were the two Emperors\r\nfollowed by their suites. Kutuzov, affecting the manners of an old\r\nsoldier at the front, gave the command \"Attention!\" and rode up to the\r\nEmperors with a salute. His whole appearance and manner were suddenly\r\ntransformed. He put on the air of a subordinate who obeys without\r\nreasoning. With an affectation of respect which evidently struck\r\nAlexander unpleasantly, he rode up and saluted.\r\n\r\nThis unpleasant impression merely flitted over the young and happy face\r\nof the Emperor like a cloud of haze across a clear sky and vanished.\r\nAfter his illness he looked rather thinner that day than on the field of\r\nOlmutz where Bolkonski had seen him for the first time abroad, but there\r\nwas still the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness in his\r\nfine gray eyes, and on his delicate lips the same capacity for varying\r\nexpression and the same prevalent appearance of goodhearted innocent\r\nyouth.\r\n\r\nAt the Olmutz review he had seemed more majestic; here he seemed\r\nbrighter and more energetic. He was slightly flushed after galloping two\r\nmiles, and reining in his horse he sighed restfully and looked round\r\nat the faces of his suite, young and animated as his own. Czartoryski,\r\nNovosiltsev, Prince Volkonsky, Strogonov, and the others, all richly\r\ndressed gay young men on splendid, well-groomed, fresh, only slightly\r\nheated horses, exchanging remarks and smiling, had stopped behind the\r\nEmperor. The Emperor Francis, a rosy, long faced young man, sat very\r\nerect on his handsome black horse, looking about him in a leisurely and\r\npreoccupied manner. He beckoned to one of his white adjutants and asked\r\nsome question--\"Most likely he is asking at what o'clock they started,\"\r\nthought Prince Andrew, watching his old acquaintance with a smile\r\nhe could not repress as he recalled his reception at Brunn. In the\r\nEmperors' suite were the picked young orderly officers of the Guard and\r\nline regiments, Russian and Austrian. Among them were grooms leading the\r\nTsar's beautiful relay horses covered with embroidered cloths.\r\n\r\nAs when a window is opened a whiff of fresh air from the fields enters\r\na stuffy room, so a whiff of youthfulness, energy, and confidence of\r\nsuccess reached Kutuzov's cheerless staff with the galloping advent of\r\nall these brilliant young men.\r\n\r\n\"Why aren't you beginning, Michael Ilarionovich?\" said the Emperor\r\nAlexander hurriedly to Kutuzov, glancing courteously at the same time at\r\nthe Emperor Francis.\r\n\r\n\"I am waiting, Your Majesty,\" answered Kutuzov, bending forward\r\nrespectfully.\r\n\r\nThe Emperor, frowning slightly, bent his ear forward as if he had not\r\nquite heard.\r\n\r\n\"Waiting, Your Majesty,\" repeated Kutuzov. (Prince Andrew noted that\r\nKutuzov's upper lip twitched unnaturally as he said the word \"waiting.\")\r\n\"Not all the columns have formed up yet, Your Majesty.\"\r\n\r\nThe Tsar heard but obviously did not like the reply; he shrugged his\r\nrather round shoulders and glanced at Novosiltsev who was near him, as\r\nif complaining of Kutuzov.\r\n\r\n\"You know, Michael Ilarionovich, we are not on the Empress' Field where\r\na parade does not begin till all the troops are assembled,\" said the\r\nTsar with another glance at the Emperor Francis, as if inviting him if\r\nnot to join in at least to listen to what he was saying. But the Emperor\r\nFrancis continued to look about him and did not listen.\r\n\r\n\"That is just why I do not begin, sire,\" said Kutuzov in a resounding\r\nvoice, apparently to preclude the possibility of not being heard, and\r\nagain something in his face twitched--\"That is just why I do not begin,\r\nsire, because we are not on parade and not on the Empress' Field,\" said\r\nclearly and distinctly.\r\n\r\nIn the Emperor's suite all exchanged rapid looks that expressed\r\ndissatisfaction and reproach. \"Old though he may be, he should not, he\r\ncertainly should not, speak like that,\" their glances seemed to say.\r\n\r\nThe Tsar looked intently and observantly into Kutuzov's eye waiting to\r\nhear whether he would say anything more. But Kutuzov, with respectfully\r\nbowed head, seemed also to be waiting. The silence lasted for about a\r\nminute.\r\n\r\n\"However, if you command it, Your Majesty,\" said Kutuzov, lifting his\r\nhead and again assuming his former tone of a dull, unreasoning, but\r\nsubmissive general.\r\n\r\nHe touched his horse and having called Miloradovich, the commander of\r\nthe column, gave him the order to advance.\r\n\r\nThe troops again began to move, and two battalions of the Novgorod and\r\none of the Apsheron regiment went forward past the Emperor.\r\n\r\nAs this Apsheron battalion marched by, the red-faced Miloradovich,\r\nwithout his greatcoat, with his Orders on his breast and an enormous\r\ntuft of plumes in his cocked hat worn on one side with its corners front\r\nand back, galloped strenuously forward, and with a dashing salute reined\r\nin his horse before the Emperor.\r\n\r\n\"God be with you, general!\" said the Emperor.\r\n\r\n\"Ma foi, sire, nous ferons ce qui sera dans notre possibilite, sire,\"\r\n* he answered gaily, raising nevertheless ironic smiles among the\r\ngentlemen of the Tsar's suite by his poor French.\r\n\r\n\r\n     * \"Indeed, Sire, we shall do everything it is possible to\r\n     do, Sire.\"\r\n\r\n\r\nMiloradovich wheeled his horse sharply and stationed himself a little\r\nbehind the Emperor. The Apsheron men, excited by the Tsar's presence,\r\npassed in step before the Emperors and their suites at a bold, brisk\r\npace.\r\n\r\n\"Lads!\" shouted Miloradovich in a loud, self-confident, and cheery\r\nvoice, obviously so elated by the sound of firing, by the prospect\r\nof battle, and by the sight of the gallant Apsherons, his comrades in\r\nSuvorov's time, now passing so gallantly before the Emperors, that\r\nhe forgot the sovereigns' presence. \"Lads, it's not the first village\r\nyou've had to take,\" cried he.\r\n\r\n\"Glad to do our best!\" shouted the soldiers.\r\n\r\nThe Emperor's horse started at the sudden cry. This horse that had\r\ncarried the sovereign at reviews in Russia bore him also here on the\r\nfield of Austerlitz, enduring the heedless blows of his left foot and\r\npricking its ears at the sound of shots just as it had done on the\r\nEmpress' Field, not understanding the significance of the firing, nor\r\nof the nearness of the Emperor Francis' black cob, nor of all that was\r\nbeing said, thought, and felt that day by its rider.\r\n\r\nThe Emperor turned with a smile to one of his followers and made a\r\nremark to him, pointing to the gallant Apsherons.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVI\r\n\r\n\r\nKutuzov accompanied by his adjutants rode at a walking pace behind the\r\ncarabineers.\r\n\r\nWhen he had gone less than half a mile in the rear of the column he\r\nstopped at a solitary, deserted house that had probably once been an\r\ninn, where two roads parted. Both of them led downhill and troops were\r\nmarching along both.\r\n\r\nThe fog had begun to clear and enemy troops were already dimly visible\r\nabout a mile and a half off on the opposite heights. Down below, on\r\nthe left, the firing became more distinct. Kutuzov had stopped and was\r\nspeaking to an Austrian general. Prince Andrew, who was a little behind\r\nlooking at them, turned to an adjutant to ask him for a field glass.\r\n\r\n\"Look, look!\" said this adjutant, looking not at the troops in the\r\ndistance, but down the hill before him. \"It's the French!\"\r\n\r\nThe two generals and the adjutant took hold of the field glass, trying\r\nto snatch it from one another. The expression on all their faces\r\nsuddenly changed to one of horror. The French were supposed to be a\r\nmile and a half away, but had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared just in\r\nfront of us.\r\n\r\n\"It's the enemy?... No!... Yes, see it is!... for certain.... But how is\r\nthat?\" said different voices.\r\n\r\nWith the naked eye Prince Andrew saw below them to the right, not more\r\nthan five hundred paces from where Kutuzov was standing, a dense French\r\ncolumn coming up to meet the Apsherons.\r\n\r\n\"Here it is! The decisive moment has arrived. My turn has come,\" thought\r\nPrince Andrew, and striking his horse he rode up to Kutuzov.\r\n\r\n\"The Apsherons must be stopped, your excellency,\" cried he. But at that\r\nvery instant a cloud of smoke spread all round, firing was heard quite\r\nclose at hand, and a voice of naive terror barely two steps from Prince\r\nAndrew shouted, \"Brothers! All's lost!\" And at this as if at a command,\r\neveryone began to run.\r\n\r\nConfused and ever-increasing crowds were running back to where five\r\nminutes before the troops had passed the Emperors. Not only would it\r\nhave been difficult to stop that crowd, it was even impossible not to\r\nbe carried back with it oneself. Bolkonski only tried not to lose touch\r\nwith it, and looked around bewildered and unable to grasp what was\r\nhappening in front of him. Nesvitski with an angry face, red and unlike\r\nhimself, was shouting to Kutuzov that if he did not ride away at once\r\nhe would certainly be taken prisoner. Kutuzov remained in the same place\r\nand without answering drew out a handkerchief. Blood was flowing from\r\nhis cheek. Prince Andrew forced his way to him.\r\n\r\n\"You are wounded?\" he asked, hardly able to master the trembling of his\r\nlower jaw.\r\n\r\n\"The wound is not here, it is there!\" said Kutuzov, pressing the\r\nhandkerchief to his wounded cheek and pointing to the fleeing soldiers.\r\n\"Stop them!\" he shouted, and at the same moment, probably realizing that\r\nit was impossible to stop them, spurred his horse and rode to the right.\r\n\r\nA fresh wave of the flying mob caught him and bore him back with it.\r\n\r\nThe troops were running in such a dense mass that once surrounded by\r\nthem it was difficult to get out again. One was shouting, \"Get on! Why\r\nare you hindering us?\" Another in the same place turned round and fired\r\nin the air; a third was striking the horse Kutuzov himself rode. Having\r\nby a great effort got away to the left from that flood of men, Kutuzov,\r\nwith his suite diminished by more than half, rode toward a sound of\r\nartillery fire near by. Having forced his way out of the crowd of\r\nfugitives, Prince Andrew, trying to keep near Kutuzov, saw on the slope\r\nof the hill amid the smoke a Russian battery that was still firing and\r\nFrenchmen running toward it. Higher up stood some Russian infantry,\r\nneither moving forward to protect the battery nor backward with the\r\nfleeing crowd. A mounted general separated himself from the infantry and\r\napproached Kutuzov. Of Kutuzov's suite only four remained. They were all\r\npale and exchanged looks in silence.\r\n\r\n\"Stop those wretches!\" gasped Kutuzov to the regimental commander,\r\npointing to the flying soldiers; but at that instant, as if to punish\r\nhim for those words, bullets flew hissing across the regiment and across\r\nKutuzov's suite like a flock of little birds.\r\n\r\nThe French had attacked the battery and, seeing Kutuzov, were firing\r\nat him. After this volley the regimental commander clutched at his leg;\r\nseveral soldiers fell, and a second lieutenant who was holding the\r\nflag let it fall from his hands. It swayed and fell, but caught on the\r\nmuskets of the nearest soldiers. The soldiers started firing without\r\norders.\r\n\r\n\"Oh! Oh! Oh!\" groaned Kutuzov despairingly and looked around....\r\n\"Bolkonski!\" he whispered, his voice trembling from a consciousness\r\nof the feebleness of age, \"Bolkonski!\" he whispered, pointing to the\r\ndisordered battalion and at the enemy, \"what's that?\"\r\n\r\nBut before he had finished speaking, Prince Andrew, feeling tears of\r\nshame and anger choking him, had already leapt from his horse and run to\r\nthe standard.\r\n\r\n\"Forward, lads!\" he shouted in a voice piercing as a child's.\r\n\r\n\"Here it is!\" thought he, seizing the staff of the standard and hearing\r\nwith pleasure the whistle of bullets evidently aimed at him. Several\r\nsoldiers fell.\r\n\r\n\"Hurrah!\" shouted Prince Andrew, and, scarcely able to hold up the heavy\r\nstandard, he ran forward with full confidence that the whole battalion\r\nwould follow him.\r\n\r\nAnd really he only ran a few steps alone. One soldier moved and then\r\nanother and soon the whole battalion ran forward shouting \"Hurrah!\" and\r\novertook him. A sergeant of the battalion ran up and took the flag\r\nthat was swaying from its weight in Prince Andrew's hands, but he\r\nwas immediately killed. Prince Andrew again seized the standard and,\r\ndragging it by the staff, ran on with the battalion. In front he saw our\r\nartillerymen, some of whom were fighting, while others, having abandoned\r\ntheir guns, were running toward him. He also saw French infantry\r\nsoldiers who were seizing the artillery horses and turning the guns\r\nround. Prince Andrew and the battalion were already within twenty paces\r\nof the cannon. He heard the whistle of bullets above him unceasingly and\r\nto right and left of him soldiers continually groaned and dropped. But\r\nhe did not look at them: he looked only at what was going on in front\r\nof him--at the battery. He now saw clearly the figure of a red-haired\r\ngunner with his shako knocked awry, pulling one end of a mop while\r\na French soldier tugged at the other. He could distinctly see the\r\ndistraught yet angry expression on the faces of these two men, who\r\nevidently did not realize what they were doing.\r\n\r\n\"What are they about?\" thought Prince Andrew as he gazed at them. \"Why\r\ndoesn't the red-haired gunner run away as he is unarmed? Why doesn't the\r\nFrenchman stab him? He will not get away before the Frenchman remembers\r\nhis bayonet and stabs him....\"\r\n\r\nAnd really another French soldier, trailing his musket, ran up to\r\nthe struggling men, and the fate of the red-haired gunner, who had\r\ntriumphantly secured the mop and still did not realize what awaited him,\r\nwas about to be decided. But Prince Andrew did not see how it ended. It\r\nseemed to him as though one of the soldiers near him hit him on the head\r\nwith the full swing of a bludgeon. It hurt a little, but the worst of\r\nit was that the pain distracted him and prevented his seeing what he had\r\nbeen looking at.\r\n\r\n\"What's this? Am I falling? My legs are giving way,\" thought he, and\r\nfell on his back. He opened his eyes, hoping to see how the struggle of\r\nthe Frenchmen with the gunners ended, whether the red-haired gunner had\r\nbeen killed or not and whether the cannon had been captured or saved.\r\nBut he saw nothing. Above him there was now nothing but the sky--the\r\nlofty sky, not clear yet still immeasurably lofty, with gray clouds\r\ngliding slowly across it. \"How quiet, peaceful, and solemn; not at all\r\nas I ran,\" thought Prince Andrew--\"not as we ran, shouting and fighting,\r\nnot at all as the gunner and the Frenchman with frightened and angry\r\nfaces struggled for the mop: how differently do those clouds glide\r\nacross that lofty infinite sky! How was it I did not see that lofty sky\r\nbefore? And how happy I am to have found it at last! Yes! All is vanity,\r\nall falsehood, except that infinite sky. There is nothing, nothing, but\r\nthat. But even it does not exist, there is nothing but quiet and peace.\r\nThank God!...\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVII\r\n\r\n\r\nOn our right flank commanded by Bagration, at nine o'clock the battle\r\nhad not yet begun. Not wishing to agree to Dolgorukov's demand to\r\ncommence the action, and wishing to avert responsibility from himself,\r\nPrince Bagration proposed to Dolgorukov to send to inquire of the\r\ncommander in chief. Bagration knew that as the distance between the two\r\nflanks was more than six miles, even if the messenger were not killed\r\n(which he very likely would be), and found the commander in chief\r\n(which would be very difficult), he would not be able to get back before\r\nevening.\r\n\r\nBagration cast his large, expressionless, sleepy eyes round his suite,\r\nand the boyish face Rostov, breathless with excitement and hope, was the\r\nfirst to catch his eye. He sent him.\r\n\r\n\"And if I should meet His Majesty before I meet the commander in chief,\r\nyour excellency?\" said Rostov, with his hand to his cap.\r\n\r\n\"You can give the message to His Majesty,\" said Dolgorukov, hurriedly\r\ninterrupting Bagration.\r\n\r\nOn being relieved from picket duty Rostov had managed to get a few\r\nhours' sleep before morning and felt cheerful, bold, and resolute, with\r\nelasticity of movement, faith in his good fortune, and generally in that\r\nstate of mind which makes everything seem possible, pleasant, and easy.\r\n\r\nAll his wishes were being fulfilled that morning: there was to be a\r\ngeneral engagement in which he was taking part, more than that, he was\r\norderly to the bravest general, and still more, he was going with a\r\nmessage to Kutuzov, perhaps even to the sovereign himself. The morning\r\nwas bright, he had a good horse under him, and his heart was full of\r\njoy and happiness. On receiving the order he gave his horse the rein and\r\ngalloped along the line. At first he rode along the line of Bagration's\r\ntroops, which had not yet advanced into action but were standing\r\nmotionless; then he came to the region occupied by Uvarov's cavalry\r\nand here he noticed a stir and signs of preparation for battle; having\r\npassed Uvarov's cavalry he clearly heard the sound of cannon and\r\nmusketry ahead of him. The firing grew louder and louder.\r\n\r\nIn the fresh morning air were now heard, not two or three musket shots\r\nat irregular intervals as before, followed by one or two cannon shots,\r\nbut a roll of volleys of musketry from the slopes of the hill before\r\nPratzen, interrupted by such frequent reports of cannon that sometimes\r\nseveral of them were not separated from one another but merged into a\r\ngeneral roar.\r\n\r\nHe could see puffs of musketry smoke that seemed to chase one another\r\ndown the hillsides, and clouds of cannon smoke rolling, spreading,\r\nand mingling with one another. He could also, by the gleam of bayonets\r\nvisible through the smoke, make out moving masses of infantry and narrow\r\nlines of artillery with green caissons.\r\n\r\nRostov stopped his horse for a moment on a hillock to see what was going\r\non, but strain his attention as he would he could not understand or make\r\nout anything of what was happening: there in the smoke men of some sort\r\nwere moving about, in front and behind moved lines of troops; but why,\r\nwhither, and who they were, it was impossible to make out. These sights\r\nand sounds had no depressing or intimidating effect on him; on the\r\ncontrary, they stimulated his energy and determination.\r\n\r\n\"Go on! Go on! Give it them!\" he mentally exclaimed at these sounds,\r\nand again proceeded to gallop along the line, penetrating farther and\r\nfarther into the region where the army was already in action.\r\n\r\n\"How it will be there I don't know, but all will be well!\" thought\r\nRostov.\r\n\r\nAfter passing some Austrian troops he noticed that the next part of the\r\nline (the Guards) was already in action.\r\n\r\n\"So much the better! I shall see it close,\" he thought.\r\n\r\nHe was riding almost along the front line. A handful of men came\r\ngalloping toward him. They were our Uhlans who with disordered\r\nranks were returning from the attack. Rostov got out of their way,\r\ninvoluntarily noticed that one of them was bleeding, and galloped on.\r\n\r\n\"That is no business of mine,\" he thought. He had not ridden many\r\nhundred yards after that before he saw to his left, across the whole\r\nwidth of the field, an enormous mass of cavalry in brilliant white\r\nuniforms, mounted on black horses, trotting straight toward him and\r\nacross his path. Rostov put his horse to full gallop to get out of the\r\nway of these men, and he would have got clear had they continued at the\r\nsame speed, but they kept increasing their pace, so that some of the\r\nhorses were already galloping. Rostov heard the thud of their hoofs and\r\nthe jingle of their weapons and saw their horses, their figures, and\r\neven their faces, more and more distinctly. They were our Horse Guards,\r\nadvancing to attack the French cavalry that was coming to meet them.\r\n\r\nThe Horse Guards were galloping, but still holding in their horses.\r\nRostov could already see their faces and heard the command: \"Charge!\"\r\nshouted by an officer who was urging his thoroughbred to full speed.\r\nRostov, fearing to be crushed or swept into the attack on the French,\r\ngalloped along the front as hard as his horse could go, but still was\r\nnot in time to avoid them.\r\n\r\nThe last of the Horse Guards, a huge pockmarked fellow, frowned angrily\r\non seeing Rostov before him, with whom he would inevitably collide.\r\nThis Guardsman would certainly have bowled Rostov and his Bedouin over\r\n(Rostov felt himself quite tiny and weak compared to these gigantic men\r\nand horses) had it not occurred to Rostov to flourish his whip before\r\nthe eyes of the Guardsman's horse. The heavy black horse, sixteen hands\r\nhigh, shied, throwing back its ears; but the pockmarked Guardsman drove\r\nhis huge spurs in violently, and the horse, flourishing its tail and\r\nextending its neck, galloped on yet faster. Hardly had the Horse Guards\r\npassed Rostov before he heard them shout, \"Hurrah!\" and looking back saw\r\nthat their foremost ranks were mixed up with some foreign cavalry\r\nwith red epaulets, probably French. He could see nothing more, for\r\nimmediately afterwards cannon began firing from somewhere and smoke\r\nenveloped everything.\r\n\r\nAt that moment, as the Horse Guards, having passed him, disappeared in\r\nthe smoke, Rostov hesitated whether to gallop after them or to go where\r\nhe was sent. This was the brilliant charge of the Horse Guards that\r\namazed the French themselves. Rostov was horrified to hear later that\r\nof all that mass of huge and handsome men, of all those brilliant,\r\nrich youths, officers and cadets, who had galloped past him on their\r\nthousand-ruble horses, only eighteen were left after the charge.\r\n\r\n\"Why should I envy them? My chance is not lost, and maybe I shall see\r\nthe Emperor immediately!\" thought Rostov and galloped on.\r\n\r\nWhen he came level with the Foot Guards he noticed that about them and\r\naround them cannon balls were flying, of which he was aware not so\r\nmuch because he heard their sound as because he saw uneasiness on\r\nthe soldiers' faces and unnatural warlike solemnity on those of the\r\nofficers.\r\n\r\nPassing behind one of the lines of a regiment of Foot Guards he heard a\r\nvoice calling him by name.\r\n\r\n\"Rostov!\"\r\n\r\n\"What?\" he answered, not recognizing Boris.\r\n\r\n\"I say, we've been in the front line! Our regiment attacked!\" said Boris\r\nwith the happy smile seen on the faces of young men who have been under\r\nfire for the first time.\r\n\r\nRostov stopped.\r\n\r\n\"Have you?\" he said. \"Well, how did it go?\"\r\n\r\n\"We drove them back!\" said Boris with animation, growing talkative. \"Can\r\nyou imagine it?\" and he began describing how the Guards, having taken\r\nup their position and seeing troops before them, thought they were\r\nAustrians, and all at once discovered from the cannon balls discharged\r\nby those troops that they were themselves in the front line and had\r\nunexpectedly to go into action. Rostov without hearing Boris to the end\r\nspurred his horse.\r\n\r\n\"Where are you off to?\" asked Boris.\r\n\r\n\"With a message to His Majesty.\"\r\n\r\n\"There he is!\" said Boris, thinking Rostov had said \"His Highness,\"\r\nand pointing to the Grand Duke who with his high shoulders and frowning\r\nbrows stood a hundred paces away from them in his helmet and Horse\r\nGuards' jacket, shouting something to a pale, white uniformed Austrian\r\nofficer.\r\n\r\n\"But that's the Grand Duke, and I want the commander in chief or the\r\nEmperor,\" said Rostov, and was about to spur his horse.\r\n\r\n\"Count! Count!\" shouted Berg who ran up from the other side as eager\r\nas Boris. \"Count! I am wounded in my right hand\" (and he showed his\r\nbleeding hand with a handkerchief tied round it) \"and I remained at the\r\nfront. I held my sword in my left hand, Count. All our family--the von\r\nBergs--have been knights!\"\r\n\r\nHe said something more, but Rostov did not wait to hear it and rode\r\naway.\r\n\r\nHaving passed the Guards and traversed an empty space, Rostov, to avoid\r\nagain getting in front of the first line as he had done when the Horse\r\nGuards charged, followed the line of reserves, going far round the place\r\nwhere the hottest musket fire and cannonade were heard. Suddenly he\r\nheard musket fire quite close in front of him and behind our troops,\r\nwhere he could never have expected the enemy to be.\r\n\r\n\"What can it be?\" he thought. \"The enemy in the rear of our army?\r\nImpossible!\" And suddenly he was seized by a panic of fear for himself\r\nand for the issue of the whole battle. \"But be that what it may,\"\r\nhe reflected, \"there is no riding round it now. I must look for the\r\ncommander in chief here, and if all is lost it is for me to perish with\r\nthe rest.\"\r\n\r\nThe foreboding of evil that had suddenly come over Rostov was more and\r\nmore confirmed the farther he rode into the region behind the village of\r\nPratzen, which was full of troops of all kinds.\r\n\r\n\"What does it mean? What is it? Whom are they firing at? Who is firing?\"\r\nRostov kept asking as he came up to Russian and Austrian soldiers\r\nrunning in confused crowds across his path.\r\n\r\n\"The devil knows! They've killed everybody! It's all up now!\" he\r\nwas told in Russian, German, and Czech by the crowd of fugitives who\r\nunderstood what was happening as little as he did.\r\n\r\n\"Kill the Germans!\" shouted one.\r\n\r\n\"May the devil take them--the traitors!\"\r\n\r\n\"Zum Henker diese Russen!\" * muttered a German.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"Hang these Russians!\"\r\n\r\n\r\nSeveral wounded men passed along the road, and words of abuse, screams,\r\nand groans mingled in a general hubbub, then the firing died down.\r\nRostov learned later that Russian and Austrian soldiers had been firing\r\nat one another.\r\n\r\n\"My God! What does it all mean?\" thought he. \"And here, where at any\r\nmoment the Emperor may see them.... But no, these must be only a handful\r\nof scoundrels. It will soon be over, it can't be that, it can't be! Only\r\nto get past them quicker, quicker!\"\r\n\r\nThe idea of defeat and flight could not enter Rostov's head. Though he\r\nsaw French cannon and French troops on the Pratzen Heights just where he\r\nhad been ordered to look for the commander in chief, he could not, did\r\nnot wish to, believe that.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XVIII\r\n\r\n\r\nRostov had been ordered to look for Kutuzov and the Emperor near the\r\nvillage of Pratzen. But neither they nor a single commanding officer\r\nwere there, only disorganized crowds of troops of various kinds. He\r\nurged on his already weary horse to get quickly past these crowds, but\r\nthe farther he went the more disorganized they were. The highroad on\r\nwhich he had come out was thronged with caleches, carriages of all\r\nsorts, and Russian and Austrian soldiers of all arms, some wounded and\r\nsome not. This whole mass droned and jostled in confusion under the\r\ndismal influence of cannon balls flying from the French batteries\r\nstationed on the Pratzen Heights.\r\n\r\n\"Where is the Emperor? Where is Kutuzov?\" Rostov kept asking everyone he\r\ncould stop, but got no answer from anyone.\r\n\r\nAt last seizing a soldier by his collar he forced him to answer.\r\n\r\n\"Eh, brother! They've all bolted long ago!\" said the soldier, laughing\r\nfor some reason and shaking himself free.\r\n\r\nHaving left that soldier who was evidently drunk, Rostov stopped the\r\nhorse of a batman or groom of some important personage and began to\r\nquestion him. The man announced that the Tsar had been driven in a\r\ncarriage at full speed about an hour before along that very road and\r\nthat he was dangerously wounded.\r\n\r\n\"It can't be!\" said Rostov. \"It must have been someone else.\"\r\n\r\n\"I saw him myself,\" replied the man with a self-confident smile of\r\nderision. \"I ought to know the Emperor by now, after the times I've seen\r\nhim in Petersburg. I saw him just as I see you.... There he sat in the\r\ncarriage as pale as anything. How they made the four black horses fly!\r\nGracious me, they did rattle past! It's time I knew the Imperial horses\r\nand Ilya Ivanych. I don't think Ilya drives anyone except the Tsar!\"\r\n\r\nRostov let go of the horse and was about to ride on, when a wounded\r\nofficer passing by addressed him:\r\n\r\n\"Who is it you want?\" he asked. \"The commander in chief? He was killed\r\nby a cannon ball--struck in the breast before our regiment.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not killed--wounded!\" another officer corrected him.\r\n\r\n\"Who? Kutuzov?\" asked Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Not Kutuzov, but what's his name--well, never mind... there are not\r\nmany left alive. Go that way, to that village, all the commanders are\r\nthere,\" said the officer, pointing to the village of Hosjeradek, and he\r\nwalked on.\r\n\r\nRostov rode on at a footpace not knowing why or to whom he was now\r\ngoing. The Emperor was wounded, the battle lost. It was impossible to\r\ndoubt it now. Rostov rode in the direction pointed out to him, in which\r\nhe saw turrets and a church. What need to hurry? What was he now to say\r\nto the Tsar or to Kutuzov, even if they were alive and unwounded?\r\n\r\n\"Take this road, your honor, that way you will be killed at once!\" a\r\nsoldier shouted to him. \"They'd kill you there!\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, what are you talking about?\" said another. \"Where is he to go? That\r\nway is nearer.\"\r\n\r\nRostov considered, and then went in the direction where they said he\r\nwould be killed.\r\n\r\n\"It's all the same now. If the Emperor is wounded, am I to try to save\r\nmyself?\" he thought. He rode on to the region where the greatest number\r\nof men had perished in fleeing from Pratzen. The French had not yet\r\noccupied that region, and the Russians--the uninjured and slightly\r\nwounded--had left it long ago. All about the field, like heaps of manure\r\non well-kept plowland, lay from ten to fifteen dead and wounded to each\r\ncouple of acres. The wounded crept together in twos and threes and one\r\ncould hear their distressing screams and groans, sometimes feigned--or\r\nso it seemed to Rostov. He put his horse to a trot to avoid seeing all\r\nthese suffering men, and he felt afraid--afraid not for his life, but\r\nfor the courage he needed and which he knew would not stand the sight of\r\nthese unfortunates.\r\n\r\nThe French, who had ceased firing at this field strewn with dead and\r\nwounded where there was no one left to fire at, on seeing an adjutant\r\nriding over it trained a gun on him and fired several shots. The\r\nsensation of those terrible whistling sounds and of the corpses around\r\nhim merged in Rostov's mind into a single feeling of terror and pity for\r\nhimself. He remembered his mother's last letter. \"What would she feel,\"\r\nthought he, \"if she saw me here now on this field with the cannon aimed\r\nat me?\"\r\n\r\nIn the village of Hosjeradek there were Russian troops retiring from\r\nthe field of battle, who though still in some confusion were less\r\ndisordered. The French cannon did not reach there and the musketry fire\r\nsounded far away. Here everyone clearly saw and said that the battle\r\nwas lost. No one whom Rostov asked could tell him where the Emperor\r\nor Kutuzov was. Some said the report that the Emperor was wounded was\r\ncorrect, others that it was not, and explained the false rumor that had\r\nspread by the fact that the Emperor's carriage had really galloped from\r\nthe field of battle with the pale and terrified Ober-Hofmarschal Count\r\nTolstoy, who had ridden out to the battlefield with others in the\r\nEmperor's suite. One officer told Rostov that he had seen someone from\r\nheadquarters behind the village to the left, and thither Rostov rode,\r\nnot hoping to find anyone but merely to ease his conscience. When he had\r\nridden about two miles and had passed the last of the Russian troops, he\r\nsaw, near a kitchen garden with a ditch round it, two men on horseback\r\nfacing the ditch. One with a white plume in his hat seemed familiar to\r\nRostov; the other on a beautiful chestnut horse (which Rostov fancied he\r\nhad seen before) rode up to the ditch, struck his horse with his spurs,\r\nand giving it the rein leaped lightly over. Only a little earth crumbled\r\nfrom the bank under the horse's hind hoofs. Turning the horse sharply,\r\nhe again jumped the ditch, and deferentially addressed the horseman with\r\nthe white plumes, evidently suggesting that he should do the same. The\r\nrider, whose figure seemed familiar to Rostov and involuntarily riveted\r\nhis attention, made a gesture of refusal with his head and hand and\r\nby that gesture Rostov instantly recognized his lamented and adored\r\nmonarch.\r\n\r\n\"But it can't be he, alone in the midst of this empty field!\" thought\r\nRostov. At that moment Alexander turned his head and Rostov saw the\r\nbeloved features that were so deeply engraved on his memory. The Emperor\r\nwas pale, his cheeks sunken and his eyes hollow, but the charm, the\r\nmildness of his features, was all the greater. Rostov was happy in the\r\nassurance that the rumors about the Emperor being wounded were false. He\r\nwas happy to be seeing him. He knew that he might and even ought to\r\ngo straight to him and give the message Dolgorukov had ordered him to\r\ndeliver.\r\n\r\nBut as a youth in love trembles, is unnerved, and dares not utter the\r\nthoughts he has dreamed of for nights, but looks around for help or a\r\nchance of delay and flight when the longed-for moment comes and he is\r\nalone with her, so Rostov, now that he had attained what he had longed\r\nfor more than anything else in the world, did not know how to approach\r\nthe Emperor, and a thousand reasons occurred to him why it would be\r\ninconvenient, unseemly, and impossible to do so.\r\n\r\n\"What! It is as if I were glad of a chance to take advantage of his\r\nbeing alone and despondent! A strange face may seem unpleasant or\r\npainful to him at this moment of sorrow; besides, what can I say to him\r\nnow, when my heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the mere sight of\r\nhim?\" Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to the Emperor that\r\nhe had composed in his imagination could he now recall. Those speeches\r\nwere intended for quite other conditions, they were for the most part\r\nto be spoken at a moment of victory and triumph, generally when he was\r\ndying of wounds and the sovereign had thanked him for heroic deeds, and\r\nwhile dying he expressed the love his actions had proved.\r\n\r\n\"Besides how can I ask the Emperor for his instructions for the right\r\nflank now that it is nearly four o'clock and the battle is lost?\r\nNo, certainly I must not approach him, I must not intrude on his\r\nreflections. Better die a thousand times than risk receiving an unkind\r\nlook or bad opinion from him,\" Rostov decided; and sorrowfully and with\r\na heart full despair he rode away, continually looking back at the Tsar,\r\nwho still remained in the same attitude of indecision.\r\n\r\nWhile Rostov was thus arguing with himself and riding sadly away,\r\nCaptain von Toll chanced to ride to the same spot, and seeing the\r\nEmperor at once rode up to him, offered his services, and assisted him\r\nto cross the ditch on foot. The Emperor, wishing to rest and feeling\r\nunwell, sat down under an apple tree and von Toll remained beside him.\r\nRostov from a distance saw with envy and remorse how von Toll spoke\r\nlong and warmly to the Emperor and how the Emperor, evidently weeping,\r\ncovered his eyes with his hand and pressed von Toll's hand.\r\n\r\n\"And I might have been in his place!\" thought Rostov, and hardly\r\nrestraining his tears of pity for the Emperor, he rode on in utter\r\ndespair, not knowing where to or why he was now riding.\r\n\r\nHis despair was all the greater from feeling that his own weakness was\r\nthe cause of his grief.\r\n\r\nHe might... not only might but should, have gone up to the sovereign. It\r\nwas a unique chance to show his devotion to the Emperor and he had not\r\nmade use of it.... \"What have I done?\" thought he. And he turned round\r\nand galloped back to the place where he had seen the Emperor, but there\r\nwas no one beyond the ditch now. Only some carts and carriages were\r\npassing by. From one of the drivers he learned that Kutuzov's staff were\r\nnot far off, in the village the vehicles were going to. Rostov\r\nfollowed them. In front of him walked Kutuzov's groom leading horses\r\nin horsecloths. Then came a cart, and behind that walked an old,\r\nbandy-legged domestic serf in a peaked cap and sheepskin coat.\r\n\r\n\"Tit! I say, Tit!\" said the groom.\r\n\r\n\"What?\" answered the old man absent-mindedly.\r\n\r\n\"Go, Tit! Thresh a bit!\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, you fool!\" said the old man, spitting angrily. Some time passed in\r\nsilence, and then the same joke was repeated.\r\n\r\n\r\nBefore five in the evening the battle had been lost at all points. More\r\nthan a hundred cannon were already in the hands of the French.\r\n\r\nPrzebyszewski and his corps had laid down their arms. Other columns\r\nafter losing half their men were retreating in disorderly confused\r\nmasses.\r\n\r\nThe remains of Langeron's and Dokhturov's mingled forces were crowding\r\naround the dams and banks of the ponds near the village of Augesd.\r\n\r\nAfter five o'clock it was only at the Augesd Dam that a hot cannonade\r\n(delivered by the French alone) was still to be heard from numerous\r\nbatteries ranged on the slopes of the Pratzen Heights, directed at our\r\nretreating forces.\r\n\r\nIn the rearguard, Dokhturov and others rallying some battalions kept up\r\na musketry fire at the French cavalry that was pursuing our troops. It\r\nwas growing dusk. On the narrow Augesd Dam where for so many years the\r\nold miller had been accustomed to sit in his tasseled cap peacefully\r\nangling, while his grandson, with shirt sleeves rolled up, handled the\r\nfloundering silvery fish in the watering can, on that dam over which for\r\nso many years Moravians in shaggy caps and blue jackets had peacefully\r\ndriven their two-horse carts loaded with wheat and had returned dusty\r\nwith flour whitening their carts--on that narrow dam amid the wagons and\r\nthe cannon, under the horses' hoofs and between the wagon wheels, men\r\ndisfigured by fear of death now crowded together, crushing one another,\r\ndying, stepping over the dying and killing one another, only to move on\r\na few steps and be killed themselves in the same way.\r\n\r\nEvery ten seconds a cannon ball flew compressing the air around, or\r\na shell burst in the midst of that dense throng, killing some and\r\nsplashing with blood those near them.\r\n\r\nDolokhov--now an officer--wounded in the arm, and on foot, with the\r\nregimental commander on horseback and some ten men of his company,\r\nrepresented all that was left of that whole regiment. Impelled by the\r\ncrowd, they had got wedged in at the approach to the dam and, jammed in\r\non all sides, had stopped because a horse in front had fallen under a\r\ncannon and the crowd were dragging it out. A cannon ball killed someone\r\nbehind them, another fell in front and splashed Dolokhov with blood.\r\nThe crowd, pushing forward desperately, squeezed together, moved a few\r\nsteps, and again stopped.\r\n\r\n\"Move on a hundred yards and we are certainly saved, remain here another\r\ntwo minutes and it is certain death,\" thought each one.\r\n\r\nDolokhov who was in the midst of the crowd forced his way to the edge of\r\nthe dam, throwing two soldiers off their feet, and ran onto the slippery\r\nice that covered the millpool.\r\n\r\n\"Turn this way!\" he shouted, jumping over the ice which creaked under\r\nhim; \"turn this way!\" he shouted to those with the gun. \"It bears!...\"\r\n\r\nThe ice bore him but it swayed and creaked, and it was plain that it\r\nwould give way not only under a cannon or a crowd, but very soon even\r\nunder his weight alone. The men looked at him and pressed to the\r\nbank, hesitating to step onto the ice. The general on horseback at the\r\nentrance to the dam raised his hand and opened his mouth to address\r\nDolokhov. Suddenly a cannon ball hissed so low above the crowd that\r\neveryone ducked. It flopped into something moist, and the general fell\r\nfrom his horse in a pool of blood. Nobody gave him a look or thought of\r\nraising him.\r\n\r\n\"Get onto the ice, over the ice! Go on! Turn! Don't you hear? Go on!\"\r\ninnumerable voices suddenly shouted after the ball had struck the\r\ngeneral, the men themselves not knowing what, or why, they were\r\nshouting.\r\n\r\nOne of the hindmost guns that was going onto the dam turned off onto the\r\nice. Crowds of soldiers from the dam began running onto the frozen pond.\r\nThe ice gave way under one of the foremost soldiers, and one leg slipped\r\ninto the water. He tried to right himself but fell in up to his waist.\r\nThe nearest soldiers shrank back, the gun driver stopped his horse, but\r\nfrom behind still came the shouts: \"Onto the ice, why do you stop? Go\r\non! Go on!\" And cries of horror were heard in the crowd. The soldiers\r\nnear the gun waved their arms and beat the horses to make them turn and\r\nmove on. The horses moved off the bank. The ice, that had held under\r\nthose on foot, collapsed in a great mass, and some forty men who were on\r\nit dashed, some forward and some back, drowning one another.\r\n\r\nStill the cannon balls continued regularly to whistle and flop onto the\r\nice and into the water and oftenest of all among the crowd that covered\r\nthe dam, the pond, and the bank.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XIX\r\n\r\n\r\nOn the Pratzen Heights, where he had fallen with the flagstaff in his\r\nhand, lay Prince Andrew Bolkonski bleeding profusely and unconsciously\r\nuttering a gentle, piteous, and childlike moan.\r\n\r\nToward evening he ceased moaning and became quite still. He did not know\r\nhow long his unconsciousness lasted. Suddenly he again felt that he was\r\nalive and suffering from a burning, lacerating pain in his head.\r\n\r\n\"Where is it, that lofty sky that I did not know till now, but saw\r\ntoday?\" was his first thought. \"And I did not know this suffering\r\neither,\" he thought. \"Yes, I did not know anything, anything at all till\r\nnow. But where am I?\"\r\n\r\nHe listened and heard the sound of approaching horses, and voices\r\nspeaking French. He opened his eyes. Above him again was the same lofty\r\nsky with clouds that had risen and were floating still higher, and\r\nbetween them gleamed blue infinity. He did not turn his head and did not\r\nsee those who, judging by the sound of hoofs and voices, had ridden up\r\nand stopped near him.\r\n\r\nIt was Napoleon accompanied by two aides-de-camp. Bonaparte riding\r\nover the battlefield had given final orders to strengthen the batteries\r\nfiring at the Augesd Dam and was looking at the killed and wounded left\r\non the field.\r\n\r\n\"Fine men!\" remarked Napoleon, looking at a dead Russian grenadier,\r\nwho, with his face buried in the ground and a blackened nape, lay on his\r\nstomach with an already stiffened arm flung wide.\r\n\r\n\"The ammunition for the guns in position is exhausted, Your Majesty,\"\r\nsaid an adjutant who had come from the batteries that were firing at\r\nAugesd.\r\n\r\n\"Have some brought from the reserve,\" said Napoleon, and having gone on\r\na few steps he stopped before Prince Andrew, who lay on his back with\r\nthe flagstaff that had been dropped beside him. (The flag had already\r\nbeen taken by the French as a trophy.)\r\n\r\n\"That's a fine death!\" said Napoleon as he gazed at Bolkonski.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew understood that this was said of him and that it was\r\nNapoleon who said it. He heard the speaker addressed as Sire. But he\r\nheard the words as he might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Not only\r\ndid they not interest him, but he took no notice of them and at once\r\nforgot them. His head was burning, he felt himself bleeding to death,\r\nand he saw above him the remote, lofty, and everlasting sky. He knew it\r\nwas Napoleon--his hero--but at that moment Napoleon seemed to him such a\r\nsmall, insignificant creature compared with what was passing now between\r\nhimself and that lofty infinite sky with the clouds flying over it. At\r\nthat moment it meant nothing to him who might be standing over him, or\r\nwhat was said of him; he was only glad that people were standing near\r\nhim and only wished that they would help him and bring him back to\r\nlife, which seemed to him so beautiful now that he had today learned to\r\nunderstand it so differently. He collected all his strength, to stir and\r\nutter a sound. He feebly moved his leg and uttered a weak, sickly groan\r\nwhich aroused his own pity.\r\n\r\n\"Ah! He is alive,\" said Napoleon. \"Lift this young man up and carry him\r\nto the dressing station.\"\r\n\r\nHaving said this, Napoleon rode on to meet Marshal Lannes, who, hat in\r\nhand, rode up smiling to the Emperor to congratulate him on the victory.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew remembered nothing more: he lost consciousness from the\r\nterrible pain of being lifted onto the stretcher, the jolting while\r\nbeing moved, and the probing of his wound at the dressing station.\r\nHe did not regain consciousness till late in the day, when with other\r\nwounded and captured Russian officers he was carried to the hospital.\r\nDuring this transfer he felt a little stronger and was able to look\r\nabout him and even speak.\r\n\r\nThe first words he heard on coming to his senses were those of a French\r\nconvoy officer, who said rapidly: \"We must halt here: the Emperor\r\nwill pass here immediately; it will please him to see these gentlemen\r\nprisoners.\"\r\n\r\n\"There are so many prisoners today, nearly the whole Russian army, that\r\nhe is probably tired of them,\" said another officer.\r\n\r\n\"All the same! They say this one is the commander of all the Emperor\r\nAlexander's Guards,\" said the first one, indicating a Russian officer in\r\nthe white uniform of the Horse Guards.\r\n\r\nBolkonski recognized Prince Repnin whom he had met in Petersburg\r\nsociety. Beside him stood a lad of nineteen, also a wounded officer of\r\nthe Horse Guards.\r\n\r\nBonaparte, having come up at a gallop, stopped his horse.\r\n\r\n\"Which is the senior?\" he asked, on seeing the prisoners.\r\n\r\nThey named the colonel, Prince Repnin.\r\n\r\n\"You are the commander of the Emperor Alexander's regiment of Horse\r\nGuards?\" asked Napoleon.\r\n\r\n\"I commanded a squadron,\" replied Repnin.\r\n\r\n\"Your regiment fulfilled its duty honorably,\" said Napoleon.\r\n\r\n\"The praise of a great commander is a soldier's highest reward,\" said\r\nRepnin.\r\n\r\n\"I bestow it with pleasure,\" said Napoleon. \"And who is that young man\r\nbeside you?\"\r\n\r\nPrince Repnin named Lieutenant Sukhtelen.\r\n\r\nAfter looking at him Napoleon smiled.\r\n\r\n\"He's very young to come to meddle with us.\"\r\n\r\n\"Youth is no hindrance to courage,\" muttered Sukhtelen in a failing\r\nvoice.\r\n\r\n\"A splendid reply!\" said Napoleon. \"Young man, you will go far!\"\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew, who had also been brought forward before the Emperor's\r\neyes to complete the show of prisoners, could not fail to attract his\r\nattention. Napoleon apparently remembered seeing him on the battlefield\r\nand, addressing him, again used the epithet \"young man\" that was\r\nconnected in his memory with Prince Andrew.\r\n\r\n\"Well, and you, young man,\" said he. \"How do you feel, mon brave?\"\r\n\r\nThough five minutes before, Prince Andrew had been able to say a few\r\nwords to the soldiers who were carrying him, now with his eyes fixed\r\nstraight on Napoleon, he was silent.... So insignificant at that moment\r\nseemed to him all the interests that engrossed Napoleon, so mean did his\r\nhero himself with his paltry vanity and joy in victory appear,\r\ncompared to the lofty, equitable, and kindly sky which he had seen and\r\nunderstood, that he could not answer him.\r\n\r\nEverything seemed so futile and insignificant in comparison with the\r\nstern and solemn train of thought that weakness from loss of blood,\r\nsuffering, and the nearness of death aroused in him. Looking into\r\nNapoleon's eyes Prince Andrew thought of the insignificance of\r\ngreatness, the unimportance of life which no one could understand, and\r\nthe still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no one\r\nalive could understand or explain.\r\n\r\nThe Emperor without waiting for an answer turned away and said to one of\r\nthe officers as he went: \"Have these gentlemen attended to and taken\r\nto my bivouac; let my doctor, Larrey, examine their wounds. Au revoir,\r\nPrince Repnin!\" and he spurred his horse and galloped away.\r\n\r\nHis face shone with self-satisfaction and pleasure.\r\n\r\nThe soldiers who had carried Prince Andrew had noticed and taken the\r\nlittle gold icon Princess Mary had hung round her brother's neck, but\r\nseeing the favor the Emperor showed the prisoners, they now hastened to\r\nreturn the holy image.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew did not see how and by whom it was replaced, but the\r\nlittle icon with its thin gold chain suddenly appeared upon his chest\r\noutside his uniform.\r\n\r\n\"It would be good,\" thought Prince Andrew, glancing at the icon his\r\nsister had hung round his neck with such emotion and reverence, \"it\r\nwould be good if everything were as clear and simple as it seems to\r\nMary. How good it would be to know where to seek for help in this life,\r\nand what to expect after it beyond the grave! How happy and calm I\r\nshould be if I could now say: 'Lord, have mercy on me!'... But to whom\r\nshould I say that? Either to a Power indefinable, incomprehensible,\r\nwhich I not only cannot address but which I cannot even express in\r\nwords--the Great All or Nothing-\" said he to himself, \"or to that God\r\nwho has been sewn into this amulet by Mary! There is nothing certain,\r\nnothing at all except the unimportance of everything I understand, and\r\nthe greatness of something incomprehensible but all-important.\"\r\n\r\nThe stretchers moved on. At every jolt he again felt unendurable pain;\r\nhis feverishness increased and he grew delirious. Visions of his father,\r\nwife, sister, and future son, and the tenderness he had felt the night\r\nbefore the battle, the figure of the insignificant little Napoleon, and\r\nabove all this the lofty sky, formed the chief subjects of his delirious\r\nfancies.\r\n\r\nThe quiet home life and peaceful happiness of Bald Hills presented\r\nitself to him. He was already enjoying that happiness when that\r\nlittle Napoleon had suddenly appeared with his unsympathizing look of\r\nshortsighted delight at the misery of others, and doubts and torments\r\nhad followed, and only the heavens promised peace. Toward morning\r\nall these dreams melted and merged into the chaos and darkness of\r\nunconciousness and oblivion which in the opinion of Napoleon's doctor,\r\nLarrey, was much more likely to end in death than in convalescence.\r\n\r\n\"He is a nervous, bilious subject,\" said Larrey, \"and will not recover.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Prince Andrew, with others fatally wounded, was left to the care of\r\nthe inhabitants of the district.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nBOOK FOUR: 1806\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER I\r\n\r\n\r\nEarly in the year 1806 Nicholas Rostov returned home on leave. Denisov\r\nwas going home to Voronezh and Rostov persuaded him to travel with him\r\nas far as Moscow and to stay with him there. Meeting a comrade at the\r\nlast post station but one before Moscow, Denisov had drunk three bottles\r\nof wine with him and, despite the jolting ruts across the snow-covered\r\nroad, did not once wake up on the way to Moscow, but lay at the bottom\r\nof the sleigh beside Rostov, who grew more and more impatient the nearer\r\nthey got to Moscow.\r\n\r\n\"How much longer? How much longer? Oh, these insufferable streets,\r\nshops, bakers' signboards, street lamps, and sleighs!\" thought Rostov,\r\nwhen their leave permits had been passed at the town gate and they had\r\nentered Moscow.\r\n\r\n\"Denisov! We're here! He's asleep,\" he added, leaning forward with his\r\nwhole body as if in that position he hoped to hasten the speed of the\r\nsleigh.\r\n\r\nDenisov gave no answer.\r\n\r\n\"There's the corner at the crossroads, where the cabman, Zakhar, has his\r\nstand, and there's Zakhar himself and still the same horse! And here's\r\nthe little shop where we used to buy gingerbread! Can't you hurry up?\r\nNow then!\"\r\n\r\n\"Which house is it?\" asked the driver.\r\n\r\n\"Why, that one, right at the end, the big one. Don't you see? That's our\r\nhouse,\" said Rostov. \"Of course, it's our house! Denisov, Denisov! We're\r\nalmost there!\"\r\n\r\nDenisov raised his head, coughed, and made no answer.\r\n\r\n\"Dmitri,\" said Rostov to his valet on the box, \"those lights are in our\r\nhouse, aren't they?\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, sir, and there's a light in your father's study.\"\r\n\r\n\"Then they've not gone to bed yet? What do you think? Mind now,\r\ndon't forget to put out my new coat,\" added Rostov, fingering his new\r\nmustache. \"Now then, get on,\" he shouted to the driver. \"Do wake up,\r\nVaska!\" he went on, turning to Denisov, whose head was again nodding.\r\n\"Come, get on! You shall have three rubles for vodka--get on!\" Rostov\r\nshouted, when the sleigh was only three houses from his door. It seemed\r\nto him the horses were not moving at all. At last the sleigh bore to the\r\nright, drew up at an entrance, and Rostov saw overhead the old familiar\r\ncornice with a bit of plaster broken off, the porch, and the post by the\r\nside of the pavement. He sprang out before the sleigh stopped, and ran\r\ninto the hall. The house stood cold and silent, as if quite regardless\r\nof who had come to it. There was no one in the hall. \"Oh God! Is\r\neveryone all right?\" he thought, stopping for a moment with a sinking\r\nheart, and then immediately starting to run along the hall and up the\r\nwarped steps of the familiar staircase. The well-known old door handle,\r\nwhich always angered the countess when it was not properly cleaned,\r\nturned as loosely as ever. A solitary tallow candle burned in the\r\nanteroom.\r\n\r\nOld Michael was asleep on the chest. Prokofy, the footman, who was so\r\nstrong that he could lift the back of the carriage from behind, sat\r\nplaiting slippers out of cloth selvedges. He looked up at the opening\r\ndoor and his expression of sleepy indifference suddenly changed to one\r\nof delighted amazement.\r\n\r\n\"Gracious heavens! The young count!\" he cried, recognizing his\r\nyoung master. \"Can it be? My treasure!\" and Prokofy, trembling with\r\nexcitement, rushed toward the drawing-room door, probably in order to\r\nannounce him, but, changing his mind, came back and stooped to kiss the\r\nyoung man's shoulder.\r\n\r\n\"All well?\" asked Rostov, drawing away his arm.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They've just finished supper. Let me have a\r\nlook at you, your excellency.\"\r\n\r\n\"Is everything quite all right?\"\r\n\r\n\"The Lord be thanked, yes!\"\r\n\r\nRostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyone to\r\nforestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe through the\r\nlarge dark ballroom. All was the same: there were the same old card\r\ntables and the same chandelier with a cover over it; but someone had\r\nalready seen the young master, and, before he had reached the drawing\r\nroom, something flew out from a side door like a tornado and began\r\nhugging and kissing him. Another and yet another creature of the same\r\nkind sprang from a second door and a third; more hugging, more kissing,\r\nmore outcries, and tears of joy. He could not distinguish which was\r\nPapa, which Natasha, and which Petya. Everyone shouted, talked, and\r\nkissed him at the same time. Only his mother was not there, he noticed\r\nthat.\r\n\r\n\"And I did not know... Nicholas... My darling!...\"\r\n\r\n\"Here he is... our own... Kolya, * dear fellow... How he has changed!...\r\nWhere are the candles?... Tea!...\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Nicholas.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"And me, kiss me!\"\r\n\r\n\"Dearest... and me!\"\r\n\r\nSonya, Natasha, Petya, Anna Mikhaylovna, Vera, and the old count were\r\nall hugging him, and the serfs, men and maids, flocked into the room,\r\nexclaiming and oh-ing and ah-ing.\r\n\r\nPetya, clinging to his legs, kept shouting, \"And me too!\"\r\n\r\nNatasha, after she had pulled him down toward her and covered his face\r\nwith kisses, holding him tight by the skirt of his coat, sprang away and\r\npranced up and down in one place like a goat and shrieked piercingly.\r\n\r\nAll around were loving eyes glistening with tears of joy, and all around\r\nwere lips seeking a kiss.\r\n\r\nSonya too, all rosy red, clung to his arm and, radiant with bliss,\r\nlooked eagerly toward his eyes, waiting for the look for which she\r\nlonged. Sonya now was sixteen and she was very pretty, especially at\r\nthis moment of happy, rapturous excitement. She gazed at him, not taking\r\nher eyes off him, and smiling and holding her breath. He gave her a\r\ngrateful look, but was still expectant and looking for someone. The old\r\ncountess had not yet come. But now steps were heard at the door, steps\r\nso rapid that they could hardly be his mother's.\r\n\r\nYet it was she, dressed in a new gown which he did not know, made since\r\nhe had left. All the others let him go, and he ran to her. When they\r\nmet, she fell on his breast, sobbing. She could not lift her face, but\r\nonly pressed it to the cold braiding of his hussar's jacket. Denisov,\r\nwho had come into the room unnoticed by anyone, stood there and wiped\r\nhis eyes at the sight.\r\n\r\n\"Vasili Denisov, your son's friend,\" he said, introducing himself to the\r\ncount, who was looking inquiringly at him.\r\n\r\n\"You are most welcome! I know, I know,\" said the count, kissing and\r\nembracing Denisov. \"Nicholas wrote us... Natasha, Vera, look! Here is\r\nDenisov!\"\r\n\r\nThe same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure of Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"Darling Denisov!\" screamed Natasha, beside herself with rapture,\r\nspringing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. This\r\nescapade made everybody feel confused. Denisov blushed too, but smiled\r\nand, taking Natasha's hand, kissed it.\r\n\r\nDenisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovs all\r\ngathered round Nicholas in the sitting room.\r\n\r\nThe old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every\r\nmoment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched every\r\nmovement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring\r\neyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the places nearest\r\nto him and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea,\r\nhandkerchief, and pipe.\r\n\r\nRostov was very happy in the love they showed him; but the first\r\nmoment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemed\r\ninsufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more.\r\n\r\nNext morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelers slept\r\ntill ten o'clock.\r\n\r\nIn the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers,\r\nsatchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly\r\ncleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. The servants\r\nwere bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and their\r\nwell-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco.\r\n\r\n\"Hallo, Gwiska--my pipe!\" came Vasili Denisov's husky voice. \"Wostov,\r\nget up!\"\r\n\r\nRostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his\r\ndisheveled head from the hot pillow.\r\n\r\n\"Why, is it late?\"\r\n\r\n\"Late! It's nearly ten o'clock,\" answered Natasha's voice. A rustle of\r\nstarched petticoats and the whispering and laughter of girls' voices\r\ncame from the adjoining room. The door was opened a crack and there was\r\na glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair, and merry faces.\r\nIt was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya, who had come to see whether they were\r\ngetting up.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas! Get up!\" Natasha's voice was again heard at the door.\r\n\r\n\"Directly!\"\r\n\r\nMeanwhile, Petya, having found and seized the sabers in the outer room,\r\nwith the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elder brother, and\r\nforgetting that it was unbecoming for the girls to see men undressed,\r\nopened the bedroom door.\r\n\r\n\"Is this your saber?\" he shouted.\r\n\r\nThe girls sprang aside. Denisov hid his hairy legs under the blanket,\r\nlooking with a scared face at his comrade for help. The door, having let\r\nPetya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came from behind it.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown!\" said Natasha's voice.\r\n\r\n\"Is this your saber?\" asked Petya. \"Or is it yours?\" he said, addressing\r\nthe black-mustached Denisov with servile deference.\r\n\r\nRostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown,\r\nand went out. Natasha had put on one spurred boot and was just getting\r\nher foot into the other. Sonya, when he came in, was twirling round and\r\nwas about to expand her dresses into a balloon and sit down. They were\r\ndressed alike, in new pale-blue frocks, and were both fresh, rosy, and\r\nbright. Sonya ran away, but Natasha, taking her brother's arm, led him\r\ninto the sitting room, where they began talking. They hardly gave one\r\nanother time to ask questions and give replies concerning a thousand\r\nlittle matters which could not interest anyone but themselves. Natasha\r\nlaughed at every word he said or that she said herself, not because what\r\nthey were saying was amusing, but because she felt happy and was unable\r\nto control her joy which expressed itself by laughter.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, how nice, how splendid!\" she said to everything.\r\n\r\nRostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love, that\r\nchildlike smile which had not once appeared on his face since he left\r\nhome now for the first time after eighteen months again brightened his\r\nsoul and his face.\r\n\r\n\"No, but listen,\" she said, \"now you are quite a man, aren't you? I'm\r\nawfully glad you're my brother.\" She touched his mustache. \"I want to\r\nknow what you men are like. Are you the same as we? No?\"\r\n\r\n\"Why did Sonya run away?\" asked Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, yes! That's a whole long story! How are you going to speak to\r\nher--thou or you?\"\r\n\r\n\"As may happen,\" said Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"No, call her you, please! I'll tell you all about it some other time.\r\nNo, I'll tell you now. You know Sonya's my dearest friend. Such a friend\r\nthat I burned my arm for her sake. Look here!\"\r\n\r\nShe pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on her long,\r\nslender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part that is covered\r\neven by a ball dress.\r\n\r\n\"I burned this to prove my love for her. I just heated a ruler in the\r\nfire and pressed it there!\"\r\n\r\nSitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used\r\nto be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildly bright eyes,\r\nRostov re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no meaning\r\nfor anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life; and the\r\nburning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem to him\r\nsenseless, he understood and was not surprised at it.\r\n\r\n\"Well, and is that all?\" he asked.\r\n\r\n\"We are such friends, such friends! All that ruler business was just\r\nnonsense, but we are friends forever. She, if she loves anyone, does it\r\nfor life, but I don't understand that, I forget quickly.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, what then?\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, she loves me and you like that.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha suddenly flushed.\r\n\r\n\"Why, you remember before you went away?... Well, she says you are to\r\nforget all that.... She says: 'I shall love him always, but let him be\r\nfree.' Isn't that lovely and noble! Yes, very noble? Isn't it?\" asked\r\nNatasha, so seriously and excitedly that it was evident that what she\r\nwas now saying she had talked of before, with tears.\r\n\r\nRostov became thoughtful.\r\n\r\n\"I never go back on my word,\" he said. \"Besides, Sonya is so charming\r\nthat only a fool would renounce such happiness.\"\r\n\r\n\"No, no!\" cried Natasha, \"she and I have already talked it over. We knew\r\nyou'd say so. But it won't do, because you see, if you say that--if you\r\nconsider yourself bound by your promise--it will seem as if she had not\r\nmeant it seriously. It makes it as if you were marrying her because you\r\nmust, and that wouldn't do at all.\"\r\n\r\nRostov saw that it had been well considered by them. Sonya had already\r\nstruck him by her beauty on the preceding day. Today, when he had caught\r\na glimpse of her, she seemed still more lovely. She was a charming girl\r\nof sixteen, evidently passionately in love with him (he did not doubt\r\nthat for an instant). Why should he not love her now, and even marry\r\nher, Rostov thought, but just now there were so many other pleasures\r\nand interests before him! \"Yes, they have taken a wise decision,\" he\r\nthought, \"I must remain free.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well then, that's excellent,\" said he. \"We'll talk it over later on.\r\nOh, how glad I am to have you!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, and are you still true to Boris?\" he continued.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, what nonsense!\" cried Natasha, laughing. \"I don't think about him\r\nor anyone else, and I don't want anything of the kind.\"\r\n\r\n\"Dear me! Then what are you up to now?\"\r\n\r\n\"Now?\" repeated Natasha, and a happy smile lit up her face. \"Have you\r\nseen Duport?\"\r\n\r\n\"No.\"\r\n\r\n\"Not seen Duport--the famous dancer? Well then, you won't understand.\r\nThat's what I'm up to.\"\r\n\r\nCurving her arms, Natasha held out her skirts as dancers do, ran back\r\na few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet sharply\r\ntogether, and made some steps on the very tips of her toes.\r\n\r\n\"See, I'm standing! See!\" she said, but could not maintain herself on\r\nher toes any longer. \"So that's what I'm up to! I'll never marry anyone,\r\nbut will be a dancer. Only don't tell anyone.\"\r\n\r\nRostov laughed so loud and merrily that Denisov, in his bedroom, felt\r\nenvious and Natasha could not help joining in.\r\n\r\n\"No, but don't you think it's nice?\" she kept repeating.\r\n\r\n\"Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry Boris?\"\r\n\r\nNatasha flared up. \"I don't want to marry anyone. And I'll tell him so\r\nwhen I see him!\"\r\n\r\n\"Dear me!\" said Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"But that's all rubbish,\" Natasha chattered on. \"And is Denisov nice?\"\r\nshe asked.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, indeed!\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he very terrible, Denisov?\"\r\n\r\n\"Why terrible?\" asked Nicholas. \"No, Vaska is a splendid fellow.\"\r\n\r\n\"You call him Vaska? That's funny! And is he very nice?\"\r\n\r\n\"Very.\"\r\n\r\n\"Well then, be quick. We'll all have breakfast together.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Natasha rose and went out of the room on tiptoe, like a ballet\r\ndancer, but smiling as only happy girls of fifteen can smile. When\r\nRostov met Sonya in the drawing room, he reddened. He did not know how\r\nto behave with her. The evening before, in the first happy moment of\r\nmeeting, they had kissed each other, but today they felt it could not\r\nbe done; he felt that everybody, including his mother and sisters, was\r\nlooking inquiringly at him and watching to see how he would behave with\r\nher. He kissed her hand and addressed her not as thou but as you--Sonya.\r\nBut their eyes met and said thou, and exchanged tender kisses. Her looks\r\nasked him to forgive her for having dared, by Natasha's intermediacy, to\r\nremind him of his promise, and then thanked him for his love. His looks\r\nthanked her for offering him his freedom and told her that one way or\r\nanother he would never cease to love her, for that would be impossible.\r\n\r\n\"How strange it is,\" said Vera, selecting a moment when all were silent,\r\n\"that Sonya and Nicholas now say you to one another and meet like\r\nstrangers.\"\r\n\r\nVera's remark was correct, as her remarks always were, but, like most of\r\nher observations, it made everyone feel uncomfortable, not only Sonya,\r\nNicholas, and Natasha, but even the old countess, who--dreading\r\nthis love affair which might hinder Nicholas from making a brilliant\r\nmatch--blushed like a girl.\r\n\r\nDenisov, to Rostov's surprise, appeared in the drawing room with pomaded\r\nhair, perfumed, and in a new uniform, looking just as smart as he made\r\nhimself when going into battle, and he was more amiable to the ladies\r\nand gentlemen than Rostov had ever expected to see him.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER II\r\n\r\n\r\nOn his return to Moscow from the army, Nicholas Rostov was welcomed\r\nby his home circle as the best of sons, a hero, and their darling\r\nNikolenka; by his relations as a charming, attractive, and polite young\r\nman; by his acquaintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good\r\ndancer, and one of the best matches in the city.\r\n\r\nThe Rostovs knew everybody in Moscow. The old count had money enough\r\nthat year, as all his estates had been remortgaged, and so Nicholas,\r\nacquiring a trotter of his own, very stylish riding breeches of the\r\nlatest cut, such as no one else yet had in Moscow, and boots of the\r\nlatest fashion, with extremely pointed toes and small silver spurs,\r\npassed his time very gaily. After a short period of adapting himself\r\nto the old conditions of life, Nicholas found it very pleasant to be\r\nat home again. He felt that he had grown up and matured very much. His\r\ndespair at failing in a Scripture examination, his borrowing money from\r\nGavril to pay a sleigh driver, his kissing Sonya on the sly--he now\r\nrecalled all this as childishness he had left immeasurably behind.\r\nNow he was a lieutenant of hussars, in a jacket laced with silver, and\r\nwearing the Cross of St. George, awarded to soldiers for bravery in\r\naction, and in the company of well-known, elderly, and respected racing\r\nmen was training a trotter of his own for a race. He knew a lady on one\r\nof the boulevards whom he visited of an evening. He led the mazurka at\r\nthe Arkharovs' ball, talked about the war with Field Marshal Kamenski,\r\nvisited the English Club, and was on intimate terms with a colonel of\r\nforty to whom Denisov had introduced him.\r\n\r\nHis passion for the Emperor had cooled somewhat in Moscow. But still, as\r\nhe did not see him and had no opportunity of seeing him, he often spoke\r\nabout him and about his love for him, letting it be understood that he\r\nhad not told all and that there was something in his feelings for the\r\nEmperor not everyone could understand, and with his whole soul he shared\r\nthe adoration then common in Moscow for the Emperor, who was spoken of\r\nas the \"angel incarnate.\"\r\n\r\nDuring Rostov's short stay in Moscow, before rejoining the army, he did\r\nnot draw closer to Sonya, but rather drifted away from her. She was very\r\npretty and sweet, and evidently deeply in love with him, but he was at\r\nthe period of youth when there seems so much to do that there is no time\r\nfor that sort of thing and a young man fears to bind himself and prizes\r\nhis freedom which he needs for so many other things. When he thought of\r\nSonya, during this stay in Moscow, he said to himself, \"Ah, there will\r\nbe, and there are, many more such girls somewhere whom I do not yet\r\nknow. There will be time enough to think about love when I want to, but\r\nnow I have no time.\" Besides, it seemed to him that the society of women\r\nwas rather derogatory to his manhood. He went to balls and into ladies'\r\nsociety with an affectation of doing so against his will. The races, the\r\nEnglish Club, sprees with Denisov, and visits to a certain house--that\r\nwas another matter and quite the thing for a dashing young hussar!\r\n\r\nAt the beginning of March, old Count Ilya Rostov was very busy arranging\r\na dinner in honor of Prince Bagration at the English Club.\r\n\r\nThe count walked up and down the hall in his dressing gown, giving\r\norders to the club steward and to the famous Feoktist, the Club's head\r\ncook, about asparagus, fresh cucumbers, strawberries, veal, and fish\r\nfor this dinner. The count had been a member and on the committee of\r\nthe Club from the day it was founded. To him the Club entrusted the\r\narrangement of the festival in honor of Bagration, for few men knew so\r\nwell how to arrange a feast on an open-handed, hospitable scale, and\r\nstill fewer men would be so well able and willing to make up out of\r\ntheir own resources what might be needed for the success of the fete.\r\nThe club cook and the steward listened to the count's orders with\r\npleased faces, for they knew that under no other management could they\r\nso easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinner costing\r\nseveral thousand rubles.\r\n\r\n\"Well then, mind and have cocks' comb in the turtle soup, you know!\"\r\n\r\n\"Shall we have three cold dishes then?\" asked the cook.\r\n\r\nThe count considered.\r\n\r\n\"We can't have less--yes, three... the mayonnaise, that's one,\" said he,\r\nbending down a finger.\r\n\r\n\"Then am I to order those large sterlets?\" asked the steward.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, it can't be helped if they won't take less. Ah, dear me! I was\r\nforgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious!\" he\r\nclutched at his head. \"Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmitri! Eh,\r\nDmitri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate,\" he said to the factotum who\r\nappeared at his call. \"Hurry off and tell Maksim, the gardener, to set\r\nthe serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses must be\r\nbrought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundred pots here\r\non Friday.\"\r\n\r\nHaving given several more orders, he was about to go to his \"little\r\ncountess\" to have a rest, but remembering something else of importance,\r\nhe returned again, called back the cook and the club steward, and again\r\nbegan giving orders. A light footstep and the clinking of spurs were\r\nheard at the door, and the young count, handsome, rosy, with a dark\r\nlittle mustache, evidently rested and made sleeker by his easy life in\r\nMoscow, entered the room.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my boy, my head's in a whirl!\" said the old man with a smile, as if\r\nhe felt a little confused before his son. \"Now, if you would only help\r\na bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my own orchestra, but\r\nshouldn't we get the gypsy singers as well? You military men like that\r\nsort of thing.\"\r\n\r\n\"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagration worried himself less before\r\nthe battle of Schon Grabern than you do now,\" said his son with a smile.\r\n\r\nThe old count pretended to be angry.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!\"\r\n\r\nAnd the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and respectful\r\nexpression, looked observantly and sympathetically at the father and\r\nson.\r\n\r\n\"What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktist?\" said he.\r\n\"Laughing at us old fellows!\"\r\n\r\n\"That's so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good\r\ndinner, but providing it and serving it all up, that's not their\r\nbusiness!\"\r\n\r\n\"That's it, that's it!\" exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing his son\r\nby both hands, he cried, \"Now I've got you, so take the sleigh and pair\r\nat once, and go to Bezukhov's, and tell him 'Count Ilya has sent you\r\nto ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples.' We can't get them from\r\nanyone else. He's not there himself, so you'll have to go in and ask the\r\nprincesses; and from there go on to the Rasgulyay--the coachman Ipatka\r\nknows--and look up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one who danced at Count\r\nOrlov's, you remember, in a white Cossack coat, and bring him along to\r\nme.\"\r\n\r\n\"And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him?\" asked Nicholas,\r\nlaughing. \"Dear, dear!...\"\r\n\r\nAt that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with the businesslike,\r\npreoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which never left her face, Anna\r\nMikhaylovna entered the hall. Though she came upon the count in his\r\ndressing gown every day, he invariably became confused and begged her to\r\nexcuse his costume.\r\n\r\n\"No matter at all, my dear count,\" she said, meekly closing her eyes.\r\n\"But I'll go to Bezukhov's myself. Pierre has arrived, and now we shall\r\nget anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him in any case.\r\nHe has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris is now on the\r\nstaff.\"\r\n\r\nThe count was delighted at Anna Mikhaylovna's taking upon herself one of\r\nhis commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.\r\n\r\n\"Tell Bezukhov to come. I'll put his name down. Is his wife with him?\"\r\nhe asked.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness was depicted\r\non her face.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate,\" she said. \"If what we hear\r\nis true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thing when we\r\nwere rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soul as young\r\nBezukhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try to give him what\r\nconsolation I can.\"\r\n\r\n\"Wh-what is the matter?\" asked both the young and old Rostov.\r\n\r\nAnna Mikhaylovna sighed deeply.\r\n\r\n\"Dolokhov, Mary Ivanovna's son,\" she said in a mysterious whisper, \"has\r\ncompromised her completely, they say. Pierre took him up, invited him to\r\nhis house in Petersburg, and now... she has come here and that daredevil\r\nafter her!\" said Anna Mikhaylovna, wishing to show her sympathy for\r\nPierre, but by involuntary intonations and a half smile betraying her\r\nsympathy for the \"daredevil,\" as she called Dolokhov. \"They say Pierre\r\nis quite broken by his misfortune.\"\r\n\r\n\"Dear, dear! But still tell him to come to the Club--it will all blow\r\nover. It will be a tremendous banquet.\"\r\n\r\nNext day, the third of March, soon after one o'clock, two hundred and\r\nfifty members of the English Club and fifty guests were awaiting the\r\nguest of honor and hero of the Austrian campaign, Prince Bagration, to\r\ndinner.\r\n\r\nOn the first arrival of the news of the battle of Austerlitz, Moscow had\r\nbeen bewildered. At that time, the Russians were so used to victories\r\nthat on receiving news of the defeat some would simply not believe it,\r\nwhile others sought some extraordinary explanation of so strange an\r\nevent. In the English Club, where all who were distinguished, important,\r\nand well informed foregathered when the news began to arrive in\r\nDecember, nothing was said about the war and the last battle, as\r\nthough all were in a conspiracy of silence. The men who set the tone in\r\nconversation--Count Rostopchin, Prince Yuri Dolgorukov, Valuev, Count\r\nMarkov, and Prince Vyazemski--did not show themselves at the Club, but\r\nmet in private houses in intimate circles, and the Moscovites who took\r\ntheir opinions from others--Ilya Rostov among them--remained for a\r\nwhile without any definite opinion on the subject of the war and without\r\nleaders. The Moscovites felt that something was wrong and that to\r\ndiscuss the bad news was difficult, and so it was best to be silent.\r\nBut after a while, just as a jury comes out of its room, the bigwigs\r\nwho guided the Club's opinion reappeared, and everybody began speaking\r\nclearly and definitely. Reasons were found for the incredible,\r\nunheard-of, and impossible event of a Russian defeat, everything became\r\nclear, and in all corners of Moscow the same things began to be\r\nsaid. These reasons were the treachery of the Austrians, a defective\r\ncommissariat, the treachery of the Pole Przebyszewski and of the\r\nFrenchman Langeron, Kutuzov's incapacity, and (it was whispered) the\r\nyouth and inexperience of the sovereign, who had trusted worthless and\r\ninsignificant people. But the army, the Russian army, everyone declared,\r\nwas extraordinary and had achieved miracles of valor. The soldiers,\r\nofficers, and generals were heroes. But the hero of heroes was Prince\r\nBagration, distinguished by his Schon Grabern affair and by the retreat\r\nfrom Austerlitz, where he alone had withdrawn his column unbroken and\r\nhad all day beaten back an enemy force twice as numerous as his own.\r\nWhat also conduced to Bagration's being selected as Moscow's hero was\r\nthe fact that he had no connections in the city and was a stranger\r\nthere. In his person, honor was shown to a simple fighting Russian\r\nsoldier without connections and intrigues, and to one who was associated\r\nby memories of the Italian campaign with the name of Suvorov.\r\nMoreover, paying such honor to Bagration was the best way of expressing\r\ndisapproval and dislike of Kutuzov.\r\n\r\n\"Had there been no Bagration, it would have been necessary to invent\r\nhim,\" said the wit Shinshin, parodying the words of Voltaire. Kutuzov\r\nno one spoke of, except some who abused him in whispers, calling him a\r\ncourt weathercock and an old satyr.\r\n\r\nAll Moscow repeated Prince Dolgorukov's saying: \"If you go on modeling\r\nand modeling you must get smeared with clay,\" suggesting consolation\r\nfor our defeat by the memory of former victories; and the words of\r\nRostopchin, that French soldiers have to be incited to battle by\r\nhighfalutin words, and Germans by logical arguments to show them that it\r\nis more dangerous to run away than to advance, but that Russian soldiers\r\nonly need to be restrained and held back! On all sides, new and fresh\r\nanecdotes were heard of individual examples of heroism shown by our\r\nofficers and men at Austerlitz. One had saved a standard, another had\r\nkilled five Frenchmen, a third had loaded five cannon singlehanded. Berg\r\nwas mentioned, by those who did not know him, as having, when wounded\r\nin the right hand, taken his sword in the left, and gone forward. Of\r\nBolkonski, nothing was said, and only those who knew him intimately\r\nregretted that he had died so young, leaving a pregnant wife with his\r\neccentric father.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER III\r\n\r\n\r\nOn that third of March, all the rooms in the English Club were filled\r\nwith a hum of conversation, like the hum of bees swarming in springtime.\r\nThe members and guests of the Club wandered hither and thither, sat,\r\nstood, met, and separated, some in uniform and some in evening dress,\r\nand a few here and there with powdered hair and in Russian kaftans.\r\nPowdered footmen, in livery with buckled shoes and smart stockings,\r\nstood at every door anxiously noting visitors' every movement in order\r\nto offer their services. Most of those present were elderly, respected\r\nmen with broad, self-confident faces, fat fingers, and resolute gestures\r\nand voices. This class of guests and members sat in certain habitual\r\nplaces and met in certain habitual groups. A minority of those present\r\nwere casual guests--chiefly young men, among whom were Denisov, Rostov,\r\nand Dolokhov--who was now again an officer in the Semenov regiment. The\r\nfaces of these young people, especially those who were military men,\r\nbore that expression of condescending respect for their elders which\r\nseems to say to the older generation, \"We are prepared to respect and\r\nhonor you, but all the same remember that the future belongs to us.\"\r\n\r\nNesvitski was there as an old member of the Club. Pierre, who at his\r\nwife's command had let his hair grow and abandoned his spectacles, went\r\nabout the rooms fashionably dressed but looking sad and dull. Here, as\r\nelsewhere, he was surrounded by an atmosphere of subservience to his\r\nwealth, and being in the habit of lording it over these people, he\r\ntreated them with absent-minded contempt.\r\n\r\nBy his age he should have belonged to the younger men, but by his wealth\r\nand connections he belonged to the groups old and honored guests, and\r\nso he went from one group to another. Some of the most important old men\r\nwere the center of groups which even strangers approached respectfully\r\nto hear the voices of well-known men. The largest circles formed round\r\nCount Rostopchin, Valuev, and Naryshkin. Rostopchin was describing how\r\nthe Russians had been overwhelmed by flying Austrians and had had to\r\nforce their way through them with bayonets.\r\n\r\nValuev was confidentially telling that Uvarov had been sent from\r\nPetersburg to ascertain what Moscow was thinking about Austerlitz.\r\n\r\nIn the third circle, Naryshkin was speaking of the meeting of the\r\nAustrian Council of War at which Suvorov crowed like a cock in reply to\r\nthe nonsense talked by the Austrian generals. Shinshin, standing close\r\nby, tried to make a joke, saying that Kutuzov had evidently failed to\r\nlearn from Suvorov even so simple a thing as the art of crowing like a\r\ncock, but the elder members glanced severely at the wit, making him\r\nfeel that in that place and on that day, it was improper to speak so of\r\nKutuzov.\r\n\r\nCount Ilya Rostov, hurried and preoccupied, went about in his soft boots\r\nbetween the dining and drawing rooms, hastily greeting the important and\r\nunimportant, all of whom he knew, as if they were all equals, while his\r\neyes occasionally sought out his fine well-set-up young son, resting\r\non him and winking joyfully at him. Young Rostov stood at a window with\r\nDolokhov, whose acquaintance he had lately made and highly valued. The\r\nold count came up to them and pressed Dolokhov's hand.\r\n\r\n\"Please come and visit us... you know my brave boy... been together out\r\nthere... both playing the hero... Ah, Vasili Ignatovich... How d'ye do,\r\nold fellow?\" he said, turning to an old man who was passing, but before\r\nhe had finished his greeting there was a general stir, and a footman who\r\nhad run in announced, with a frightened face: \"He's arrived!\"\r\n\r\nBells rang, the stewards rushed forward, and--like rye shaken together\r\nin a shovel--the guests who had been scattered about in different rooms\r\ncame together and crowded in the large drawing room by the door of the\r\nballroom.\r\n\r\nBagration appeared in the doorway of the anteroom without hat or sword,\r\nwhich, in accord with the Club custom, he had given up to the hall\r\nporter. He had no lambskin cap on his head, nor had he a loaded whip\r\nover his shoulder, as when Rostov had seen him on the eve of the battle\r\nof Austerlitz, but wore a tight new uniform with Russian and foreign\r\nOrders, and the Star of St. George on his left breast. Evidently just\r\nbefore coming to the dinner he had had his hair and whiskers trimmed,\r\nwhich changed his appearance for the worse. There was something naively\r\nfestive in his air, which, in conjunction with his firm and virile\r\nfeatures, gave him a rather comical expression. Bekleshev and Theodore\r\nUvarov, who had arrived with him, paused at the doorway to allow him,\r\nas the guest of honor, to enter first. Bagration was embarrassed, not\r\nwishing to avail himself of their courtesy, and this caused some delay\r\nat the doors, but after all he did at last enter first. He walked shyly\r\nand awkwardly over the parquet floor of the reception room, not knowing\r\nwhat to do with his hands; he was more accustomed to walk over a plowed\r\nfield under fire, as he had done at the head of the Kursk regiment at\r\nSchon Grabern--and he would have found that easier. The committeemen\r\nmet him at the first door and, expressing their delight at seeing such a\r\nhighly honored guest, took possession of him as it were, without waiting\r\nfor his reply, surrounded him, and led him to the drawing room. It was\r\nat first impossible to enter the drawing-room door for the crowd of\r\nmembers and guests jostling one another and trying to get a good look at\r\nBagration over each other's shoulders, as if he were some rare animal.\r\nCount Ilya Rostov, laughing and repeating the words, \"Make way, dear\r\nboy! Make way, make way!\" pushed through the crowd more energetically\r\nthan anyone, led the guests into the drawing room, and seated them on\r\nthe center sofa. The bigwigs, the most respected members of the Club,\r\nbeset the new arrivals. Count Ilya, again thrusting his way through the\r\ncrowd, went out of the drawing room and reappeared a minute later with\r\nanother committeeman, carrying a large silver salver which he presented\r\nto Prince Bagration. On the salver lay some verses composed and printed\r\nin the hero's honor. Bagration, on seeing the salver, glanced around\r\nin dismay, as though seeking help. But all eyes demanded that he should\r\nsubmit. Feeling himself in their power, he resolutely took the salver\r\nwith both hands and looked sternly and reproachfully at the count who\r\nhad presented it to him. Someone obligingly took the dish from Bagration\r\n(or he would, it seemed, have held it till evening and have gone in to\r\ndinner with it) and drew his attention to the verses.\r\n\r\n\"Well, I will read them, then!\" Bagration seemed to say, and, fixing\r\nhis weary eyes on the paper, began to read them with a fixed and serious\r\nexpression. But the author himself took the verses and began reading\r\nthem aloud. Bagration bowed his head and listened:\r\n\r\n   Bring glory then to Alexander's reign\r\n   And on the throne our Titus shield.\r\n   A dreaded foe be thou, kindhearted as a man,\r\n   A Rhipheus at home, a Caesar in the field!\r\n   E'en fortunate Napoleon\r\n   Knows by experience, now, Bagration,\r\n   And dare not Herculean Russians trouble...\r\n\r\nBut before he had finished reading, a stentorian major-domo announced\r\nthat dinner was ready! The door opened, and from the dining room came\r\nthe resounding strains of the polonaise:\r\n\r\n   Conquest's joyful thunder waken,\r\n   Triumph, valiant Russians, now!...\r\n\r\nand Count Rostov, glancing angrily at the author who went on reading his\r\nverses, bowed to Bagration. Everyone rose, feeling that dinner was more\r\nimportant than verses, and Bagration, again preceding all the rest,\r\nwent in to dinner. He was seated in the place of honor between two\r\nAlexanders--Bekleshev and Naryshkin--which was a significant allusion to\r\nthe name of the sovereign. Three hundred persons took their seats in the\r\ndining room, according to their rank and importance: the more important\r\nnearer to the honored guest, as naturally as water flows deepest where\r\nthe land lies lowest.\r\n\r\nJust before dinner, Count Ilya Rostov presented his son to Bagration,\r\nwho recognized him and said a few words to him, disjointed and awkward,\r\nas were all the words he spoke that day, and Count Ilya looked joyfully\r\nand proudly around while Bagration spoke to his son.\r\n\r\nNicholas Rostov, with Denisov and his new acquaintance, Dolokhov, sat\r\nalmost at the middle of the table. Facing them sat Pierre, beside Prince\r\nNesvitski. Count Ilya Rostov with the other members of the committee sat\r\nfacing Bagration and, as the very personification of Moscow hospitality,\r\ndid the honors to the prince.\r\n\r\nHis efforts had not been in vain. The dinner, both the Lenten and the\r\nother fare, was splendid, yet he could not feel quite at ease till the\r\nend of the meal. He winked at the butler, whispered directions to the\r\nfootmen, and awaited each expected dish with some anxiety. Everything\r\nwas excellent. With the second course, a gigantic sterlet (at sight of\r\nwhich Ilya Rostov blushed with self-conscious pleasure), the footmen\r\nbegan popping corks and filling the champagne glasses. After the fish,\r\nwhich made a certain sensation, the count exchanged glances with the\r\nother committeemen. \"There will be many toasts, it's time to begin,\" he\r\nwhispered, and taking up his glass, he rose. All were silent, waiting\r\nfor what he would say.\r\n\r\n\"To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!\" he cried, and at the same\r\nmoment his kindly eyes grew moist with tears of joy and enthusiasm. The\r\nband immediately struck up \"Conquest's joyful thunder waken...\" All rose\r\nand cried \"Hurrah!\" Bagration also rose and shouted \"Hurrah!\" in exactly\r\nthe same voice in which he had shouted it on the field at Schon Grabern.\r\nYoung Rostov's ecstatic voice could be heard above the three hundred\r\nothers. He nearly wept. \"To the health of our Sovereign, the Emperor!\"\r\nhe roared, \"Hurrah!\" and emptying his glass at one gulp he dashed it to\r\nthe floor. Many followed his example, and the loud shouting continued\r\nfor a long time. When the voices subsided, the footmen cleared away the\r\nbroken glass and everybody sat down again, smiling at the noise they had\r\nmade and exchanging remarks. The old count rose once more, glanced at a\r\nnote lying beside his plate, and proposed a toast, \"To the health of the\r\nhero of our last campaign, Prince Peter Ivanovich Bagration!\" and again\r\nhis blue eyes grew moist. \"Hurrah!\" cried the three hundred voices\r\nagain, but instead of the band a choir began singing a cantata composed\r\nby Paul Ivanovich Kutuzov:\r\n\r\n   Russians! O'er all barriers on!\r\n   Courage conquest guarantees;\r\n   Have we not Bagration?\r\n   He brings foe men to their knees,... etc.\r\n\r\n\r\nAs soon as the singing was over, another and another toast was proposed\r\nand Count Ilya Rostov became more and more moved, more glass was\r\nsmashed, and the shouting grew louder. They drank to Bekleshev,\r\nNaryshkin, Uvarov, Dolgorukov, Apraksin, Valuev, to the committee, to\r\nall the Club members and to all the Club guests, and finally to Count\r\nIlya Rostov separately, as the organizer of the banquet. At that\r\ntoast, the count took out his handkerchief and, covering his face, wept\r\noutright.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IV\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre sat opposite Dolokhov and Nicholas Rostov. As usual, he ate and\r\ndrank much, and eagerly. But those who knew him intimately noticed that\r\nsome great change had come over him that day. He was silent all through\r\ndinner and looked about, blinking and scowling, or, with fixed eyes and\r\na look of complete absent-mindedness, kept rubbing the bridge of his\r\nnose. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed to see and hear\r\nnothing of what was going on around him and to be absorbed by some\r\ndepressing and unsolved problem.\r\n\r\nThe unsolved problem that tormented him was caused by hints given by the\r\nprincess, his cousin, at Moscow, concerning Dolokhov's intimacy with his\r\nwife, and by an anonymous letter he had received that morning, which in\r\nthe mean jocular way common to anonymous letters said that he saw badly\r\nthrough his spectacles, but that his wife's connection with Dolokhov was\r\na secret to no one but himself. Pierre absolutely disbelieved both the\r\nprincess' hints and the letter, but he feared now to look at Dolokhov,\r\nwho was sitting opposite him. Every time he chanced to meet Dolokhov's\r\nhandsome insolent eyes, Pierre felt something terrible and monstrous\r\nrising in his soul and turned quickly away. Involuntarily recalling his\r\nwife's past and her relations with Dolokhov, Pierre saw clearly that\r\nwhat was said in the letter might be true, or might at least seem to be\r\ntrue had it not referred to his wife. He involuntarily remembered\r\nhow Dolokhov, who had fully recovered his former position after the\r\ncampaign, had returned to Petersburg and come to him. Availing himself\r\nof his friendly relations with Pierre as a boon companion, Dolokhov\r\nhad come straight to his house, and Pierre had put him up and lent him\r\nmoney. Pierre recalled how Helene had smilingly expressed disapproval of\r\nDolokhov's living at their house, and how cynically Dolokhov had praised\r\nhis wife's beauty to him and from that time till they came to Moscow had\r\nnot left them for a day.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, he is very handsome,\" thought Pierre, \"and I know him. It would be\r\nparticularly pleasant to him to dishonor my name and ridicule me, just\r\nbecause I have exerted myself on his behalf, befriended him, and helped\r\nhim. I know and understand what a spice that would add to the pleasure\r\nof deceiving me, if it really were true. Yes, if it were true, but I\r\ndo not believe it. I have no right to, and can't, believe it.\" He\r\nremembered the expression Dolokhov's face assumed in his moments of\r\ncruelty, as when tying the policeman to the bear and dropping them into\r\nthe water, or when he challenged a man to a duel without any reason,\r\nor shot a post-boy's horse with a pistol. That expression was often\r\non Dolokhov's face when looking at him. \"Yes, he is a bully,\" thought\r\nPierre, \"to kill a man means nothing to him. It must seem to him that\r\neveryone is afraid of him, and that must please him. He must think that\r\nI, too, am afraid of him--and in fact I am afraid of him,\" he thought,\r\nand again he felt something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul.\r\nDolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov were now sitting opposite Pierre and\r\nseemed very gay. Rostov was talking merrily to his two friends, one of\r\nwhom was a dashing hussar and the other a notorious duelist and\r\nrake, and every now and then he glanced ironically at Pierre, whose\r\npreoccupied, absent-minded, and massive figure was a very noticeable one\r\nat the dinner. Rostov looked inimically at Pierre, first because Pierre\r\nappeared to his hussar eyes as a rich civilian, the husband of a\r\nbeauty, and in a word--an old woman; and secondly because Pierre in his\r\npreoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognized Rostov and had\r\nnot responded to his greeting. When the Emperor's health was drunk,\r\nPierre, lost in thought, did not rise or lift his glass.\r\n\r\n\"What are you about?\" shouted Rostov, looking at him in an ecstasy of\r\nexasperation. \"Don't you hear it's His Majesty the Emperor's health?\"\r\n\r\nPierre sighed, rose submissively, emptied his glass, and, waiting till\r\nall were seated again, turned with his kindly smile to Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Why, I didn't recognize you!\" he said. But Rostov was otherwise\r\nengaged; he was shouting \"Hurrah!\"\r\n\r\n\"Why don't you renew the acquaintance?\" said Dolokhov to Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"Confound him, he's a fool!\" said Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"One should make up to the husbands of pretty women,\" said Denisov.\r\n\r\nPierre did not catch what they were saying, but knew they were talking\r\nabout him. He reddened and turned away.\r\n\r\n\"Well, now to the health of handsome women!\" said Dolokhov, and with\r\na serious expression, but with a smile lurking at the corners of his\r\nmouth, he turned with his glass to Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Here's to the health of lovely women, Peterkin--and their lovers!\" he\r\nadded.\r\n\r\nPierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without looking at\r\nDolokhov or answering him. The footman, who was distributing leaflets\r\nwith Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before Pierre as one of the principal\r\nguests. He was just going to take it when Dolokhov, leaning across,\r\nsnatched it from his hand and began reading it. Pierre looked at\r\nDolokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible and monstrous that\r\nhad tormented him all dinnertime rose and took possession of him. He\r\nleaned his whole massive body across the table.\r\n\r\n\"How dare you take it?\" he shouted.\r\n\r\nHearing that cry and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvitski and the\r\nneighbor on his right quickly turned in alarm to Bezukhov.\r\n\r\n\"Don't! Don't! What are you about?\" whispered their frightened voices.\r\n\r\nDolokhov looked at Pierre with clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, and that\r\nsmile of his which seemed to say, \"Ah! This is what I like!\"\r\n\r\n\"You shan't have it!\" he said distinctly.\r\n\r\nPale, with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy.\r\n\r\n\"You...! you... scoundrel! I challenge you!\" he ejaculated, and, pushing\r\nback his chair, he rose from the table.\r\n\r\nAt the very instant he did this and uttered those words, Pierre felt\r\nthat the question of his wife's guilt which had been tormenting him the\r\nwhole day was finally and indubitably answered in the affirmative. He\r\nhated her and was forever sundered from her. Despite Denisov's request\r\nthat he would take no part in the matter, Rostov agreed to be Dolokhov's\r\nsecond, and after dinner he discussed the arrangements for the duel with\r\nNesvitski, Bezukhov's second. Pierre went home, but Rostov with Dolokhov\r\nand Denisov stayed on at the Club till late, listening to the gypsies\r\nand other singers.\r\n\r\n\"Well then, till tomorrow at Sokolniki,\" said Dolokhov, as he took leave\r\nof Rostov in the Club porch.\r\n\r\n\"And do you feel quite calm?\" Rostov asked.\r\n\r\nDolokhov paused.\r\n\r\n\"Well, you see, I'll tell you the whole secret of dueling in two\r\nwords. If you are going to fight a duel, and you make a will and write\r\naffectionate letters to your parents, and if you think you may be\r\nkilled, you are a fool and are lost for certain. But go with the firm\r\nintention of killing your man as quickly and surely as possible, and\r\nthen all will be right, as our bear huntsman at Kostroma used to tell\r\nme. 'Everyone fears a bear,' he says, 'but when you see one your fear's\r\nall gone, and your only thought is not to let him get away!' And that's\r\nhow it is with me. A demain, mon cher.\" *\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Till tomorrow, my dear fellow.\r\n\r\n\r\nNext day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to the\r\nSokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov already there.\r\nPierre had the air of a man preoccupied with considerations which had no\r\nconnection with the matter in hand. His haggard face was yellow. He had\r\nevidently not slept that night. He looked about distractedly and screwed\r\nup his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. He was entirely absorbed by two\r\nconsiderations: his wife's guilt, of which after his sleepless night he\r\nhad not the slightest doubt, and the guiltlessness of Dolokhov, who had\r\nno reason to preserve the honor of a man who was nothing to him.... \"I\r\nshould perhaps have done the same thing in his place,\" thought Pierre.\r\n\"It's even certain that I should have done the same, then why this duel,\r\nthis murder? Either I shall kill him, or he will hit me in the head,\r\nor elbow, or knee. Can't I go away from here, run away, bury myself\r\nsomewhere?\" passed through his mind. But just at moments when such\r\nthoughts occurred to him, he would ask in a particularly calm and\r\nabsent-minded way, which inspired the respect of the onlookers, \"Will it\r\nbe long? Are things ready?\"\r\n\r\nWhen all was ready, the sabers stuck in the snow to mark the barriers,\r\nand the pistols loaded, Nesvitski went up to Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"I should not be doing my duty, Count,\" he said in timid tones, \"and\r\nshould not justify your confidence and the honor you have done me in\r\nchoosing me for your second, if at this grave, this very grave, moment I\r\ndid not tell you the whole truth. I think there is no sufficient ground\r\nfor this affair, or for blood to be shed over it.... You were not right,\r\nnot quite in the right, you were impetuous...\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh yes, it is horribly stupid,\" said Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"Then allow me to express your regrets, and I am sure your opponent\r\nwill accept them,\" said Nesvitski (who like the others concerned in the\r\naffair, and like everyone in similar cases, did not yet believe that the\r\naffair had come to an actual duel). \"You know, Count, it is much more\r\nhonorable to admit one's mistake than to let matters become irreparable.\r\nThere was no insult on either side. Allow me to convey....\"\r\n\r\n\"No! What is there to talk about?\" said Pierre. \"It's all the same....\r\nIs everything ready?\" he added. \"Only tell me where to go and where to\r\nshoot,\" he said with an unnaturally gentle smile.\r\n\r\nHe took the pistol in his hand and began asking about the working of the\r\ntrigger, as he had not before held a pistol in his hand--a fact that he\r\ndid not wish to confess.\r\n\r\n\"Oh yes, like that, I know, I only forgot,\" said he.\r\n\r\n\"No apologies, none whatever,\" said Dolokhov to Denisov (who on his\r\nside had been attempting a reconciliation), and he also went up to the\r\nappointed place.\r\n\r\nThe spot chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road,\r\nwhere the sleighs had been left, in a small clearing in the pine forest\r\ncovered with melting snow, the frost having begun to break up during the\r\nlast few days. The antagonists stood forty paces apart at the farther\r\nedge of the clearing. The seconds, measuring the paces, left tracks in\r\nthe deep wet snow between the place where they had been standing and\r\nNesvitski's and Dolokhov's sabers, which were stuck into the ground\r\nten paces apart to mark the barrier. It was thawing and misty; at forty\r\npaces' distance nothing could be seen. For three minutes all had been\r\nready, but they still delayed and all were silent.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER V\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Well begin!\" said Dolokhov.\r\n\r\n\"All right,\" said Pierre, still smiling in the same way. A feeling of\r\ndread was in the air. It was evident that the affair so lightly begun\r\ncould no longer be averted but was taking its course independently of\r\nmen's will.\r\n\r\nDenisov first went to the barrier and announced: \"As the adve'sawies\r\nhave wefused a weconciliation, please pwoceed. Take your pistols, and at\r\nthe word thwee begin to advance.\r\n\r\n\"O-ne! T-wo! Thwee!\" he shouted angrily and stepped aside.\r\n\r\nThe combatants advanced along the trodden tracks, nearer and nearer to\r\none another, beginning to see one another through the mist. They had the\r\nright to fire when they liked as they approached the barrier. Dolokhov\r\nwalked slowly without raising his pistol, looking intently with his\r\nbright, sparkling blue eyes into his antagonist's face. His mouth wore\r\nits usual semblance of a smile.\r\n\r\n\"So I can fire when I like!\" said Pierre, and at the word \"three,\" he\r\nwent quickly forward, missing the trodden path and stepping into\r\nthe deep snow. He held the pistol in his right hand at arm's length,\r\napparently afraid of shooting himself with it. His left hand he held\r\ncarefully back, because he wished to support his right hand with it and\r\nknew he must not do so. Having advanced six paces and strayed off\r\nthe track into the snow, Pierre looked down at his feet, then quickly\r\nglanced at Dolokhov and, bending his finger as he had been shown, fired.\r\nNot at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre shuddered at the sound and\r\nthen, smiling at his own sensations, stood still. The smoke, rendered\r\ndenser by the mist, prevented him from seeing anything for an instant,\r\nbut there was no second report as he had expected. He only heard\r\nDolokhov's hurried steps, and his figure came in view through the smoke.\r\nHe was pressing one hand to his left side, while the other clutched\r\nhis drooping pistol. His face was pale. Rostov ran toward him and said\r\nsomething.\r\n\r\n\"No-o-o!\" muttered Dolokhov through his teeth, \"no, it's not over.\" And\r\nafter stumbling a few staggering steps right up to the saber, he sank\r\non the snow beside it. His left hand was bloody; he wiped it on his\r\ncoat and supported himself with it. His frowning face was pallid and\r\nquivered.\r\n\r\n\"Plea...\" began Dolokhov, but could not at first pronounce the word.\r\n\r\n\"Please,\" he uttered with an effort.\r\n\r\nPierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began running toward Dolokhov and\r\nwas about to cross the space between the barriers, when Dolokhov cried:\r\n\r\n\"To your barrier!\" and Pierre, grasping what was meant, stopped by his\r\nsaber. Only ten paces divided them. Dolokhov lowered his head to the\r\nsnow, greedily bit at it, again raised his head, adjusted himself, drew\r\nin his legs and sat up, seeking a firm center of gravity. He sucked and\r\nswallowed the cold snow, his lips quivered but his eyes, still smiling,\r\nglittered with effort and exasperation as he mustered his remaining\r\nstrength. He raised his pistol and aimed.\r\n\r\n\"Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol!\" ejaculated Nesvitski.\r\n\r\n\"Cover yourself!\" even Denisov cried to his adversary.\r\n\r\nPierre, with a gentle smile of pity and remorse, his arms and legs\r\nhelplessly spread out, stood with his broad chest directly facing\r\nDolokhov looked sorrowfully at him. Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitski\r\nclosed their eyes. At the same instant they heard a report and\r\nDolokhov's angry cry.\r\n\r\n\"Missed!\" shouted Dolokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards on the\r\nsnow.\r\n\r\nPierre clutched his temples, and turning round went into the forest,\r\ntrampling through the deep snow, and muttering incoherent words:\r\n\r\n\"Folly... folly! Death... lies...\" he repeated, puckering his face.\r\n\r\nNesvitski stopped him and took him home.\r\n\r\nRostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokhov.\r\n\r\nThe latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed eyes and did not answer\r\na word to the questions addressed to him. But on entering Moscow he\r\nsuddenly came to and, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostov, who\r\nwas sitting beside him, by the hand. Rostov was struck by the totally\r\naltered and unexpectedly rapturous and tender expression on Dolokhov's\r\nface.\r\n\r\n\"Well? How do you feel?\" he asked.\r\n\r\n\"Bad! But it's not that, my friend-\" said Dolokhov with a gasping voice.\r\n\"Where are we? In Moscow, I know. I don't matter, but I have killed her,\r\nkilled... She won't get over it! She won't survive....\"\r\n\r\n\"Who?\" asked Rostov.\r\n\r\n\"My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother,\" and Dolokhov\r\npressed Rostov's hand and burst into tears.\r\n\r\nWhen he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostov that he was\r\nliving with his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it.\r\nHe implored Rostov to go on and prepare her.\r\n\r\nRostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise\r\nlearned that Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscow\r\nwith an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate\r\nof sons and brothers.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VI\r\n\r\n\r\nPierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both in Petersburg and in\r\nMoscow their house was always full of visitors. The night after the\r\nduel he did not go to his bedroom but, as he often did, remained in his\r\nfather's room, that huge room in which Count Bezukhov had died.\r\n\r\nHe lay down on the sofa meaning to fall asleep and forget all that\r\nhad happened to him, but could not do so. Such a storm of feelings,\r\nthoughts, and memories suddenly arose within him that he could not fall\r\nasleep, nor even remain in one place, but had to jump up and pace the\r\nroom with rapid steps. Now he seemed to see her in the early days of\r\ntheir marriage, with bare shoulders and a languid, passionate look on\r\nher face, and then immediately he saw beside her Dolokhov's handsome,\r\ninsolent, hard, and mocking face as he had seen it at the banquet, and\r\nthen that same face pale, quivering, and suffering, as it had been when\r\nhe reeled and sank on the snow.\r\n\r\n\"What has happened?\" he asked himself. \"I have killed her lover, yes,\r\nkilled my wife's lover. Yes, that was it! And why? How did I come to do\r\nit?\"--\"Because you married her,\" answered an inner voice.\r\n\r\n\"But in what was I to blame?\" he asked. \"In marrying her without loving\r\nher; in deceiving yourself and her.\" And he vividly recalled that moment\r\nafter supper at Prince Vasili's, when he spoke those words he had found\r\nso difficult to utter: \"I love you.\" \"It all comes from that! Even then\r\nI felt it,\" he thought. \"I felt then that it was not so, that I had no\r\nright to do it. And so it turns out.\"\r\n\r\nHe remembered his honeymoon and blushed at the recollection.\r\nParticularly vivid, humiliating, and shameful was the recollection of\r\nhow one day soon after his marriage he came out of the bedroom into his\r\nstudy a little before noon in his silk dressing gown and found his head\r\nsteward there, who, bowing respectfully, looked into his face and at\r\nhis dressing gown and smiled slightly, as if expressing respectful\r\nunderstanding of his employer's happiness.\r\n\r\n\"But how often I have felt proud of her, proud of her majestic beauty\r\nand social tact,\" thought he; \"been proud of my house, in which she\r\nreceived all Petersburg, proud of her unapproachability and beauty. So\r\nthis is what I was proud of! I then thought that I did not understand\r\nher. How often when considering her character I have told myself that\r\nI was to blame for not understanding her, for not understanding that\r\nconstant composure and complacency and lack of all interests or desires,\r\nand the whole secret lies in the terrible truth that she is a depraved\r\nwoman. Now I have spoken that terrible word to myself all has become\r\nclear.\r\n\r\n\"Anatole used to come to borrow money from her and used to kiss her\r\nnaked shoulders. She did not give him the money, but let herself be\r\nkissed. Her father in jest tried to rouse her jealousy, and she replied\r\nwith a calm smile that she was not so stupid as to be jealous: 'Let him\r\ndo what he pleases,' she used to say of me. One day I asked her if she\r\nfelt any symptoms of pregnancy. She laughed contemptuously and said she\r\nwas not a fool to want to have children, and that she was not going to\r\nhave any children by me.\"\r\n\r\nThen he recalled the coarseness and bluntness of her thoughts and the\r\nvulgarity of the expressions that were natural to her, though she had\r\nbeen brought up in the most aristocratic circles.\r\n\r\n\"I'm not such a fool.... Just you try it on.... Allez-vous promener,\" *\r\nshe used to say. Often seeing the success she had with young and old men\r\nand women Pierre could not understand why he did not love her.\r\n\r\n\r\n    * \"You clear out of this.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Yes, I never loved her,\" said he to himself; \"I knew she was a depraved\r\nwoman,\" he repeated, \"but dared not admit it to myself. And now there's\r\nDolokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile and perhaps dying,\r\nwhile meeting my remorse with some forced bravado!\"\r\n\r\nPierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance of what\r\nis called weak character, do not seek a confidant in their troubles. He\r\ndigested his sufferings alone.\r\n\r\n\"It is all, all her fault,\" he said to himself; \"but what of that? Why\r\ndid I bind myself to her? Why did I say 'Je vous aime' * to her, which\r\nwas a lie, and worse than a lie? I am guilty and must endure... what?\r\nA slur on my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, that's nonsense,\" he\r\nthought. \"The slur on my name and honor--that's all apart from myself.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * I love you.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Louis XVI was executed because they said he was dishonorable and a\r\ncriminal,\" came into Pierre's head, \"and from their point of view they\r\nwere right, as were those too who canonized him and died a martyr's\r\ndeath for his sake. Then Robespierre was beheaded for being a despot.\r\nWho is right and who is wrong? No one! But if you are alive--live:\r\ntomorrow you'll die as I might have died an hour ago. And is it worth\r\ntormenting oneself, when one has only a moment of life in comparison\r\nwith eternity?\"\r\n\r\nBut at the moment when he imagined himself calmed by such reflections,\r\nshe suddenly came into his mind as she was at the moments when he had\r\nmost strongly expressed his insincere love for her, and he felt the\r\nblood rush to his heart and had again to get up and move about and break\r\nand tear whatever came to his hand. \"Why did I tell her that 'Je vous\r\naime'?\" he kept repeating to himself. And when he had said it for the\r\ntenth time, Molibre's words: \"Mais que diable alloit-il faire dans cette\r\ngalere?\" occurred to him, and he began to laugh at himself.\r\n\r\nIn the night he called his valet and told him to pack up to go to\r\nPetersburg. He could not imagine how he could speak to her now. He\r\nresolved to go away next day and leave a letter informing her of his\r\nintention to part from her forever.\r\n\r\nNext morning when the valet came into the room with his coffee, Pierre\r\nwas lying asleep on the ottoman with an open book in his hand.\r\n\r\nHe woke up and looked round for a while with a startled expression,\r\nunable to realize where he was.\r\n\r\n\"The countess told me to inquire whether your excellency was at home,\"\r\nsaid the valet.\r\n\r\nBut before Pierre could decide what answer he would send, the countess\r\nherself in a white satin dressing gown embroidered with silver and with\r\nsimply dressed hair (two immense plaits twice round her lovely head like\r\na coronet) entered the room, calm and majestic, except that there was\r\na wrathful wrinkle on her rather prominent marble brow. With her\r\nimperturbable calm she did not begin to speak in front of the valet.\r\nShe knew of the duel and had come to speak about it. She waited till the\r\nvalet had set down the coffee things and left the room. Pierre looked\r\nat her timidly over his spectacles, and like a hare surrounded by hounds\r\nwho lays back her ears and continues to crouch motionless before her\r\nenemies, he tried to continue reading. But feeling this to be senseless\r\nand impossible, he again glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down\r\nbut looked at him with a contemptuous smile, waiting for the valet to\r\ngo.\r\n\r\n\"Well, what's this now? What have you been up to now, I should like to\r\nknow?\" she asked sternly.\r\n\r\n\"I? What have I...?\" stammered Pierre.\r\n\r\n\"So it seems you're a hero, eh? Come now, what was this duel about? What\r\nis it meant to prove? What? I ask you.\"\r\n\r\nPierre turned over heavily on the ottoman and opened his mouth, but\r\ncould not reply.\r\n\r\n\"If you won't answer, I'll tell you...\" Helene went on. \"You believe\r\neverything you're told. You were told...\" Helene laughed, \"that Dolokhov\r\nwas my lover,\" she said in French with her coarse plainness of speech,\r\nuttering the word amant as casually as any other word, \"and you believed\r\nit! Well, what have you proved? What does this duel prove? That you're\r\na fool, que vous etes un sot, but everybody knew that. What will be the\r\nresult? That I shall be the laughingstock of all Moscow, that everyone\r\nwill say that you, drunk and not knowing what you were about, challenged\r\na man you are jealous of without cause.\" Helene raised her voice and\r\nbecame more and more excited, \"A man who's a better man than you in\r\nevery way...\"\r\n\r\n\"Hm... Hm...!\" growled Pierre, frowning without looking at her, and not\r\nmoving a muscle.\r\n\r\n\"And how could you believe he was my lover? Why? Because I like his\r\ncompany? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should prefer\r\nyours.\"\r\n\r\n\"Don't speak to me... I beg you,\" muttered Pierre hoarsely.\r\n\r\n\"Why shouldn't I speak? I can speak as I like, and I tell you plainly\r\nthat there are not many wives with husbands such as you who would not\r\nhave taken lovers (des amants), but I have not done so,\" said she.\r\n\r\nPierre wished to say something, looked at her with eyes whose strange\r\nexpression she did not understand, and lay down again. He was suffering\r\nphysically at that moment, there was a weight on his chest and he could\r\nnot breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this\r\nsuffering, but what he wanted to do was too terrible.\r\n\r\n\"We had better separate,\" he muttered in a broken voice.\r\n\r\n\"Separate? Very well, but only if you give me a fortune,\" said Helene.\r\n\"Separate! That's a thing to frighten me with!\"\r\n\r\nPierre leaped up from the sofa and rushed staggering toward her.\r\n\r\n\"I'll kill you!\" he shouted, and seizing the marble top of a table\r\nwith a strength he had never before felt, he made a step toward her\r\nbrandishing the slab.\r\n\r\nHelene's face became terrible, she shrieked and sprang aside. His\r\nfather's nature showed itself in Pierre. He felt the fascination and\r\ndelight of frenzy. He flung down the slab, broke it, and swooping down\r\non her with outstretched hands shouted, \"Get out!\" in such a terrible\r\nvoice that the whole house heard it with horror. God knows what he would\r\nhave done at that moment had Helene not fled from the room.\r\n\r\n\r\nA week later Pierre gave his wife full power to control all his estates\r\nin Great Russia, which formed the larger part of his property, and left\r\nfor Petersburg alone.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VII\r\n\r\n\r\nTwo months had elapsed since the news of the battle of Austerlitz and\r\nthe loss of Prince Andrew had reached Bald Hills, and in spite of the\r\nletters sent through the embassy and all the searches made, his body had\r\nnot been found nor was he on the list of prisoners. What was worst of\r\nall for his relations was the fact that there was still a possibility of\r\nhis having been picked up on the battlefield by the people of the\r\nplace and that he might now be lying, recovering or dying, alone among\r\nstrangers and unable to send news of himself. The gazettes from which\r\nthe old prince first heard of the defeat at Austerlitz stated, as usual\r\nvery briefly and vaguely, that after brilliant engagements the Russians\r\nhad had to retreat and had made their withdrawal in perfect order. The\r\nold prince understood from this official report that our army had been\r\ndefeated. A week after the gazette report of the battle of Austerlitz\r\ncame a letter from Kutuzov informing the prince of the fate that had\r\nbefallen his son.\r\n\r\n\"Your son,\" wrote Kutuzov, \"fell before my eyes, a standard in his hand\r\nand at the head of a regiment--he fell as a hero, worthy of his father\r\nand his fatherland. To the great regret of myself and of the whole army\r\nit is still uncertain whether he is alive or not. I comfort myself and\r\nyou with the hope that your son is alive, for otherwise he would have\r\nbeen mentioned among the officers found on the field of battle, a list\r\nof whom has been sent me under flag of truce.\"\r\n\r\nAfter receiving this news late in the evening, when he was alone in his\r\nstudy, the old prince went for his walk as usual next morning, but he\r\nwas silent with his steward, the gardener, and the architect, and though\r\nhe looked very grim he said nothing to anyone.\r\n\r\nWhen Princess Mary went to him at the usual hour he was working at his\r\nlathe and, as usual, did not look round at her.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, Princess Mary!\" he said suddenly in an unnatural voice, throwing\r\ndown his chisel. (The wheel continued to revolve by its own impetus,\r\nand Princess Mary long remembered the dying creak of that wheel, which\r\nmerged in her memory with what followed.)\r\n\r\nShe approached him, saw his face, and something gave way within her.\r\nHer eyes grew dim. By the expression of her father's face, not sad, not\r\ncrushed, but angry and working unnaturally, she saw that hanging over\r\nher and about to crush her was some terrible misfortune, the worst\r\nin life, one she had not yet experienced, irreparable and\r\nincomprehensible--the death of one she loved.\r\n\r\n\"Father! Andrew!\"--said the ungraceful, awkward princess with such an\r\nindescribable charm of sorrow and self-forgetfulness that her father\r\ncould not bear her look but turned away with a sob.\r\n\r\n\"Bad news! He's not among the prisoners nor among the killed! Kutuzov\r\nwrites...\" and he screamed as piercingly as if he wished to drive the\r\nprincess away by that scream... \"Killed!\"\r\n\r\nThe princess did not fall down or faint. She was already pale, but on\r\nhearing these words her face changed and something brightened in her\r\nbeautiful, radiant eyes. It was as if joy--a supreme joy apart from the\r\njoys and sorrows of this world--overflowed the great grief within her.\r\nShe forgot all fear of her father, went up to him, took his hand, and\r\ndrawing him down put her arm round his thin, scraggy neck.\r\n\r\n\"Father,\" she said, \"do not turn away from me, let us weep together.\"\r\n\r\n\"Scoundrels! Blackguards!\" shrieked the old man, turning his face away\r\nfrom her. \"Destroying the army, destroying the men! And why? Go, go and\r\ntell Lise.\"\r\n\r\nThe princess sank helplessly into an armchair beside her father and\r\nwept. She saw her brother now as he had been at the moment when he took\r\nleave of her and of Lise, his look tender yet proud. She saw him tender\r\nand amused as he was when he put on the little icon. \"Did he believe?\r\nHad he repented of his unbelief? Was he now there? There in the realms\r\nof eternal peace and blessedness?\" she thought.\r\n\r\n\"Father, tell me how it happened,\" she asked through her tears.\r\n\r\n\"Go! Go! Killed in battle, where the best of Russian men and Russia's\r\nglory were led to destruction. Go, Princess Mary. Go and tell Lise. I\r\nwill follow.\"\r\n\r\nWhen Princess Mary returned from her father, the little princess sat\r\nworking and looked up with that curious expression of inner, happy calm\r\npeculiar to pregnant women. It was evident that her eyes did not see\r\nPrincess Mary but were looking within... into herself... at something\r\njoyful and mysterious taking place within her.\r\n\r\n\"Mary,\" she said, moving away from the embroidery frame and lying back,\r\n\"give me your hand.\" She took her sister-in-law's hand and held it below\r\nher waist.\r\n\r\nHer eyes were smiling expectantly, her downy lip rose and remained\r\nlifted in childlike happiness.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary knelt down before her and hid her face in the folds of her\r\nsister-in-law's dress.\r\n\r\n\"There, there! Do you feel it? I feel so strange. And do you know, Mary,\r\nI am going to love him very much,\" said Lise, looking with bright and\r\nhappy eyes at her sister-in-law.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary could not lift her head, she was weeping.\r\n\r\n\"What is the matter, Mary?\"\r\n\r\n\"Nothing... only I feel sad... sad about Andrew,\" she said, wiping away\r\nher tears on her sister-in-law's knee.\r\n\r\nSeveral times in the course of the morning Princess Mary began trying to\r\nprepare her sister-in-law, and every time began to cry. Unobservant as\r\nwas the little princess, these tears, the cause of which she did not\r\nunderstand, agitated her. She said nothing but looked about uneasily as\r\nif in search of something. Before dinner the old prince, of whom she was\r\nalways afraid, came into her room with a peculiarly restless and malign\r\nexpression and went out again without saying a word. She looked at\r\nPrincess Mary, then sat thinking for a while with that expression of\r\nattention to something within her that is only seen in pregnant women,\r\nand suddenly began to cry.\r\n\r\n\"Has anything come from Andrew?\" she asked.\r\n\r\n\"No, you know it's too soon for news. But my father is anxious and I\r\nfeel afraid.\"\r\n\r\n\"So there's nothing?\"\r\n\r\n\"Nothing,\" answered Princess Mary, looking firmly with her radiant eyes\r\nat her sister-in-law.\r\n\r\nShe had determined not to tell her and persuaded her father to hide the\r\nterrible news from her till after her confinement, which was expected\r\nwithin a few days. Princess Mary and the old prince each bore and hid\r\ntheir grief in their own way. The old prince would not cherish any hope:\r\nhe made up his mind that Prince Andrew had been killed, and though he\r\nsent an official to Austria to seek for traces of his son, he ordered a\r\nmonument from Moscow which he intended to erect in his own garden to his\r\nmemory, and he told everybody that his son had been killed. He tried not\r\nto change his former way of life, but his strength failed him. He walked\r\nless, ate less, slept less, and became weaker every day. Princess Mary\r\nhoped. She prayed for her brother as living and was always awaiting news\r\nof his return.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER VIII\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Dearest,\" said the little princess after breakfast on the morning of\r\nthe nineteenth March, and her downy little lip rose from old habit, but\r\nas sorrow was manifest in every smile, the sound of every word, and even\r\nevery footstep in that house since the terrible news had come, so now\r\nthe smile of the little princess--influenced by the general mood though\r\nwithout knowing its cause--was such as to remind one still more of the\r\ngeneral sorrow.\r\n\r\n\"Dearest, I'm afraid this morning's fruschtique *--as Foka the cook\r\ncalls it--has disagreed with me.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Fruhstuck: breakfast.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"What is the matter with you, my darling? You look pale. Oh, you\r\nare very pale!\" said Princess Mary in alarm, running with her soft,\r\nponderous steps up to her sister-in-law.\r\n\r\n\"Your excellency, should not Mary Bogdanovna be sent for?\" said one\r\nof the maids who was present. (Mary Bogdanovna was a midwife from the\r\nneighboring town, who had been at Bald Hills for the last fortnight.)\r\n\r\n\"Oh yes,\" assented Princess Mary, \"perhaps that's it. I'll go. Courage,\r\nmy angel.\" She kissed Lise and was about to leave the room.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, no, no!\" And besides the pallor and the physical suffering on the\r\nlittle princess' face, an expression of childish fear of inevitable pain\r\nshowed itself.\r\n\r\n\"No, it's only indigestion?... Say it's only indigestion, say so,\r\nMary! Say...\" And the little princess began to cry capriciously like\r\na suffering child and to wring her little hands even with some\r\naffectation. Princess Mary ran out of the room to fetch Mary Bogdanovna.\r\n\r\n\"Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh!\" she heard as she left the room.\r\n\r\nThe midwife was already on her way to meet her, rubbing her small, plump\r\nwhite hands with an air of calm importance.\r\n\r\n\"Mary Bogdanovna, I think it's beginning!\" said Princess Mary looking at\r\nthe midwife with wide-open eyes of alarm.\r\n\r\n\"Well, the Lord be thanked, Princess,\" said Mary Bogdanovna, not\r\nhastening her steps. \"You young ladies should not know anything about\r\nit.\"\r\n\r\n\"But how is it the doctor from Moscow is not here yet?\" said the\r\nprincess. (In accordance with Lise's and Prince Andrew's wishes they had\r\nsent in good time to Moscow for a doctor and were expecting him at any\r\nmoment.)\r\n\r\n\"No matter, Princess, don't be alarmed,\" said Mary Bogdanovna. \"We'll\r\nmanage very well without a doctor.\"\r\n\r\nFive minutes later Princess Mary from her room heard something heavy\r\nbeing carried by. She looked out. The men servants were carrying the\r\nlarge leather sofa from Prince Andrew's study into the bedroom. On their\r\nfaces was a quiet and solemn look.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary sat alone in her room listening to the sounds in the\r\nhouse, now and then opening her door when someone passed and watching\r\nwhat was going on in the passage. Some women passing with quiet steps in\r\nand out of the bedroom glanced at the princess and turned away. She did\r\nnot venture to ask any questions, and shut the door again, now sitting\r\ndown in her easy chair, now taking her prayer book, now kneeling before\r\nthe icon stand. To her surprise and distress she found that her prayers\r\ndid not calm her excitement. Suddenly her door opened softly and her old\r\nnurse, Praskovya Savishna, who hardly ever came to that room as the old\r\nprince had forbidden it, appeared on the threshold with a shawl round\r\nher head.\r\n\r\n\"I've come to sit with you a bit, Masha,\" said the nurse, \"and here\r\nI've brought the prince's wedding candles to light before his saint, my\r\nangel,\" she said with a sigh.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, nurse, I'm so glad!\"\r\n\r\n\"God is merciful, birdie.\"\r\n\r\nThe nurse lit the gilt candles before the icons and sat down by the door\r\nwith her knitting. Princess Mary took a book and began reading. Only\r\nwhen footsteps or voices were heard did they look at one another, the\r\nprincess anxious and inquiring, the nurse encouraging. Everyone in the\r\nhouse was dominated by the same feeling that Princess Mary experienced\r\nas she sat in her room. But owing to the superstition that the fewer\r\nthe people who know of it the less a woman in travail suffers, everyone\r\ntried to pretend not to know; no one spoke of it, but apart from the\r\nordinary staid and respectful good manners habitual in the prince's\r\nhousehold, a common anxiety, a softening of the heart, and a\r\nconsciousness that something great and mysterious was being accomplished\r\nat that moment made itself felt.\r\n\r\nThere was no laughter in the maids' large hall. In the men servants'\r\nhall all sat waiting, silently and alert. In the outlying serfs'\r\nquarters torches and candles were burning and no one slept. The old\r\nprince, stepping on his heels, paced up and down his study and sent\r\nTikhon to ask Mary Bogdanovna what news.--\"Say only that 'the prince\r\ntold me to ask,' and come and tell me her answer.\"\r\n\r\n\"Inform the prince that labor has begun,\" said Mary Bogdanovna, giving\r\nthe messenger a significant look.\r\n\r\nTikhon went and told the prince.\r\n\r\n\"Very good!\" said the prince closing the door behind him, and Tikhon did\r\nnot hear the slightest sound from the study after that.\r\n\r\nAfter a while he re-entered it as if to snuff the candles, and, seeing\r\nthe prince was lying on the sofa, looked at him, noticed his perturbed\r\nface, shook his head, and going up to him silently kissed him on the\r\nshoulder and left the room without snuffing the candles or saying why he\r\nhad entered. The most solemn mystery in the world continued its course.\r\nEvening passed, night came, and the feeling of suspense and softening of\r\nheart in the presence of the unfathomable did not lessen but increased.\r\nNo one slept.\r\n\r\nIt was one of those March nights when winter seems to wish to resume its\r\nsway and scatters its last snows and storms with desperate fury. A relay\r\nof horses had been sent up the highroad to meet the German doctor from\r\nMoscow who was expected every moment, and men on horseback with lanterns\r\nwere sent to the crossroads to guide him over the country road with its\r\nhollows and snow-covered pools of water.\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary had long since put aside her book: she sat silent, her\r\nluminous eyes fixed on her nurse's wrinkled face (every line of which\r\nshe knew so well), on the lock of gray hair that escaped from under the\r\nkerchief, and the loose skin that hung under her chin.\r\n\r\nNurse Savishna, knitting in hand, was telling in low tones, scarcely\r\nhearing or understanding her own words, what she had told hundreds of\r\ntimes before: how the late princess had given birth to Princess Mary\r\nin Kishenev with only a Moldavian peasant woman to help instead of a\r\nmidwife.\r\n\r\n\"God is merciful, doctors are never needed,\" she said.\r\n\r\nSuddenly a gust of wind beat violently against the casement of the\r\nwindow, from which the double frame had been removed (by order of the\r\nprince, one window frame was removed in each room as soon as the larks\r\nreturned), and, forcing open a loosely closed latch, set the damask\r\ncurtain flapping and blew out the candle with its chill, snowy draft.\r\nPrincess Mary shuddered; her nurse, putting down the stocking she was\r\nknitting, went to the window and leaning out tried to catch the open\r\ncasement. The cold wind flapped the ends of her kerchief and her loose\r\nlocks of gray hair.\r\n\r\n\"Princess, my dear, there's someone driving up the avenue!\" she said,\r\nholding the casement and not closing it. \"With lanterns. Most likely the\r\ndoctor.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, my God! thank God!\" said Princess Mary. \"I must go and meet him, he\r\ndoes not know Russian.\"\r\n\r\nPrincess Mary threw a shawl over her head and ran to meet the newcomer.\r\nAs she was crossing the anteroom she saw through the window a carriage\r\nwith lanterns, standing at the entrance. She went out on the stairs. On\r\na banister post stood a tallow candle which guttered in the draft. On\r\nthe landing below, Philip, the footman, stood looking scared and holding\r\nanother candle. Still lower, beyond the turn of the staircase, one\r\ncould hear the footstep of someone in thick felt boots, and a voice that\r\nseemed familiar to Princess Mary was saying something.\r\n\r\n\"Thank God!\" said the voice. \"And Father?\"\r\n\r\n\"Gone to bed,\" replied the voice of Demyan the house steward, who was\r\ndownstairs.\r\n\r\nThen the voice said something more, Demyan replied, and the steps in the\r\nfelt boots approached the unseen bend of the staircase more rapidly.\r\n\r\n\"It's Andrew!\" thought Princess Mary. \"No it can't be, that would be too\r\nextraordinary,\" and at the very moment she thought this, the face and\r\nfigure of Prince Andrew, in a fur cloak the deep collar of which covered\r\nwith snow, appeared on the landing where the footman stood with the\r\ncandle. Yes, it was he, pale, thin, with a changed and strangely\r\nsoftened but agitated expression on his face. He came up the stairs and\r\nembraced his sister.\r\n\r\n\"You did not get my letter?\" he asked, and not waiting for a\r\nreply--which he would not have received, for the princess was unable to\r\nspeak--he turned back, rapidly mounted the stairs again with the doctor\r\nwho had entered the hall after him (they had met at the last post\r\nstation), and again embraced his sister.\r\n\r\n\"What a strange fate, Masha darling!\" And having taken off his cloak and\r\nfelt boots, he went to the little princess' apartment.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER IX\r\n\r\n\r\nThe little princess lay supported by pillows, with a white cap on her\r\nhead (the pains had just left her). Strands of her black hair lay round\r\nher inflamed and perspiring cheeks, her charming rosy mouth with its\r\ndowny lip was open and she was smiling joyfully. Prince Andrew entered\r\nand paused facing her at the foot of the sofa on which she was lying.\r\nHer glittering eyes, filled with childlike fear and excitement, rested\r\non him without changing their expression. \"I love you all and have done\r\nno harm to anyone; why must I suffer so? Help me!\" her look seemed to\r\nsay. She saw her husband, but did not realize the significance of his\r\nappearance before her now. Prince Andrew went round the sofa and kissed\r\nher forehead.\r\n\r\n\"My darling!\" he said--a word he had never used to her before. \"God is\r\nmerciful....\"\r\n\r\nShe looked at him inquiringly and with childlike reproach.\r\n\r\n\"I expected help from you and I get none, none from you either!\" said\r\nher eyes. She was not surprised at his having come; she did not realize\r\nthat he had come. His coming had nothing to do with her sufferings or\r\nwith their relief. The pangs began again and Mary Bogdanovna advised\r\nPrince Andrew to leave the room.\r\n\r\nThe doctor entered. Prince Andrew went out and, meeting Princess Mary,\r\nagain joined her. They began talking in whispers, but their talk broke\r\noff at every moment. They waited and listened.\r\n\r\n\"Go, dear,\" said Princess Mary.\r\n\r\nPrince Andrew went again to his wife and sat waiting in the room next\r\nto hers. A woman came from the bedroom with a frightened face and became\r\nconfused when she saw Prince Andrew. He covered his face with his hands\r\nand remained so for some minutes. Piteous, helpless, animal moans came\r\nthrough the door. Prince Andrew got up, went to the door, and tried to\r\nopen it. Someone was holding it shut.\r\n\r\n\"You can't come in! You can't!\" said a terrified voice from within.\r\n\r\nHe began pacing the room. The screaming ceased, and a few more seconds\r\nwent by. Then suddenly a terrible shriek--it could not be hers, she\r\ncould not scream like that--came from the bedroom. Prince Andrew ran to\r\nthe door; the scream ceased and he heard the wail of an infant.\r\n\r\n\"What have they taken a baby in there for?\" thought Prince Andrew in the\r\nfirst second. \"A baby? What baby...? Why is there a baby there? Or is\r\nthe baby born?\"\r\n\r\nThen suddenly he realized the joyful significance of that wail; tears\r\nchoked him, and leaning his elbows on the window sill be began to cry,\r\nsobbing like a child. The door opened. The doctor with his shirt sleeves\r\ntucked up, without a coat, pale and with a trembling jaw, came out\r\nof the room. Prince Andrew turned to him, but the doctor gave him a\r\nbewildered look and passed by without a word. A woman rushed out and\r\nseeing Prince Andrew stopped, hesitating on the threshold. He went into\r\nhis wife's room. She was lying dead, in the same position he had seen\r\nher in five minutes before and, despite the fixed eyes and the pallor of\r\nthe cheeks, the same expression was on her charming childlike face with\r\nits upper lip covered with tiny black hair.\r\n\r\n\"I love you all, and have done no harm to anyone; and what have you done\r\nto me?\"--said her charming, pathetic, dead face.\r\n\r\nIn a corner of the room something red and tiny gave a grunt and squealed\r\nin Mary Bogdanovna's trembling white hands.\r\n\r\n\r\nTwo hours later Prince Andrew, stepping softly, went into his father's\r\nroom. The old man already knew everything. He was standing close to\r\nthe door and as soon as it opened his rough old arms closed like a vise\r\nround his son's neck, and without a word he began to sob like a child.\r\n\r\n\r\nThree days later the little princess was buried, and Prince Andrew went\r\nup the steps to where the coffin stood, to give her the farewell kiss.\r\nAnd there in the coffin was the same face, though with closed eyes. \"Ah,\r\nwhat have you done to me?\" it still seemed to say, and Prince Andrew\r\nfelt that something gave way in his soul and that he was guilty of a sin\r\nhe could neither remedy nor forget. He could not weep. The old man too\r\ncame up and kissed the waxen little hands that lay quietly crossed one\r\non the other on her breast, and to him, too, her face seemed to say:\r\n\"Ah, what have you done to me, and why?\" And at the sight the old man\r\nturned angrily away.\r\n\r\n\r\nAnother five days passed, and then the young Prince Nicholas Andreevich\r\nwas baptized. The wet nurse supported the coverlet with her chin,\r\nwhile the priest with a goose feather anointed the boy's little red and\r\nwrinkled soles and palms.\r\n\r\nHis grandfather, who was his godfather, trembling and afraid of dropping\r\nhim, carried the infant round the battered tin font and handed him over\r\nto the godmother, Princess Mary. Prince Andrew sat in another room,\r\nfaint with fear lest the baby should be drowned in the font, and awaited\r\nthe termination of the ceremony. He looked up joyfully at the baby when\r\nthe nurse brought it to him and nodded approval when she told him that\r\nthe wax with the baby's hair had not sunk in the font but had floated.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER X\r\n\r\n\r\nRostov's share in Dolokhov's duel with Bezukhov was hushed up by the\r\nefforts of the old count, and instead of being degraded to the ranks\r\nas he expected he was appointed an adjutant to the governor general of\r\nMoscow. As a result he could not go to the country with the rest of the\r\nfamily, but was kept all summer in Moscow by his new duties. Dolokhov\r\nrecovered, and Rostov became very friendly with him during his\r\nconvalescence. Dolokhov lay ill at his mother's who loved him\r\npassionately and tenderly, and old Mary Ivanovna, who had grown fond of\r\nRostov for his friendship to her Fedya, often talked to him about her\r\nson.\r\n\r\n\"Yes, Count,\" she would say, \"he is too noble and pure-souled for\r\nour present, depraved world. No one now loves virtue; it seems like\r\na reproach to everyone. Now tell me, Count, was it right, was it\r\nhonorable, of Bezukhov? And Fedya, with his noble spirit, loved him and\r\neven now never says a word against him. Those pranks in Petersburg when\r\nthey played some tricks on a policeman, didn't they do it together?\r\nAnd there! Bezukhov got off scotfree, while Fedya had to bear the whole\r\nburden on his shoulders. Fancy what he had to go through! It's true he\r\nhas been reinstated, but how could they fail to do that? I think there\r\nwere not many such gallant sons of the fatherland out there as he. And\r\nnow--this duel! Have these people no feeling, or honor? Knowing him to\r\nbe an only son, to challenge him and shoot so straight! It's well\r\nGod had mercy on us. And what was it for? Who doesn't have intrigues\r\nnowadays? Why, if he was so jealous, as I see things he should have\r\nshown it sooner, but he lets it go on for months. And then to call him\r\nout, reckoning on Fedya not fighting because he owed him money! What\r\nbaseness! What meanness! I know you understand Fedya, my dear count;\r\nthat, believe me, is why I am so fond of you. Few people do understand\r\nhim. He is such a lofty, heavenly soul!\"\r\n\r\nDolokhov himself during his convalescence spoke to Rostov in a way no\r\none would have expected of him.\r\n\r\n\"I know people consider me a bad man!\" he said. \"Let them! I don't care\r\na straw about anyone but those I love; but those I love, I love so that\r\nI would give my life for them, and the others I'd throttle if they\r\nstood in my way. I have an adored, a priceless mother, and two or three\r\nfriends--you among them--and as for the rest I only care about them\r\nin so far as they are harmful or useful. And most of them are harmful,\r\nespecially the women. Yes, dear boy,\" he continued, \"I have met loving,\r\nnoble, high-minded men, but I have not yet met any women--countesses\r\nor cooks--who were not venal. I have not yet met that divine purity and\r\ndevotion I look for in women. If I found such a one I'd give my life for\r\nher! But those!...\" and he made a gesture of contempt. \"And believe me,\r\nif I still value my life it is only because I still hope to meet such\r\na divine creature, who will regenerate, purify, and elevate me. But you\r\ndon't understand it.\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, yes, I quite understand,\" answered Rostov, who was under his new\r\nfriend's influence.\r\n\r\nIn the autumn the Rostovs returned to Moscow. Early in the winter\r\nDenisov also came back and stayed with them. The first half of the\r\nwinter of 1806, which Nicholas Rostov spent in Moscow, was one of the\r\nhappiest, merriest times for him and the whole family. Nicholas brought\r\nmany young men to his parents' house. Vera was a handsome girl of\r\ntwenty; Sonya a girl of sixteen with all the charm of an opening flower;\r\nNatasha, half grown up and half child, was now childishly amusing, now\r\ngirlishly enchanting.\r\n\r\nAt that time in the Rostovs' house there prevailed an amorous atmosphere\r\ncharacteristic of homes where there are very young and very\r\ncharming girls. Every young man who came to the house--seeing those\r\nimpressionable, smiling young faces (smiling probably at their own\r\nhappiness), feeling the eager bustle around him, and hearing the fitful\r\nbursts of song and music and the inconsequent but friendly prattle of\r\nyoung girls ready for anything and full of hope--experienced the\r\nsame feeling; sharing with the young folk of the Rostovs' household a\r\nreadiness to fall in love and an expectation of happiness.\r\n\r\nAmong the young men introduced by Rostov one of the first was Dolokhov,\r\nwhom everyone in the house liked except Natasha. She almost quarreled\r\nwith her brother about him. She insisted that he was a bad man, and\r\nthat in the duel with Bezukhov, Pierre was right and Dolokhov wrong, and\r\nfurther that he was disagreeable and unnatural.\r\n\r\n\"There's nothing for me to understand,\" she cried out with resolute\r\nself-will, \"he is wicked and heartless. There now, I like your Denisov\r\nthough he is a rake and all that, still I like him; so you see I do\r\nunderstand. I don't know how to put it... with this one everything is\r\ncalculated, and I don't like that. But Denisov...\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh, Denisov is quite different,\" replied Nicholas, implying that even\r\nDenisov was nothing compared to Dolokhov--\"you must understand what a\r\nsoul there is in Dolokhov, you should see him with his mother. What a\r\nheart!\"\r\n\r\n\"Well, I don't know about that, but I am uncomfortable with him. And do\r\nyou know he has fallen in love with Sonya?\"\r\n\r\n\"What nonsense...\"\r\n\r\n\"I'm certain of it; you'll see.\"\r\n\r\nNatasha's prediction proved true. Dolokhov, who did not usually care\r\nfor the society of ladies, began to come often to the house, and the\r\nquestion for whose sake he came (though no one spoke of it) was soon\r\nsettled. He came because of Sonya. And Sonya, though she would never\r\nhave dared to say so, knew it and blushed scarlet every time Dolokhov\r\nappeared.\r\n\r\nDolokhov often dined at the Rostovs', never missed a performance at\r\nwhich they were present, and went to Iogel's balls for young people\r\nwhich the Rostovs always attended. He was pointedly attentive to Sonya\r\nand looked at her in such a way that not only could she not bear his\r\nglances without coloring, but even the old countess and Natasha blushed\r\nwhen they saw his looks.\r\n\r\nIt was evident that this strange, strong man was under the irresistible\r\ninfluence of the dark, graceful girl who loved another.\r\n\r\nRostov noticed something new in Dolokhov's relations with Sonya, but\r\nhe did not explain to himself what these new relations were. \"They're\r\nalways in love with someone,\" he thought of Sonya and Natasha. But he\r\nwas not as much at ease with Sonya and Dolokhov as before and was less\r\nfrequently at home.\r\n\r\nIn the autumn of 1806 everybody had again begun talking of the war with\r\nNapoleon with even greater warmth than the year before. Orders were\r\ngiven to raise recruits, ten men in every thousand for the regular army,\r\nand besides this, nine men in every thousand for the militia. Everywhere\r\nBonaparte was anathematized and in Moscow nothing but the coming war\r\nwas talked of. For the Rostov family the whole interest of these\r\npreparations for war lay in the fact that Nicholas would not hear of\r\nremaining in Moscow, and only awaited the termination of Denisov's\r\nfurlough after Christmas to return with him to their regiment. His\r\napproaching departure did not prevent his amusing himself, but rather\r\ngave zest to his pleasures. He spent the greater part of his time away\r\nfrom home, at dinners, parties, and balls.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XI\r\n\r\n\r\nOn the third day after Christmas Nicholas dined at home, a thing he had\r\nrarely done of late. It was a grand farewell dinner, as he and Denisov\r\nwere leaving to join their regiment after Epiphany. About twenty people\r\nwere present, including Dolokhov and Denisov.\r\n\r\nNever had love been so much in the air, and never had the amorous\r\natmosphere made itself so strongly felt in the Rostovs' house as at this\r\nholiday time. \"Seize the moments of happiness, love and be loved! That\r\nis the only reality in the world, all else is folly. It is the one thing\r\nwe are interested in here,\" said the spirit of the place.\r\n\r\nNicholas, having as usual exhausted two pairs of horses, without\r\nvisiting all the places he meant to go to and where he had been invited,\r\nreturned home just before dinner. As soon as he entered he noticed and\r\nfelt the tension of the amorous air in the house, and also noticed a\r\ncurious embarrassment among some of those present. Sonya, Dolokhov,\r\nand the old countess were especially disturbed, and to a lesser degree\r\nNatasha. Nicholas understood that something must have happened between\r\nSonya and Dolokhov before dinner, and with the kindly sensitiveness\r\nnatural to him was very gentle and wary with them both at dinner. On\r\nthat same evening there was to be one of the balls that Iogel (the\r\ndancing master) gave for his pupils during the holidays.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas, will you come to Iogel's? Please do!\" said Natasha. \"He asked\r\nyou, and Vasili Dmitrich * is also going.\"\r\n\r\n\r\n    * Denisov.\r\n\r\n\r\n\"Where would I not go at the countess' command!\" said Denisov, who at\r\nthe Rostovs' had jocularly assumed the role of Natasha's knight. \"I'm\r\neven weady to dance the pas de chale.\"\r\n\r\n\"If I have time,\" answered Nicholas. \"But I promised the Arkharovs; they\r\nhave a party.\"\r\n\r\n\"And you?\" he asked Dolokhov, but as soon as he had asked the question\r\nhe noticed that it should not have been put.\r\n\r\n\"Perhaps,\" coldly and angrily replied Dolokhov, glancing at Sonya, and,\r\nscowling, he gave Nicholas just such a look as he had given Pierre at\r\nthe Club dinner.\r\n\r\n\"There is something up,\" thought Nicholas, and he was further confirmed\r\nin this conclusion by the fact that Dolokhov left immediately after\r\ndinner. He called Natasha and asked her what was the matter.\r\n\r\n\"And I was looking for you,\" said Natasha running out to him. \"I told\r\nyou, but you would not believe it,\" she said triumphantly. \"He has\r\nproposed to Sonya!\"\r\n\r\nLittle as Nicholas had occupied himself with Sonya of late, something\r\nseemed to give way within him at this news. Dolokhov was a suitable and\r\nin some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless, orphan girl. From\r\nthe point of view of the old countess and of society it was out of the\r\nquestion for her to refuse him. And therefore Nicholas' first feeling\r\non hearing the news was one of anger with Sonya.... He tried to say,\r\n\"That's capital; of course she'll forget her childish promises and\r\naccept the offer,\" but before he had time to say it Natasha began again.\r\n\r\n\"And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!\" adding, after a pause,\r\n\"she told him she loved another.\"\r\n\r\n\"Yes, my Sonya could not have done otherwise!\" thought Nicholas.\r\n\r\n\"Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she won't change\r\nonce she has said...\"\r\n\r\n\"And Mamma pressed her!\" said Nicholas reproachfully.\r\n\r\n\"Yes,\" said Natasha. \"Do you know, Nicholas--don't be angry--but I know\r\nyou will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but I know for certain\r\nthat you won't marry her.\"\r\n\r\n\"Now you don't know that at all!\" said Nicholas. \"But I must talk to\r\nher. What a darling Sonya is!\" he added with a smile.\r\n\r\n\"Ah, she is indeed a darling! I'll send her to you.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Natasha kissed her brother and ran away.\r\n\r\nA minute later Sonya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scared look.\r\nNicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first time\r\nsince his return that they had talked alone and about their love.\r\n\r\n\"Sophie,\" he began, timidly at first and then more and more boldly,\r\n\"if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and advantageous\r\nmatch but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend...\"\r\n\r\nSonya interrupted him.\r\n\r\n\"I have already refused,\" she said hurriedly.\r\n\r\n\"If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I...\"\r\n\r\nSonya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look.\r\n\r\n\"Nicholas, don't tell me that!\" she said.\r\n\r\n\"No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say\r\nit. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I\r\nlove you, and I think I love you more than anyone else....\"\r\n\r\n\"That is enough for me,\" said Sonya, blushing.\r\n\r\n\"No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in\r\nlove again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship,\r\nconfidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma does\r\nnot wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to consider\r\nDolokhov's offer,\" he said, articulating his friend's name with\r\ndifficulty.\r\n\r\n\"Don't say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother and\r\nalways shall, and I want nothing more.\"\r\n\r\n\"You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of misleading\r\nyou.\"\r\n\r\nAnd Nicholas again kissed her hand.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nCHAPTER XII\r\n\r\n\r\nIogel's were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothers as\r\nthey watched their young people executing their newly learned steps, and\r\nso said the youths and maidens themselves as they danced till they were\r\nready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men and women who came to\r\nthese balls with an air of condescension and found them most enjoyable.\r\nThat year two marriages had come of these balls. The two pretty young\r\nPrincesses Gorchakov met suitors there and were married and so further\r\nincreased the fame of these dances. What distinguished them from others\r\nwas the absence of host or hostess and the presence of the good-natured\r\nIogel, flying about like a feather and bowing according to the rules of\r\nhis art, as he collected the tickets from all his visitors. There was\r\nthe fact that only those came who wished to dance and amuse themselves\r\nas girls of thirteen and fourteen do who are wearing long dresses for\r\nthe first time. With scarcely any exceptions they all were, or seemed to\r\nbe, pretty--so rapturous were their smiles and so sparkling their eyes.\r\nSometimes the best of the pupils, of whom Natasha, who was exceptionally\r\ngraceful, was first, even danced the pas de chale, but at this last ball\r\nonly the ecossaise, the anglaise, and the mazurka, which was just coming\r\ninto fashion, were danced. Iogel had taken a ballroom in Bezukhov's\r\nhouse, and the ball, as everyone said, was a great success. There were\r\nmany pretty girls and the Rostov girls were among the prettiest. They\r\nwere both particularly happy and gay. That evening, proud of Dolokhov's\r\nproposal, her refusal, and her explanation with Nicholas, Sonya twirled\r\nabout before she left home so that the maid could hardly get her hair\r\nplaited, and she was transparently radiant with impulsive joy.\r\n\r\nNatasha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real\r\nball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink\r\nribbons.\r\n\r\nNatasha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She\r\nwas not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whatever\r\nperson she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, how delightful it is!\" she kept saying, running up to Sonya.\r\n\r\nNicholas and Denisov were walking up and down, looking with kindly\r\npatronage at the dancers.\r\n\r\n\"How sweet she is--she will be a weal beauty!\" said Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"Who?\"\r\n\r\n\"Countess Natasha,\" answered Denisov.\r\n\r\n\"And how she dances! What gwace!\" he said again after a pause.\r\n\r\n\"Who are you talking about?\"\r\n\r\n\"About your sister,\" ejaculated Denisov testily.\r\n\r\nRostov smiled.\r\n\r\n\"My dear count, you were one of my best pupils--you must dance,\" said\r\nlittle Iogel coming up to Nicholas. \"Look how many charming young\r\nladies-\" He turned with the same request to Denisov who was also a\r\nformer pupil of his.\r\n\r\n\"No, my dear fellow, I'll be a wallflower,\" said Denisov. \"Don't you\r\nwecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh no!\" said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. \"You were only\r\ninattentive, but you had talent--oh yes, you had talent!\"\r\n\r\n The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could not\r\nrefuse Iogel and asked Sonya to dance. Denisov sat down by the old\r\nladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told\r\nthem something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young\r\npeople dancing, Iogel with Natasha, his pride and his best pupil, were\r\nthe first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little feet\r\nin low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natasha, who, though\r\nshy, went on carefully executing her steps. Denisov did not take\r\nhis eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly\r\nindicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not\r\nbecause he could not. In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostov\r\nwho was passing:\r\n\r\n\"This is not at all the thing,\" he said. \"What sort of Polish mazuwka is\r\nthis? But she does dance splendidly.\"\r\n\r\nKnowing that Denisov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly\r\nway in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to Natasha:\r\n\r\n\"Go and choose Denisov. He is a real dancer, a wonder!\" he said.\r\n\r\nWhen it came to Natasha's turn to choose a partner, she rose and,\r\ntripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran\r\ntimidly to the corner where Denisov sat. She saw that everybody was\r\nlooking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Denisov was refusing\r\nthough he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them.\r\n\r\n\"Please, Vasili Dmitrich,\" Natasha was saying, \"do come!\"\r\n\r\n\"Oh no, let me off, Countess,\" Denisov replied.\r\n\r\n\"Now then, Vaska,\" said Nicholas.\r\n\r\n\"They coax me as if I were Vaska the cat!\" said Denisov jokingly.\r\n\r\n\"I'll sing for you a whole evening,\" said Natasha.\r\n\r\n\"Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me!\" said Denisov, and he\r\nunhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his\r\npartner's hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot,\r\nwaiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka was\r\nDenisov's short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow he\r\nfelt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he looked sideways at\r\nhis partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with one\r\nfoot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flew round the room taking\r\nhis partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across the\r\nroom, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at them,\r\nwhen suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs, he stopped\r\nshort on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot clanking his\r\nspurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel against his\r\nright, flew round again in a circle. Natasha guessed what he meant to\r\ndo, and abandoning herself to him followed his lead hardly knowing how.\r\nFirst he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now with his\r\nright hand, then falling on one knee he twirled her round him, and again\r\njumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if he would\r\nrush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath, and then\r\nhe suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected steps. When at\r\nlast, smartly whirling his partner round in front of her chair, he drew\